The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Power of Meow by David Michie

Author:David Michie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hay House
Published: 2015-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

How often, dear reader, do you have the chance to inspect a rare and sacred treasure of great antiquity at very close proximity?

I thought so.

I’m in much the same position—which was why I followed the Dalai Lama across the courtyard to a room adjoining the Namgyal temple late one morning. I had the prospect of being able to do exactly that. His Holiness had also invited several senior monastery lamas to join him in receiving a guest. That this morning’s visit clearly concerned a matter of potentially great significance.

The visitor, Lobsang Rabten, was in his early twenties and had escaped from Tibet only the week before. He was extremely nervous. To begin with, he couldn’t even bring himself to make eye contact with any of the lamas. Emaciated and wearing threadbare clothing, it was clear that his flight from Tibet—like that of most refugees—had been a most harrowing ordeal. On a low table in front of him he had placed a very battered cardboard box.

Observing Lobsang’s agitation, His Holiness ordered Tibetan butter tea from the Namgyal kitchen. Then he sat next to him and asked a few questions about his home village. His visitor began to relax after discovering that the lamas were familiar with several of his village elders and, in particular, that his late father had been known to the Dalai Lama for his accomplishments as a meditator. Sitting next to His Holiness, my presence unquestioned, I was as curious as the others in the room about the contents of the cardboard box.

“After the Chinese invasion of Tibet in 1959, my father removed the altar in our home and set up a shrine in a nearby cave,” Lobsang told the lamas once the butter tea had been served and the Dalai Lama’s presence had begun to take its ever-powerful effect. “He knew the mountains very well. There is one particular cave with a narrow, concealed entrance that opens out into a large, dry chamber. It is perfect as a chapel. It was here that my father arranged the family statues and hung the thangkas.

“For sixty-five years, the cave was his own small temple. One night a few months ago, there was a small tremor. Father went out to the cave the next morning, feeling anxious. When he came back, he told us the cave was untouched—except for a place near the back, where a piece of rock had fallen to the floor. The rock had been crumbling away from the top, and he had been using it as a shelf, but he kept nothing of value there, only a few sticks of incense.

“It was only days later, as he was inspecting the damage more closely with a flashlight, that he noticed a dark object at the very back, next to where the rock had fallen away. He discovered it to be a leather bag that contained a very old-looking metal tube. Sealed.”

Lobsang was now able to look directly at the Dalai Lama. The Dalai Lama’s eyes mirrored his own excitement.

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