The Art of Purring (The Dalai Lama's Cat 2)

ts. I had heard Serena speak with enthusiasm about the newly refurbished balcony, which was stronger and wider than the one before and furnished with a beautiful hand-woven carpet given to Ludo by his students. As the balcony had yet to be used, Ludo had decided to mark the occasion with an official rededication, to be presided over by a mystery guest.

Moving in the rarefied circles I do, dear reader, I knew exactly who the mystery guest was to be. And as one of my intimates, I’m sure you have a pretty good idea, too. Since the occasion would find so many of my favorite people gathered under one roof, I decided that I, the Swami of the Downward Dog School of Yoga, should be in attendance.

I began making my way up Bougainvillea Street in the late afternoon, passing the spice shop that had been the scene of such panic and mayhem some weeks ago. I walked along the stretch of sidewalk where I had felt so trapped. And it was as I was walking by the high, white wall of Sid’s property that it happened—again. The same two canine monsters appeared from nowhere, charging directly toward me. Only this time was different. Worse. There was no possibility of escape.

A more robust cat might have darted across the road, scaled a wall, and made good its escape. But I knew my limitations. There was no way out.

I turned toward my pursuers and, at the very moment they reached me, sat down. My action caught them totally by surprise as they romped toward me, in anticipation of a hot pursuit. They shoved their paws out in front and came to a scrambling halt. As they towered over me, I was enveloped in hot and sulphorous panting. Tongues lolling and saliva dribbling from their mouths, they thrust their noses toward me.

What did I do? I snarled. Opening my mouth as wide as possible, I hissed with the fury of a wrathful deity a thousand times their size. My heart was thundering, my hair was standing on end. But as I bared my fangs and whipped my mouth back and forth from left to right, the two great beasts pulled back, cocking their heads in surprise.

This was not the reception they had expected. Nor one they particularly liked. One of the monsters drove his snout to within an inch of my face. Like a flash of lightning I lashed out with my paw in stinging rebuke. The beast let out a high-pitched yelp, abruptly pulling back in pain.

We were at a stalemate. They had cornered me—something they hadn’t exactly planned. And now that it had happened, they didn’t know what to do. My display of ferocity had thrown them completely off their game.

Just in time, the tall man in the tweed jacket arrived. “Come on, you two,” he called out in a jocular tone. “Leave that poor cat alone.” They seemed only too relieved to be put back on their leashes and led away.

Watching them go, I found, to my great surprise, that I was a lot less traumatized by the encounter than I had expected. I had faced down my worst fear and discovered I could cope. I was stronger than I thought. It had been a testing experience, but I had successfully held my own against the two slavering hounds.

As I continued on my way, I recollected something His Holiness had told me—that thinking too much about oneself is a cause of suffering and that fear and anxiety become worse when we focus on me. Suddenly I wondered if I had ended up smeared with spices and trapped on the wall all those weeks ago not because of the dogs but rather because I had focused on nothing but saving my own fur. Would I have fared better if I had stood my ground and stared down my pursuers? Could so-called self-preservation sometimes backfire and become the very cause of pain?

Having fought off the two beasts, I felt more robust and assured as I continued up the hill. I might be one small, somewhat crippled cat, but I had the heart of a Snow Lion! I had confounded my shadows. I was Swami, Vanquisher of Golden Retrievers!

Ludo’s house was looking festive for the occasion. A new display of vividly colored Tibetan prayer flags fluttered under the eaves, carrying countless prayers on the wind. The hallway had been redecorated and smelled of fresh paint. The Downward Dog School of Yoga had been restenciled over the entrance.

The studio was packed with more people than I’d ever seen there before. All the regular yogis and yoginis were there, including Merrilee—sans hipflask—Jordan, and Ewing, while many of the others looked as though they had never seen the inside of a yoga studio before but were intrigued by the promise of Ludo’s mystery guest. I recognized patrons of the café and McLeod Ganj locals I had passed in the street—even Ludo’s next-door neighbors, in whose house the fire had started. As I picked my way through the rows of yoga mats to my usual spot, my arrival was duly noted.

I was glad to find one person in the back row who, although out of context, was warmly familiar. It was Lobsang, and the moment I saw him, I thought how relieved he looked. Sitting quietly on his own, he was a monk unburdened. His serenity had returned, and as he reached out to stroke me, his eyes were filled with peace.

At the front of the room, the sliding doors were wide open, revealing the spectacular vista of the Himalayas. The new balcony lay behind a ribbon of four interwoven colors—blue, green, red, and gold—that stirred gently in the late afternoon, ready to be cut in the official opening ceremony.

There was a bustle of activity at the door, then Serena arrived. Looking around, she spotted Lobsang alone in the back and immediately came over to him.

“How did it go?” she whispered, sitting down and reaching over to touch his arm.

He smiled and nodded. He seemed to be finding it hard to speak.

Serena’s expression was warm. “You’re okay, then?”

“I didn’t even need to ask him,” he eventually managed to say. “When I went to see him, he spent a few minutes telling me how much he liked my work on the new book. Then he looked directly at me and said, ‘You are still a young man, with many talents. Perhaps it would be a good idea to try something new, if you like.’”

“Oh, Lobsang,” she said, turning to hug him.

“I finish in six weeks,” he told her, his mouth curled with emotion. “After that, I am free to travel.”

“Have you thought about where?”

“His Holiness has offered me an introduction to the abbot of a monastery in Thailand.” His eyes flickered with excitement. “I think my adventures may begin there.”

I absorbed what Lobsang was saying with strongly mixed feelings. He had always been a serene presence at Jokhang, and I had taken for granted that he would remain there. I was sad that he was going. But in recent months I had also known that something wasn’t quite right. Despite the great value of his work, he had felt restless and in need of a new direction. It was a further reminder that the only constant is change.

Moments later Sam pushed his way through the bead curtain. After taking in the stunning panorama for the first time, he looked around the room. Serena waved, and he came over to join her, followed moments later by Bronnie.

As they sat beside her, Serena took a close look at them. “I’m glad to see you two here together,” she said.

“Kathmandu has a lot going for it,” murmured Bronnie, “but it doesn’t have Sam.”

Serena nodded. “So you’re staying in India?”