The Dalai Lama's Cat

by David Michie

  He paused, hands no longer moving. “But we’ll have to hold off the spaying for a while.”

  Chogyal’s brow furrowed. “We weren’t thinking now—”

  “Six weeks. Maybe a month.” The vet gave him a meaningful look.

  Chogyal still wasn’t getting it. “You’re fully booked for operations?”

  Dr. Wilkinson shook his head with a smile. “It’s a bit late for spaying, mate,” he told Chogyal. “His Holiness’s Cat is to be a mother.”

  “What will we call them?” was the Driver’s reaction when Chogyal broke the news on the way home.

  Chogyal shrugged. I expect he had other things on his mind. Like how to break the news to His Holiness.

  “Micey-Tungs?” suggested the driver.

  EPILOGUE

  Things were happening down at Café Franc. Sign painters had been up ladders for days, working on the façade of the restaurant. The area Franc was considering for a bookstore had been screened off. Judging from the muffled sounds of drilling and nailing, and the flurry of workmen in and out, all kinds of changes were taking place behind the floor-to-ceiling panels.

  To anyone who asked, Franc explained that Café Franc was about to have “a major relaunch.” It would be everything it had been in the past—but better. There would be more for customers and a wider variety of products. It would be an even nicer place to spend your time.

  But exactly what was going on behind the scenes remained veiled in mystery.

  This was an apt metaphor for my life right now. I was to become the mother of kittens. The changes in my body were rapid and significant. But exactly what this would mean to me was something I could only guess at. Exactly how many kittens would I have? In what way would they alter our life at Jokhang? Would they emerge as Himalayan, tabby, or somewhere in between?

  One thing I knew for certain was that I had the Dalai Lama’s full support. Following our visit to the vet, when Chogyal reported the news, His Holiness’s face lit up. “Oh … how extraordinary!” His expression had been almost childlike with wonder as he leaned over to stroke me. “A litter of Snow Lion cubs. That will be fun!”

  The question of my own origins, a riddle I believed would remain forever unsolved, was another area in which there had been sudden and unexpected change. Within days of Tashi and Sashi blurting out my origins, Chogyal had arranged for them to accompany him on his next visit to Delhi, to identify the family to whom my mother had belonged. They found the house without difficulty, but it was locked and guarded by a private security detail. There was no sign that a family was currently living there. No evidence at all of a feline in residence. A note had been left with one of the security guards, but a reply was yet to be forthcoming.

  For all kinds of reasons, I felt I was living on the cusp of profound change. The tectonic plates of life were shifting. Things would never be the same again. I sensed the excitement of it, as well as the apprehension. But with the image of Geshe Wangpo vivid in my mind, I had all I needed. I was going to make this a positive transformation. I wasn’t going to avoid any of it.

  In particular, I wasn’t going to miss out on the relaunch of Café Franc, which had been the cause of so much activity.

  The event was scheduled for 6 P.M. one evening, but I made my way down the hill well in advance. My viewing platform was unaffected by the changes, which were no longer concealed by security screens but by large sheets of paper held together with a broad, red ribbon.

  A crowd of people started trickling in as the time drew near. There were the McLeod Ganj regulars, always an eclectic mix, including people I knew from Jokhang. Mrs. Trinci arrived, fresh from the hairdresser, where she’d had her dark hair specially coiffed in honor of the occasion. Wearing a black dress, gold jewelry, and kohl eyes, she had added to her characteristic drama a certain Continental je ne sais quoi.

  Chogyal also made an appearance in his capacity as Kyi Kyi’s former guardian. Franc had soon led him over to show him the basket under the counter where both Kyi Kyi and Marcel, immaculate from the dog wash, wore red-and-gold bows around their necks.

  As the drinks flowed freely and canapés circulated, the noise in the room grew ever louder. In the crowd I spotted Mrs. Patel from Cut Price Bazaar; these days, she greeted me, plateless and somewhat mournfully, whenever I passed her shop.

