The Dalai Lama's Cat (10 page)
Later that day, I was in my usual spot in the executive assistants’ office. Remembering Jack’s arrival that morning, I continued to be amazed by how powerfully he filled the room when he first stepped through the door—and how very different he seemed when he was telling the Dalai Lama how he really felt. The difference between appearance and reality could not have been more marked. I also reflected on His Holiness’s advice about how to deal with problems in life. They are never asked for, but how we deal with them defines our future happiness or unhappiness.
Toward the end of that afternoon, the Dalai Lama’s driver appeared in the office. It was more than a week since he had last visited, and he immediately noticed the Lhasa apso, who lay curled up in his basket.
“Who is this?” he asked Chogyal, who was tidying his desk in readiness to leave for the day.
“Just someone we’re looking after until a home can be found for him.”
“Another Tibetan refugee?” wisecracked the driver, leaning down to pat the dog.
“Similar,” said Chogyal. “He belonged to neighbors of my cousin in Dharamsala. They had him only a few weeks, and my cousin kept hearing this yelping coming from their yard.
“Then about a week ago, my cousin heard the dog barking from inside the house at night. He went around and knocked on the door. No one answered, but the barking stopped. Next night, the same thing. He began to wonder what was going on. It seemed the neighbors weren’t taking good care of the dog.”
The driver shook his head.
“Two days later, my cousin happened to mention the dog to the neighbor across the road, who told him that the dog’s owners had moved out the weekend before. Cleared out, lock, stock, and barrel.”
“And abandoned the puppy?” asked the driver.
Chogyal nodded. “My cousin went around immediately and broke into the house. He found Kyi Kyi lying at the end of a heavy chain in the kitchen, barely alive. It was a pitiful sight. No food or water. He took the dog home immediately and managed to get some water into him, then food. But my cousin couldn’t keep him, because he’s a single man and hardly ever at home. So”—Chogyal shrugged—“with nowhere else to go, he came to us.”
It was the first time that I’d heard Kyi Kyi’s background, and I can’t pretend, dear reader, that I was unaffected by the tale. I remembered how jealous I’d been of Kyi Kyi when he first arrived, how resentful of the affection Chogyal showered on him and the food he gave him. But I also recalled how subdued the dog had been, and the poor condition of his coat. If I’d known the full story, I too would have felt sorry for him.
“Seems like you’ve started an animal shelter,” remarked His Holiness’s driver. “How has Mousie-Tung taken to the new orphan?”
My whiskers twitched irritably. His Holiness’s driver had always seemed a rough sort to me. Why did he insist on calling me by that dreadful name?
“Oh, I think she is still making up her mind about him.” Chogyal glanced at me as he delivered his typically generous assessment.
“Making up her mind?” Walking over to the cabinet, the driver reached out to stroke me. “In that case, she is a very wise cat. Most of us judge others only on appearances.”
“And as we all know”—Chogyal clicked his attaché case shut—“appearances can be very deceptive.”
The next morning when I visited the assistants’ office and saw Kyi Kyi in his basket, instead of ignoring him completely, I walked over and sniffed at him tentatively. Kyi Kyi reciprocated in kind, before cocking his head and taking a good, long look at me. Through this moment of communication we reached an understanding of sorts.
I did not, however, climb into his basket and let him lick my face.
I’m not that kind of cat. And this is not that kind of book. But I didn’t envy Kyi Kyi anymore. Chogyal could walk him and feed him and whisper sweet nothings to him as much as he liked, and it wouldn’t bother me a bit. I knew that behind this appearance was another reality. As I was discovering, even the most powerful first impressions could mask a very different truth.
I also discovered that I felt a lot happier not being jealous. Envy and resentment were demanding emotions that had disturbed my own peace of mind. For my sake, too, there was little point in being consumed by unhappy and irrational feelings.
It was less than six months later that a letter arrived for His Holiness on the impressive embossed stationery of the new Institute for Other Development established by Jack. After his visit to Jokhang, he had handed over management of his Self-Development company to a colleague and created a partner institute focusing on Other Development. The idea was to encourage as many people as possible to give their time, money, and social networking skills to worthy causes. Jack’s first instinct had been to nominate those worthy causes. But in the spirit of Other Development, he had decided to let others choose the organizations they wanted to support.
Within just a few months, over 10,000 people had signed up as supporters, and over $3 million had been raised for a wide variety of charities operating around the world. The huge surge of support, said Jack, was thrilling, humbling, and life-affirming. He’d never felt happier or more fulfilled in his life.
Would His Holiness consider attending the inaugural conference of the institute later in the year, perhaps with an address on the true causes of happiness?
As Tenzin read Jack’s letter to Chogyal, there was unusual emotion in his voice. “Even though I’ve worked here for more than twenty years,” he said, “I still get surprised. When people allow the well-being of
others
to become their motivation, the results are simply …”
“Immeasurable?” offered Chogyal.
