Growl like a wolf

Paltrül was sitting quietly with Nyoshul when suddenly he asked: “Do I smell like the dung that hangs under a dog’s tail?” Nyoshul was quite startled by the question and could find no immediate answer. Why was Paltrül asking him such a bizarre question? “No,” he answered. “Then why do so many flies buzz around me?” Nyoshul didn’t see any flies. He started to feel as if something unusual was about to happen, and Paltrül caught his look of bemused incomprehension, “There’s one very large fly at the door at this very moment, and he’s buzzing fit to burst!” Nyoshul looked at the door but still didn’t see any flies. “Just look, Nyoshul. Outside the door! Go see what sort of fly this is!” Bewildered again by his teacher’s peculiar drift of language, Nyoshul got up and went to the door. As he walked across the room he did start to hear some sort of droning noise. When he opened the door, what did he see but the largest maroon and yellow fly he’d ever seen in his life! It was a monk making prostrations and chanting the refuge and bodhisatva vows at astonishing speed. “Hey-hey-hey! You out there! Quit that nonsense! Immediately!” yelled Paltrül. The young Lama halted abruptly in his prostrations and was ushered inside. “Yah... venerable fly... why – are you buzzing at my door?” Paltrül enquired. The monastic tulku was evidently unnerved by Paltrül, but was not one of those flatterers who gush in grandiose terms to show how humile they are. He answered simply that he was a Nyingma monk who had been inspired by the lineage which Paltrül held and that he had wished to meet him and receive transmission directly. “Mmmm...” Paltrül pondered, “Then why grovel at my door in this loathsome manner – do you think Padmasambhava lives inside or something?” The tulku replied that he did not really know who was inside, if it was not Dza Paltrül. The conversation went backwards and forwards for a while in this style until Paltrül was sure that he did not have an obsequious sycophant before him. Paltrül never had immense patience with grovelling flatterers. The tulku was quite bright and answered every question that Paltrül put to him. He seemed to display wit and intelligence, but without impertinence or aggression. Once the questioning was out of the way Paltrül gave the Lama the transmission he requested and they sat and drank tea together with Nyoshul. While drinking his tea the monk surreptitiously picked the odd hair off the carpet in order to take them away as a blessing. He had obviously heard that Paltrül didn’t like this kind of thing very much, and decided to obtain his blessings in a furtive manner. “Just look, Nyoshul!” Paltrül directed his disciple’s attention to their guest’s activities, “what’s this insect up to now!” The tulku apologised for his clandestine collection of Paltrül’s hair, but explained that the sheep in his locality were prey to wolves and that he had thought that tying the hair to them would be a protection. Paltrül looked quizzical, “Really... you don’t say...” It was quite evident that their guest wanted the hair for himself and his own disciples, but it was also evident to Paltrül that he was a sincere practitioner with a kind and generous heart. It was clear that he had his disciples’ benefit in mind, and so Paltrül did something highly unusual – he gave his guest a relic. An old ngakpa skirt he sometimes wore was falling apart, and so he tore off a long strip of it and gave it to his visitor, laughing uproariously: “Take this then, you cunning wolf... if as you say, your ‘flock’ need protection. With a shepherd like you they need all the help they can get! But growl like a wolf rather than buzzing like a blue-bottle when you call on me again!”