Fire, scotch and sip of selfless service
There was a short circuit one afternoon and the tents caught fire. While everyone rushed to douse the fire, a significant number instinctively went to rescue the scotch.
Our contingent was proceeding to Democratic Republic of Congo and the outgoing staff gave us some useful tips for our tenure in the war-torn country. The most important suggestion was to bring “sufficient quantity of duty-free scotch”, given its scarcity and high price. Every passport allows you to buy two bottles of liquor; we had enough numbers to stock up for an entire year.
Being the senior-most staff officer in the brigade headquarters, I was given the responsibility of managing this prized commodity and rationing it if required. Arrangements were made for its safe custody and only the quarter guard of the brigade camp was better secured than the ‘Scotch hut’, as we called it. Our deputy commander, however, was always wary of the loose generator wires providing electricity to the field mess housed in tentage accommodation.
Your thoughts become things; manifest wisely, so goes the saying. Perhaps the thought was wrong; it manifested. There was a short circuit one afternoon and the tents caught fire. While everyone rushed to douse the fire, a significant number instinctively went to rescue the scotch. The words “Remove first in case of fire” is painted on all important almirahs in the army, in this case people showed alacrity even in the absence of any such instructions.
With utmost disregard for personal safety in the face of the raging fire, a good number of liquor cases were retrieved in the few minutes available. Unfortunately, many bottles had got disfigured with their lids having melted. The liquid inside, however, appeared fine; was our collective conviction. This stock couldn’t be served to guests given the appearance, but we didn’t have the heart to throw it away. Our brigade commander, a pragmatic man, ordered a board of officers to segregate the bottles ‘fit for human consumption’.
Given my good attendance in the barman’s register, I was appointed the presiding officer.
The board assembled to accomplish the assigned task with utmost sincerity over the next few evenings. We would sip 10ml from every bottle, taste it and record our findings after spitting it out. As we checked out bottle after bottle, the ‘spitting out’ became less frequent with some liquid getting pilfered in the bloodstream. Also, as the evenings progressed, the rejection rates would reduce significantly. Such are the perils of exhibiting due diligence. When self control becomes casualty, the heart overrules the head.
“I see a good number of damaged bottles fit for consumption,” the commander said, browsing through the board proceedings. “Sir, we can auction them at reduced rates to anyone willing to risk his liver,” I said. The commander’s grin was taken as his stamp of approval.
“Didn’t you guys come under flak from the hierarchy in Delhi for the fire accident that too in an international environment?” asked a friend when I narrated the incident years later. “I guess not. The deputy commander rose to command a strike corps and our commander, India’s first Chief of Defence Staff,” I replied with pride. “And what about you?” he probed further. “I just got ‘high’ in this selfless service,” I said sulking, as he had a hearty laugh.
The writer is a Mohali-based freelance contributor(echpee71@gmail.com)
