The Dalai Lama's Cat (The Dalai Lama's Cat 1)

I also wondered why, at odd times over the next few days, Chogyal and Tenzin would glance at each other, mutter “Geshe Wangpo,” and snort with laughter.

The answers to all these questions soon became apparent. Beginning with Geshe Wangpo. It just so happened that I was resting on my favorite windowsill a week or so later, when once again, I was awakened by the familiar scent of Franc’s aftershave. Although distant, it nevertheless curled like a ribbon through the air, from the courtyard below to where I lay in the pose of the upturned lizard. Opening my eyes, I spotted Franc walking from the gates of Jokhang toward the temple.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I was soon on my way downstairs, manifesting on the steps of the temple as Franc approached, where I performed a deep and luxuriant sun salutation as though I had spent the whole morning idling there. Franc seemed reassured by my familiar presence on this important visit and bent to stroke me.

It was only a short while later that Geshe Wangpo emerged from the temple. About 50 years old, short, round-faced, and stocky, he emanated an authority well beyond his stature, as though his physical appearance barely hinted at an extraordinary, even wrathful, power. The moment he appeared, I realized why Chogyal and Tenzin had been so amused when the Dalai Lama had recommended Geshe Wangpo as a teacher for Franc: a more heavy-duty lama would be hard to imagine.

Still, he smiled when Franc introduced himself.

“I wonder if you would consider taking me on as a student?” asked Franc, the cloud of Kouros, the golden Om, and the tight black clothing seeming even more out of place at that particular moment.

“You can attend my classes on Tuesday nights,” said Geshe Wangpo. “It is important to make sure of someone before accepting them as your teacher.”

“The Dalai Lama himself recommended you,” countered Franc.

“Even so, maybe you do not like my approach. We all have different styles, different temperaments.” It seemed almost as if Geshe Wangpo was trying to dissuade him. “Perhaps it is wise to take your time before deciding. Once you accept someone as your adviser”—he wagged a finger—“you must be willing to follow the advice.”

But Franc was not to be deterred. “If His Holiness suggested you”—his tone was reverential—“that’s good enough for me.”

“Okay, okay,” agreed the lama. Nodding toward his new student’s wrist, he added, “You already have many initiations. Your commitments must keep you very busy.”

“Commitments?”

“The ones you made when you received your initiations.”

“I did?”

Geshe Wangpo’s brow furrowed. “Why seek initiations into a practice if you don’t want to follow the practice?”

“I didn’t realize … ” For the first time ever, Franc actually looked sheepish.

“Which empowerments have you received?”

Franc began his familiar roll call of dates, lamas, and esoteric initiations—only this time, he repeated it in a most unfamiliar tone. It was as though the recitation of each successive initiation, rather than a show of braggadocio, was an admission of ignorance and neglect.

When he had finally finished, Geshe Wangpo regarded him sternly before bursting into laughter.

“What?” Franc asked, all too aware that he was the object of the lama’s amusement.

“You Westerners!” Geshe Wangpo managed after a while. “Too funny!”

“I don’t understand.” Franc hunched his shoulders.

“The Dharma is an inner journey,” Geshe Wangpo said, touching his heart. “Not about saying you are Buddhist, or wearing clothes to show you are Buddhist, or even believing you are Buddhist. What is ‘Buddhist’?” He gestured with open hands. “Just a word. Just a label. What is the value of a label if the product inside isn’t authentic? Like a fake Rolex.” He delivered a mischievous glance.

Franc shuffled uneasily.

Geshe Wangpo wagged his finger from side to side. “We don’t want fake Rolexes here at Namgyal Monastery,” he said. “Only the real deal.”

“What should I do about my blessing strings?” Franc asked unhappily.

“Your choice,” Geshe Wangpo told him. “Only you can know about such things—it is not for someone else to say.” Then, regarding his new student’s pensive features, he tugged Franc by the arm. “Come. Let’s walk around the temple. I need to stretch my legs.”

The two men set off, circumambulating the temple in a clockwise fashion. I followed closely behind. Geshe Wangpo asked Franc where he was from, and Franc began telling him about his upbringing in California, his passion for travel, the journey that had brought him all the way to Dharamsala, and his entirely unexpected decision to open Café Franc.

“I’ve always felt this tug toward Buddhism,” Franc told the lama. “I thought that taking initiations and receiving empowerments from high lamas was what I should do. I knew I should meditate, too, but I have a busy life. I didn’t realize that I needed a teacher or should be going to regular classes.”

Geshe Wangpo reached out and squeezed Franc’s hand briefly after this confession. “Let’s make this your fresh start,” he suggested. “Do you know the Four Noble Truths?”