The Lama who dropped by for dinner

by Woffles Wu

Published on 2nd March 2020, The Straits Times

For 20 years, my family and I had been blessed by the presence and friendship of someone so holy and so revered without knowing it.

Exactly 20 years ago, I was having a Saturday lunch with my then-boss and dear friend, Professor S.T. Lee, at a new restaurant in Robertson Quay.

As we ordered our food and started talking, I couldn't help but notice a monk dressed in orange and saffron robes seated at one of the alfresco tables outside in the sweltering heat.

After about 15 minutes, he was still sitting there. Perhaps he was meditating. I mentioned this to S.T.: "Look, there's a monk sitting all alone in the hot sun and he is not eating or drinking anything. Shouldn't we do something?"

S.T., a devout Buddhist, explained that monks don't usually go out to restaurants and order food. They need to have food given to them and that's why, in ancient tradition, they all walked around with an alms bowl and people would put food into it for their sustenance.

I beckoned a waiter and asked him to take the monk's order. I would foot the bill.

When the waiter approached him to tell him this, the monk looked at me, smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement. Soon his food arrived, but it was really hot where he was sitting, so I got up and invited him to join us at our table.

He was a bald, 50-ish, rotund man with a gentle, kindly face lined by the sun and hardship. A purplish cloth bag hung on his shoulder. He ate quickly and hungrily. I ordered a second plate of chicken cutlet and fries for him.

We tried communicating, but it was difficult as neither S.T. nor myself could speak Mandarin properly. The monk, whom I later learnt was a Lama, spoke an equally strange Mandarin with a heavy accent we had trouble understanding.

Still, we managed to find out his name was Lama Kunga. He travelled throughout Asia, spending two to three weeks in each location, before moving on. In Singapore, his temple was somewhere in Pasir Ris.

After lunch, I offered to give him a lift back to his small hotel in Temple Street. When we got there, he asked me to go to his room as he wanted to give me something.

I declined but he was insistent so I parked my car and went up with him to a very small room with a mattress on the floor. He took out a small object from his suitcase, closed his eyes, chanted over it, then handed it to me. It was a beautiful little cloth patch tied with colourful threads, like a five-stone.

He said to me: "You wear. Lucky. Baohu (protect)!"

I thanked him and dug in my pockets for some cash to give him. I also gave him my calling card and said goodbye. As I walked down the stairs to my car, I thought it was the end of the saga. Just a chance encounter.

Three months later, to my surprise, the Lama called me on my mobile. He said he would like to meet me again. I arranged a dinner in Chinatown, where we talked about mundane things like the weather and the work I do. Nothing earth-shattering. I was half-expecting him to try and convert me, but he didn't. At the end of the meal, he gave me another little cloth charm and I gave him a red packet with some money in it.

Not being particularly religious and not someone to wear things around my neck, I hung the two items on a lighting feature just outside my bedroom. It is shaped like a leafless tree with multiple branches of LED lights. Very pretty at night. The little charms hung like Christmas decorations.

The meetings with the Lama continued every three to four months. He would call me, we would have dinner, chat as best as we could, then he would present me with another charm or token. All these went onto my tree. I began to look forward to his calls. I felt comfortable with him. He had such a serene and patient soul.

After the first few meetings, I brought him home to have a good home-cooked meal with my family. He would commute by train to the MRT station near my house and I would pick him up. My mother enjoyed that he always had a hearty appetite.

When dinner was over, he would sit in an armchair and watch television with us. My two big Alsatians would sit quietly by his feet and a little parrot I kept in a cage sat on his shoulder and pecked at his ear lobe. I like to think he felt comfortable in our home.

Once, when I was feeling troubled, he sensed it and spontaneously recited a blessing for me. I must say I felt better after that. And the problem did go away.

We met in this fashion every year for the last 20 years. In hindsight, it's amazing how we developed a friendship when so little verbal communication occurred. It's almost like we could communicate just by being in each other's presence. It was very odd.

Last year, in February, the Lama came to my home for the last time. He had lost a lot of weight. When I inquired about his health, he said he had difficulty eating and swallowing. I didn't like the sound of this. I made an appointment for him to see a surgical colleague and, the next day, a gastroscopy was performed.

My worst fears were confirmed, "I'm sorry," said my friend, "it's an oesophageal cancer and quite advanced. It's unresectable."

Frantic, I called an oncologist friend for help. He kindly started the Lama on a course of chemotherapy, without charging him. I was very grateful.

A devotee couple at his temple offered him a room in their apartment, where I visited him every week for the next two months. I hoped he would recover, but sadly, he didn't. I was out of town when he died peacefully in his sleep.

It was only after his death and cremation that an elder of the temple called to thank me for taking care of their venerable Master. She told me he was a Lama of the highest order. This was discovered when they examined his exhumed bones and found flecks of gold embedded within and ruby-like crystals among the ashes.

She informed me that this phenomenon was seen only with the passing of someone of divine purity and holiness.

She said he had a huge following and devotees had to line up every day to pay their respects to him. She added that he had a great fondness for my family and the only time he ever left the temple was to visit us.

I was astounded. All these years, my family and I had been blessed by the presence and friendship of someone so holy and so revered without knowing it. I should have treated him with more respect and reverence but, instead, I regarded him more like a family uncle. Perhaps that's why he delighted in our company.