“Yes. Precisely.”
Is it easy living as the anonymous companion to a global celebrity? Some people believe that the unknown companions of very famous individuals must feel constantly overlooked and undervalued, like the drab hens to glorious roosters. When the rooster gets all the attention with his lustrous plumage and magnificent dawn arpeggios, wouldn’t it be understandable if the hen sometimes yearned for her own time in the spotlight, too?
In the case of this particular hen, no.
Within my own small world of Jokhang, I am already as well known as it’s possible to be. At Café Franc I am venerated as a rinpoche! And while His Holiness may appear frequently on TV, he also has to go through life being photographed and having microphones thrust in his face morning, noon, and night. He must answer the relentless questions of journalists asking him to explain elementary Buddhism—much like a professor of applied physics being asked incessantly to recite the multiplication tables. That the Dalai Lama manages to do this with genuine warmth and a sense of humor reveals something not only about his personal qualities but also about the value of Buddhist practices—most notably, the perfection of patience!
The reason I’m so categorical—if you’ll excuse the pun—about not wanting to be famous is that I’ve been on the receiving end of a great deal of media attention. This fact may surprise you. Why, you may wonder, have you not already come across the Dalai Lama’s cat in the pages of
Vanity Fair,
photographed perhaps by the great Patrick Demarchelier? Or preening her whiskers and folding her long, gray boots with studied insouciance, having invited
Hello!
magazine to survey the delights of her sumptuous Himalayan boudoir? It pains me to admit that the media attention I received wasn’t of the glossy magazine variety. Photographed? Yes. Celebrity pages? Alas, no.
It began one spring morning when His Holiness rose from his meditation an hour earlier than usual and got ready to venture outside. Changes to his routine were not unheard of—he often had trips to take or ceremonies to preside over. But that morning, even though his two executive assistants had reported early for duty, there was no sign of his driver. I realized His Holiness could not be going far. Hearing the sound of chanting across the courtyard, I also realized that he wouldn’t be attending the usual morning proceedings at the temple. As the chief of protocol began checking security, parking, and other arrangements, it became clear we were expecting visitors. Who could they be?
Cars began arriving and dropping off journalists and TV crews from a variety of international media outlets. They were ushered along a path that led from behind the temple into the forested area nearby. Next came news that the car carrying His Holiness’s visitor was approaching. His Holiness began making his way downstairs, followed by Tenzin and Chogyal, with Kyi Kyi on his leash trailing behind. Curious to discover what was happening, I tagged along.
As I did, I overheard snippets of information about the visitor: “Free Tibet campaign”; “Order of the British Empire.” Her philanthropy was mentioned, as was the fact that she maintained a low-key lifestyle, dividing her time between homes in London and Scotland.
Just as the Dalai Lama appeared outside, his visitor arrived. An elegant lady with blonde, shoulder-length hair and vivacious features, she was clad not in the kind of conservative or formal clothing most of His Holiness’s visitors wear but in a waxed outdoor jacket, khaki chinos, and brown hiking boots.
You know me quite well enough by now, dear reader, to realize that I never divulge the identity of His Holiness’s visitors. Let’s just say that this one was an absolutely fabulous English actress who has appeared in numerous television and stage productions and is a patron of several good causes.
After the traditional greeting, the Dalai Lama and his visitor began to walk toward the forest. I followed in their footsteps, while at a discreet distance behind me the rest of the entourage brought up the rear.
“I’m deeply grateful to you for lending your support to our cause,” the actress said.
“The destruction of forests is a subject that should concern us all,” replied the Dalai Lama. “I am glad to help.”
The English lady spoke about the importance of forests as the “green lungs” of the planet, essential for converting carbon dioxide into oxygen. Forests are being dramatically reduced in size each day to make way for maize and palm-oil plantations, she pointed out, leading to soil erosion and pollution of vital water supplies, as well as loss of biodiversity. Many species, like the orangutan, are now threatened, she explained, because there are so few places left for them to live.
“Saving the forests is not only a question of money,” she said. “There also has to be awareness and education. We need to motivate as many people as possible to take action, or at the very least, to support the idea of reforestation. Because you are so well known and so widely supported, your support will help us get the message across.”
Taking her hand in his own, His Holiness said, “Together, we can combine our activities for the best result. You have been very, very generous in supporting so much of this work personally. And your support of the Free Tibet campaign and other charities has been exemplary.”
She shrugged modestly. “I just feel it is the right thing to do.”
By now we were walking along a path in the forest. On either side of us, the ground was carpeted in primrose and mistletoe. Large rhododendron bushes blossomed in extravagant displays of pink and red.
“If we allow ourselves to get too caught up in consumerism, we risk destroying all this,” the actress said, gesturing around us.
His Holiness nodded in agreement. “You have very good motivation—giving without expecting to receive something back.”