  Sam was also there, positively debonair in a dark blue shirt and white linen sports jacket. In recent weeks he’d been a constant presence in the restaurant, as he and Franc managed the frenetic activity going on behind the screens. Since accepting Franc’s offer, he had made a real effort to reinvent himself. Taking charge of the bookstore, he had summoned a succession of publishers’ sales reps, had been quite clear about how point-of-sales gifts were to be displayed, and had directed tradesmen with newfound assertiveness. I had even seen him jab his hand emphatically at a carpenter whose workmanship hadn’t been up to scratch.

  Tenzin was in the crowd—a diplomatic presence talking to a pair of visiting academics from Harvard. Geshe Wangpo was standing at the front of the room near the ribbon, in a circle of senior Namgyal monks.

  Franc was in his element, circulating throughout the room. But, unusually, today he had a very attractive, 30-something woman on his arm.

  The metamorphosis of Franc had continued since that first encounter with Geshe Wangpo, reinforced by his visits to the classes at the temple every week. The golden Om earring and blessing strings had long since gone, the ascetically bald head now sported a surprisingly thick thatch of fair hair, and the clothes were less tight. And less black.

  The biggest change was not visible. Gone was the hectoring bully who made life hell for the kitchen and waitstaff. There was no covering over his bursts of impatience, but instead of building to a frenzy of righteous indignation, now he seemed embarrassed when they happened. Gone, too, were the constant references to Dalai Lama this and Dharma that. The origins of Rinpoche were no longer mentioned, and I hadn’t heard him even say the word Buddhist for weeks.

  But exactly who was the young woman by his side? She had been in the café twice this week. The first time, she and Franc had spent more than two hours in earnest discussion at one of the pavement tables. The second time, he had taken her into the kitchen, where she’d spent a long time talking to the Dragpa brothers, as well as to Kusali.

  Tonight she was resplendent in a coral red dress, long, dark hair swept straight down her back and jewelry glittering at her ears, throat, and wrists. I thought her the most exquisite woman I’d ever seen—there was such energy, such compassion in her features. As Franc introduced her to people, they seemed almost to melt in her presence, she conveyed such warmth.

  Resting on my lotus cushion between Vogue and Vanity Fair, aware of the occasional movement in my distended belly, I looked out at the gathering crowd with a feeling of deep contentment for this moment, now, and all that had led me to it.

  Kyi Kyi, lying in his basket under the counter, had arrived in my life at the same time as the self-development guru Jack. Through them I had come to understand the foolishness of being jealous of others’ apparently wonderful lives, and to see that the true cause of happiness is the sincere wish to give happiness to others and help free them of all forms of dissatisfaction—love and compassion defined.

  From Mrs. Trinci I had discovered that simply knowing these things was of little value. Our awareness of a truth needs to deepen to the point at which it actually changes our behavior. We call that a realization.

  From the many people around me who practiced mindfulness, I realized how essential it is to attend to the present moment if we are to experience the rich variety of everyday life. Only by being fully awake to the present are we able to put our realizations into action—not to mention make every cup of coffee count.

  Franc had been my teacher on fur balls—the danger of thinking about me, myself, and I to the point of becoming sick of myself. It was also because of him that I had discovered that the Dharma isn’t about mouthing high-
sounding principles, dressing in attention-seeking clothes, or calling yourself a Buddhist, but about expressing the teachings in your every thought, word, and deed.

  And while the enormity of trying to become a more enlightened being might seem daunting at times, as Geshe Wangpo had explained, there is no room for laziness or a lack of confidence. Leading an authentic life calls for big eyes and a strong voice!

  There was one guest notable for his absence on this occasion. The Dalai Lama was on his way back from the airport, after a brief trip overseas. Nonetheless, his presence was palpable, abiding with every one of us in the room, along with his message, “My religion is kindness.” As Tibetan Buddhists, our central purpose is bodhichitta, arising out of a compassion to help all living beings find happiness.

