"I've never been to India," Squirrelly had said. "I don't think."
"It is a wonderful land, not only because it is the cradle of Buddhism, but because it is free. Unlike Tibet. "
"After I'm done, Tibet will be free."
"First you must relearn your faith."
"I brought my entire collection of Hermann Hesse and William S. Burroughs books."
The two looked blank. Cute but blank.
Squirrelly showed them her copy of Dharma Lion and after Kula has translated the title, Lobsang had smiled happily. They were so easy to please.
So Squirrelly had sat down to read. The funny thing was, her copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance had vanished. She knew she had brought it aboard. They had hardly let her bring anything. Lobsang had turned away most of her luggage, saying that her purpose as the Bunji Lama was to renounce the physical world.
They let her keep her stash of bhang. For some reason, they had no problem with that. That was when Squirrelly knew that she was going to really like being a Buddhist.
The more she read, the more it confirmed her sense that she had found the perfect spiritual identity in the perfect body. She was the Bunji Lama and she was still Squirrelly Chicane. It was better than sharing that Siamese soul with Mae West.
She liked everything she read about Buddhism. All people and things were in harmony, because everything that happened was predestined to happen. Therefore, no one ever screwed up in the cosmic sense.
"It's all scripted!" Squirrelly had blurted out in a moment of true epiphany. "It all connects!"
Of course, killing was prohibited. Yet no person or thing ever really died in the absolute Western sense of dying. Instead, a soul moved up or down the karmic ladder according to the life that had been led. So while it was bad to kill, no one should be punished for it. Karma would take care of everything.
Further, there were seven heavens and seven hells, instead of the harsh pass-fail Christian system. When you died, you dropped your body like last year's fashions. And when you wanted to pray, you spun a little gimcrack and it prayed for you.
Wonderfully balanced, unjudgmental and handsoff, it was the perfect belief system, Squirrelly decided.
And Buddhas. There were hundreds of Buddhas. As the Bunji Lama, Squirrelly was the reincarnation of the Buddha to Come, who was a really good Buddha to be because everyone looked forward to his return. As a Buddha, Squirrelly would be continually reborn into the world in order to regenerate it by relieving its suffering.
"This makes perfect sense to me," Squirrelly said, patting the dyed-saffron curls that peeped out from under her miterlike lama's cap.
Then the engine whine began to change pitch, and Kula came back from the pilot's compartment to say, "We have arrived, Bunji"
"Fabulous," said Squirrelly, going to a window.
She looked down and saw nothing. Literally. The earth below was like freshly washed blackboard.
"Where is the city? Where are the lights?"
"They are telling us that there are no lights," Kula said unconcernedly.
"What happened to them?"
"No electricity."
"How thoughtful. Conserving the lights at night when they're not needed."
"They are also forbidding us to land."
"Why?"
"The Hindu fear Beijing's displeasure."
"So what do we do?"
Kula beamed. "We land, of course. For we fear no one's displeasure but Buddha's. "
The landing was rough. The airport was without power, too. So there was no radar in the tower, no marker lights on the runways, and the boarding ramps were inoperative.
Squirrelly didn't care. The jet's flat tires could be fixed, and she didn't need a ramp. She took a puff of her roach and closed her eyes. But Kula pulled her back before she could invoke her newfound powers of levitation.
After they had rolled the air stairs up to the plane, Kula threw open the hatch. Squirrelly, trying to keep her maroon lama's hat in place, stepped out onto the top step.
First she noticed the crowds. There were none.
Then she noticed the smell.
"What is that awful smell?" she asked, pinching her nose shut and breathing through her mouth.
"What smell?" asked Kula.
Squirrelly yanked him out onto the step with her.
"That smell!"
"That is India."
"It smells like a cesspool," Squirrelly said in a nasal tone.
Kula nodded. "Yes, India."
Lobsang joined them, tasted the air with his long nose, seemed to find it acceptable and said, "We have landed in India!"
"Does it all smell like this?" Squirrelly asked, still holding her nose.
"This good?" asked Lobsang.
"This bad."
"Some of it is worse. Come, we cannot tarry. Chinese agents may be lurking about."
"Shouldn't we wait for the reception committee? Usually I get the key to the city when I land in a foreign capital."
"The key to New Delhi," Kula said, hustling her down the steps, "is not to remain here for very long."