The abbot arranged for Sangay to set out at first light with a letter for the police station in Thimphu, reporting the crimes of murder and theft.

As the last messenger left his office, Abbot Lhamo got up from his desk and, pushing aside a curtain, stepped into a concealed room that led off his office. I heard him move around for some time, the opening of drawers and rustle of papers, before he reappeared with an envelope in his hands. It was fashioned from a thick, fibrous paper I’d never seen before, and both longer and wider than standard.

‘This is a duty I’d hoped never to have to carry out,’ the abbot said. ‘Lama Tsering lodged this with me the day he arrived at Tiger’s Nest. He left the instruction that if he died before revealing certain information, this was to be passed onto the chosen recipient.’

I glanced at the ancient envelope before our eyes met, and he responded to my unspoken thoughts, ‘What’s happened to Lama Tsering is a personal tragedy. Now, of all times, when he was about to fulfill the responsibility he had been waiting all these years to accomplish.’

‘The May full moon,’ I murmured.

‘He told me about the significance of your return. Try not to grieve for Lama Tsering. He was one of our most realized practitioners. Rest assured he is no longer limited by the constraints of an old, human body. He abides in the boundless radiance of the dharmakaya.

‘What is of the utmost importance now is to achieve the purpose for which Lama Tsering was preparing you—not just for your own sake, but for the sake of countless living beings. This is now your responsibility, your special privilege. The lamp is handed on.’

For some moments the abbot stood, eyes closed, softly reciting a mantra. Then with all due solemnity, and with both hands, he handed the envelope to me.

With my head bowed, I accepted it with both hands, and as he looked on, I turned it over. The aging sealed flap on the reverse side was desiccated and peeled away easily. Inside was a single page, also a thick parchment of a kind I’d never seen, folded twice. A letter from a different age. I immediately recognized Lama Tsering’s handwriting. Written in English and printed carefully, while the ink had faded, the short note was still clearly legible.

In 1959 a sealed scroll was brought from Tibet to safety. The scroll was one of the most precious texts, not only of our lineage, but of the entire Tibetan Buddhist tradition. Discovered in a Tibetan cave in which the glorious Padmasambhava was known to meditate in the 8th century, it is believed to be a terma, composed by Guru Rinpoche himself.