The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Art of Purring by David Michie Read Free Book Online Page B

used to give us such happiness but don’t anymore.”
    I looked up at her, startled, when she said this. I was thinking of the beige fleece blanket in the bedroom and how memories of the many happy times I had spent on it with my little Snow Cub were now laced with sadness.
    “Shantideva, the Indian Buddhist sage, talks about licking honey off the edge of a blade,” said Ludo. “No matter how sweet, the price we pay is much higher.”
    “So how do we know,” asked Serena, “when something that has been positive in the past has outlived its usefulness?”
    Ludo looked over at her with eyes so clear they seemed almost silver. “When it causes us to suffer,” he replied simply. “Suffer comes from a Latin word meaning to carry. And while pain is sometimes unavoidable, suffering is not. For instance, we may have a very happy relationship with someone, and then we lose the person. We feel pain, of course: that’s natural. But when we continue to carry that pain, feeling constantly bereft, that’s suffering.”
    There was a pause while everyone absorbed this. In the deepening twilight, the mountains loomed in the distance, brooding shadows skimmed with vivid pink like the frosting on Mrs. Trinci’s cupcakes.
    “I sometimes think the past is a dangerous place to go looking for happiness,” said the Indian man sitting next to Serena.
    “You’re right, Sid,” agreed Ludo. “The only time we can experience happiness is in this moment, here and now.”

    Later, the students began to drift away. Serena left with several others, and I followed her into the hall.
    “I see little Swami is with you,” observed one of the women, slipping on her shoes.
    “Yes. We know each other well. She spends a lot of time at the café. I’m giving her a lift back there now,” Serena said, picking me up.
    “What’s her real name?” another woman asked.
    “Oh, she’s a cat of many names. Everywhere she goes she seems to acquire another one.”
    “Then today is no exception,” said Sid. Taking a yellow daisy from a vase in the hallway, he fashioned it into a flower garland and placed it around my neck. “I prostrate to you, little Swami,” he said, bringing his smooth, manicured hands together at his heart. As I looked into his eyes, I saw great tenderness.
    Then he was opening the door for Serena, and we were making our way back down the hill.
    “We are so lucky to have such a wonderful teacher,” said Serena.
    “Yes,” agreed Sid. “Ludvig—Ludo—is exceptional.”
    “My mother says he’s been in McLeod Ganj as long as I’ve been alive.”
    Sid nodded. “Since the early ’60s. He came at the request of Heinrich Harrer.”
    “Of Seven Years in Tibet fame?” asked Serena. “The Dalai Lama’s tutor?”
    “That’s right. Heinrich arranged an introduction to the Dalai Lama very soon after Ludo came to McLeod Ganj. It is said that he and His Holiness are good friends. In fact, it was His Holiness who encouraged Ludo to set up the yoga studio.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Serena said. Glancing at Sid, she was suddenly aware of how much he knew of local affairs. After a few moments, she decided to test this further. “There’s a guy walking behind us in a dark jacket, felt cap,” she said under her breath. “Someone said he’s the Maharajah of Himachal Pradesh. Is that true?”
    They continued down the hill for a while before Sid discreetly glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve heard the same thing,” he said.
    “I’ve seen him around here quite often,” Serena said.
    “So have I,” observed Sid. “Perhaps he usually takes a walk at this time of day?”
    “Could be,” mused Serena.

    The very next day I was padding along the corridor of the executive wing when Lobsang called out to me. “HHC! Come here, my little one! There’s something you’ll want to see.”
    I ignored him, of course. We cats are not given to kowtowing to every plea, entreaty, or even humble petition made by humans. What good