  People continued to arrive at Café Franc—I’d never seen the place so full. It was reaching the point of standing room only when Franc made his way to the front and onto a small platform set up for the dedication ceremony.

  Someone tapped a glass loudly, and the hubbub in the room quickly diminished to a hush.

  “Thanks to every one of you for coming,” Franc said, glancing around at the assembled faces. “This is a very special day for all of us in the café community. And I have not just one announcement but three.

  “The first is that because my father’s health has taken a turn for the worse, I am leaving Café Franc to look after him.”

  There were gasps of sympathy and surprise.

  “I could be in San Francisco for six to twelve months.”

  Geshe Wangpo, I noticed, was nodding approvingly.

  “When I first realized I’d have to go, I wondered what to do about the café. I didn’t want to have to close it down”—dismay rippled audibly through the audience—“but I knew it couldn’t run on its own. Then, just two weeks ago, it was my amazing good fortune to meet Serena Trinci, fresh from managing some of the finest restaurants in Europe.” He gestured toward the young woman in red who he had been introducing all evening. She smiled broadly in acknowledgment.

  “Serena has managed a two-Michelin-star restaurant in Bruges, the Hotel Danieli in Venice, and just recently was running one of the smartest society brasseries in London. But she couldn’t avoid the call home to McLeod Ganj, and I’m delighted to tell you that she has kindly agreed to be caretaker while I’m away.”

  The announcement was greeted with a round of enthusiastic applause and a bow of appreciation from Serena. Mrs. Trinci looked on, glowing with maternal pride.

  “For a long while I’ve been wondering how best to use the space behind here,” Franc said, gesturing to the concealed area behind him. “I’ve had a few ideas but didn’t know how to implement them. And then, in another spooky ‘coincidence,’ just the right person showed up at the right time.” He nodded toward Sam, who was standing nearby.

  “What I’d like to do now is ask my teacher and honored guest, Geshe Wangpo, to formally unveil our new addition.”

  Amid a smattering of applause, Geshe Wangpo joined Franc on the platform and walked over to the large, red bow. He was about to untie it before he remembered something. “Oh, yes. I am pleased to announce the opening of this marvelous new bookshop,” he said, his hesitation prompting amusement. “May its existence be a cause for all living beings to have happiness and to avoid suffering.”

  As he tugged the ribbon, the panels of paper fell open, revealing gleaming rows of books, racks of CDs, and a colorful assortment of gifts. There was a wave of excited whooping and applause. Franc smiled as Geshe Wangpo gestured for Sam to join them on the podium. Sam vigorously shook his head, but Geshe Wangpo continued to insist. As Sam came to stand between the two men, the applause grew even louder, until the lama held up his hand in authoritative command.

  “The books in this shop,” he said, indicating the titles ranged in front of them, “are most useful. I know, because I have checked up. I think in future weeks there will be many monks from Namgyal Monastery visiting. They may not have money to buy, but they will check up.”

  Geshe Wangpo’s straight-faced delivery prompted great mirth.

  “The person choosing the books, this one”—he turned and gripped Sam by the arm—“has read many books. More than some lamas I know. He has great knowledge, but he is a little bit shy.” There was a spark of mischief in the lama’s eyes. “So you must be patient with him.”

  Far from looking down in embarrassment, Sam seemed energized by Geshe Wangpo’s remarks. Returning the lama’s smile, he looked out at the gathering and in a loud voice said, “We have a w-wonderful selection of book titles right here. All the old classics as well as some brand new releases. I can c-confidently say that this is a better stocked mind/body/spirit section than you’ll find in even the bigger American bookstores. I look forward to seeing you all sometime soon.”

  A round of applause followed Sam’s remarks. Beside him, Geshe Wangpo gave a cryptic smile.

  “I’m sure you’re all keen to get into the new section”—Franc took the lead again—“where you’ll be pleased to know we do take credit cards. But before that I have our third announcement. Which is that effective immediately, Café Franc is to be renamed The Himalaya Book Café. We have a new sign out in front, unveiled tonight for the first time.”

