Read Online Karma by Susan Dunlap - Free Book Online Page B

“Heather doesn’t strike me as that involved in religion to see her son as a reincarnation of Padmasvana.”
    “Oh, dear, now I’m not being clear again. That’s what my ex-husband always said. I don’t mean anything about incarnations or cosmic-ness or anything like that. I don’t really understand it all, though I have made some effort. Despite what Heather says, she has made none. She does nothing but sit in her tepee and listen to country music on the radio. What Heather thinks is that Preston is the logical one to succeed Padmasvana.”
    At last I was beginning to catch her drift. Still, I asked, “Why?”
    “Maybe you’d better have a look at Preston.”

Chapter 8
    P RESTON, OF COURSE, WAS off with his mother. Everyone in this case seemed to be absent when I wanted them. I tramped back to the temple for another try at Braga.
    He, too, was still missing, but I did find Chupa-da. The robed Bhutanese was seated at Braga’s desk, hunched over a pile of papers.
    “Heather is very angry with you,” I said, for openers.
    Chupa-da looked up, only very mild signs of annoyance breaking through the blankness of his expression.
    “She says you have no right to succeed Padmasvana.”
    “She is ignorant.” He turned his attention back to the papers.
    “Is Preston Padmasvana’s child?”
    His face flushed, but he controlled it before speaking. “Padmasvana was celibate. His mind was on things higher than … Heather.”
    “Then what is she doing here?”
    “I do not know. Padmasvana in his wisdom let her remain.”
    I could see that I was getting nowhere. Moving closer to the desk, I glanced at the top paper, a list of names and amounts.
    “Is that the contributors’ list?”
    He turned the sheet over. “This is the business of the temple.”
    “I want to see the books.”
    “You cannot.”
    “Of course I can.”
    Chupa-da hesitated. “The books are locked in the safe.”
    I nodded.
    “Only Mr. Braga can open the safe. He has the combination.”
    “I’ll wait.”
    From the strained look on Chupa-da’s face, he was employing all his monastic training in order to preserve his equanimity. “There is nothing to see. The temple takes in money from contributors and from ceremonies. It is not much. We are many people. We have expenses.”
    “Such as?”
    He took a breath. “We pay for our light, our heat, for the water we drink, for what we eat and for our robes. And we pay a large amount for the land and buildings.”
    “You’re buying the land?”
    “Not I. Not Padmasvana. Mr. Braga.”
    “Rexford Braga’s using the temple’s money to buy the land?”
    Chupa-da nodded slowly. “It is the foolishness of the Western mind. In Bhutan we know that it is foolish to think that a little man can possess the earth. The earth and the rivers are like the air and the rain. But here men play a game with each other; they pretend they can possess the earth; they trade it back and forth, like children with trinkets.”
    Before I could speak, Chupa-da added, “This land is a sought-after trinket. Mr. Braga has been forced to evict the realtor seeking it. Mr. Braga ordered him to stay away.”
    We’d been over this ground before. I nodded. “And did he? Stay away, I mean.”
    “At first, no. Each time the man came, a Penlop found Mr. Braga and Mr. Braga had the Penlops remove him. The realtor was always in the temple or inside the ashram. He was not hard to find.”
    “What was the man’s name?”
    “I do not know. I know him only to see him.”
    Glancing back at the desk, I said, “About those papers…”
    “Wait. I will think. He was part of a company. Will that help?”
    “It might.”
    “He is the age of Mr. Braga. He is not tall. He has little hair left. He has a very large nose and stomach.”
    “His company?”
    “It is called Comfort.”
    “Okay, I’ll check him out.”
    It was getting toward dusk as I drove across town. If I had been higher in the hills, I might have caught a glimpse of