The real ‘watchman’
N J Ravi Chander
It was in the early 90s that this unfortunate incident happened in one of the remote rural bank branches in Bengaluru, close to where I worked. The state-run, small category branch, which must stay unnamed, had a staff complement of five, including a couple of officers and clerks and lone attendant.
There was no security guard. The unreliable public transport of yore meant that the employees had to either hitch a ride or depend on their trusted two-wheelers. As the branch was on the city’s outskirts, one perforce had to leave the house early in the morning and return late in the evening.
The branch, like many others, opened at 10.30 am and closed at 5.30 pm (the business hours extended up to 2.30 pm). The branch accountant was usually the last to leave after balancing the books of accounts. On that fateful day, he had sought permission to leave the branch early to attend a relative’s wedding. A workaholic, he seldom went on leave or sought permission but what followed was unexpected.
The unwritten rule was to turn off electricity before calling it a day. The accountant bade an early goodbye and rushed off to the nuptials. But the manager with his face buried behind a file didn’t notice his deputy leaving and continued poring over the papers. The evening was still young when the manager hung up his pen for the day.
Observing that the lights in the accountant’s room were still glowing, the branch head got the impression that his deputy was still hanging around. But he committed the cardinal sin of not checking and packed his bags and left, exposing the branch to danger. You can call it a stroke of misfortune or sheer negligence!
The lights flickering in the branch well past midnight and the main door kept ajar caught the eye of the watchman hired by the factory nearby. Curiosity getting to him, he checked it out, but what he saw stunned him: there was nary a soul.
Showing a sense of urgency, he scribbled the landline number – displayed in the banking hall – of the Regional Manager (RM) on a piece of paper, went back to the factory and jolted the RM from a deep slumber by giving the startling news over the telephone – those were the pre-mobile days. An hour and a half later, a car pulled up at the branch. It was a concerned RM who had arrived with his coterie to take stock and keep vigil in the wee hours.
When the branch opened the following day, the RM greeted the erring officials at the door with a smirk and the transfer orders. Roundly admonishing the branch officials for their reckless ways, the head honcho served them the ‘marching orders’ and shunted them off to a godforsaken place. Their replacements took over the charge of the branch in a few days after completing the mandatory formalities. The lapse proved costly for the duo as they had to forego increments and promotions. The blunder haunted them throughout their careers.
But for the alert factory sentry who saved the day, the branch with the entrance ajar could have courted disaster by becoming an easy target for bandits. The bank did well to commend him for his quick-thinking and for displaying remarkable qualities of head and heart. The world needs more such good Samaritans at a time when we are caught up in a never-ending swirl and barely spare time for each other.
(The author is a former banker who has taken up writing as a pastime. He writes for the Deccan Herald, The New Indian Express, The Tribune, The Hitavada, The City Tab, Bangalore Mirror, The Hans India and Kashmir Vision)
