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the porch holding the baby, and made for the stairs, nearly knocking over a dazed Penlop. Following her to the second-floor landing, I braced for the explosion when Heather would come upon Chupa-da.
    But there was silence—broken only by a clumping of feet as Heather barged past me down to the porch.
    “Where is he?” she demanded of Leah. As I descended, she added, “I can see he’s not here!”
    Heather loomed over Leah, hands on Gypsy-clad hips. Leah, still holding the baby, had the forbearing look of eternal motherhood.
    “Calm down, Heather. Chupa-da’s gone out. He doesn’t tell me where he goes. He’s the guru, not me.”
    “Guru! He’s got no right. My son, Preston, has more right than him. Who does he think he is?”
    Leah shrugged.
    “Lot of good it does talking to you. You’re one of them. You don’t give a damn what happens here, as long as no one rocks the boat. You can just go on being mommy. Give me that kid. You can take your neuroses out on one less little boy!” She grabbed the baby, stomped down the steps and strode past the tepee to the street. In a moment, I heard the revving of an automobile engine and then the squealing of wheels.
    Looking down at Leah, I asked, “What was all that about?”
    Her head was bowed, her shoulders hunched over the empty space in her lap.
    “You really care a lot about the baby, don’t you?” I asked.
    She nodded. “He’s so little; he needs someone stable. Heather’s just not ready to be a mother. She’s only a child herself. It’s an awful thing to say, but I’m surprised nothing’s happened to him. It’s not that Heather would ever hurt him, not intentionally; it’s just that she doesn’t have the maturity to think beyond herself. When she feels pressed, she puts up her defenses, and she’s only got room for ‘me.’ ”
    Sitting down opposite Leah, I asked, “Why was she so outraged when she heard Chupa-da was acting head of the temple?”
    “Because she doesn’t understand.”
    I waited.
    “Heather is very Western. She thinks that being a guru is like being president of General Motors—you have piles of money and endless power and prestige.”
    “And?”
    “Bhutanese Buddhists believe that each person comes into this incarnation for a purpose and, if your purpose is to learn what’s involved in being head of a temple, fine. But if you have to learn about being a janitor, that’s just as important.”
    “But surely you must have to be holier than most people to be the guru?”
    “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” She brushed off her skirt as if dusting off the remnants of her scene with Heather. The skin on her face was loose, and pouches sagged at either side of her mouth. She could never have been pretty, even as a young woman—her features were too big for her face. But her maternal expression softened their angles and created an impression of pleasant warmth.
    She leaned back. “Padma said you must experience it all. It just happens to have been his job in this incarnation to be the leader.”
    “And Heather doesn’t think that Chupa-da needs that experience?”
    “No, no. Heather couldn’t care less about Chupa-da or his karmic growth. She thinks there’s gain to be had, and she wants it.”
    “Heather wants to be guru!”
    “Oh, dear, I guess I’m not making myself plain. Heather wants to be regent, for her son.”
    I pulled out my pad and made a note. “So you’re saying Heather wants her son—the baby—to be the guru. And she wants to run the place till he’s of age?”
    “Right. I guess I am making sense.”
    “Well, only to a point, I’m afraid. Why would Heather think her baby should be guru?”
    “Succession.”
    “Succession?” I recalled something about deceased gurus being reincarnated, but I assumed that they had to be dead before their spirit moved to another body. For Heather’s baby to be an embodiment of Padmasvana, one of them would have had to be without a spirit for nearly a year.