  Another round of prolonged applause.

  “When I first set up a business here, it was all about food and, I won’t try to deny, all about me. I’m glad to say that things have changed since then. We’re now about a lot more than just food. And fortunately we have grown way beyond just me. It is my very great privilege to work with the team of people here—Jigme and Ngawang Dragpa in the kitchen, Kusali and his team out front, and now Sam and Serena.

  “So please, everyone, enjoy the food and drinks! Spend big on books and gifts! I look forward to seeing you all again when I am back from San Francisco!”

  The launch party moved into full swing. No sooner was Sam in the bookstore than a line of eager purchasers formed at the till. In the restaurant, Franc circulated with Serena as the waitstaff replenished champagne and wine. The restaurant, now emporium, had never been so alive with energy, laughter, and joie de vivre.

  How different all this was from the first time I’d visited Café Franc and was almost hurled forcefully from its door. What would have happened, I wondered, if I hadn’t made my way here in the naïve expectation of a delicious meal? If a home hadn’t been needed for Kyi Kyi, or Franc hadn’t been taken on as a student by Geshe Wangpo, or Sam hadn’t shown up at just the right time?

  There was something mysterious and quite delightful about the chain of events that had led to this point.

  And the events that were to continue.

  Later in the evening, when the initial surge into the bookstore had calmed down, Serena walked over to where Sam stood with a commanding view of the gathering.

  “It’s been a wonderful evening!” She radiated happiness.

  “Hasn’t it just?”

  Sam, I noticed, managed to avoid the floor and was looking directly at her, a helpless smile on his face.

  Then they both started to speak at the same time.

  “You go,” she said.

  “N-n-no.” He gestured to her.

  “I insist. You first.”

  From my vantage point, I could see flecks of red dotting Sam’s neck. Like storm clouds gathering, the flecks melted together to form a crimson wave that rose steadily toward his chin then suddenly halted.

  “I was just going to suggest,” he began, louder than strictly necessary. “Seeing as we’ll be working together—”

  “Yes?” Serena prompted. As she brushed her hair back, her earrings glinted under the lighting.

  “It would be a nice idea, but only if you had the time … ”

  “Yes?” She nodded encouragingly.

  “I mean, maybe we could get together sometime. Perhaps for a meal?”

  She laughed. “I was going to suggest exactly the same thing.”

  “Yo
u were?”

  “It’ll be fun!”

  “Friday night?”

  “Deal!” Leaning forward, she softly kissed him on the cheek.

  Sam squeezed her arm.

  At that moment Franc emerged from the crowd behind them. Meeting Sam’s eye over Serena’s shoulder, he winked.

  Back home that night, I took up my usual position on the windowsill. The Dalai Lama, having returned from Delhi, sat on his chair nearby, reading a book.

  The window was open, and along with the fresh scent of pine, there seemed to be something else in the air. A hope of things to come.

  Watching His Holiness read, I couldn’t help thinking, as I often did in contemplative moments like these, how very fortunate I was to have been rescued by such an amazing man. Images of that day in the streets of New Delhi still arose unbidden. Especially those final moments when I was wrapped in the newspaper and my life force seemed about to leave me.

  “Most interesting, my little Snow Lion,” the Dalai Lama remarked after a while, as he closed his book and came over to stroke me.

  “I am reading about the life of Albert Schweitzer, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952. He was a very compassionate man, very sincere. I have just read something he said: ‘Sometimes our light goes out, but is blown again into flame by an encounter with another human being. Each of us owes the deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this inner light.’ I agree with that, don’t you, HHC?”

  Closing my eyes, I purred.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  David Michie is the best-selling author of Buddhism for Busy People, Hurry Up and Meditate, and Enlightenment to Go. All have been published internationally and are being translated into many languages. David was born in Zimbabwe, educated at Rhodes University in South Africa, and lived in London for ten years. He is married and based in Perth, Australia.

  Website: www.davidmichie.com

  An Excerpt from The Dalai Lama’s Cat and the Art of Purring