As I approached the temple grounds of Gyuto Tantric University in Sidhbari, India, two policemen armed with AK-47s approached me. They had discovered on their guard a small puppy that lived under the stairs of the temple and were pointing to the form now lying lifelessly on the grass below. She had apparently been attacked the night before, but in India dogs are seen to be as insignificant as street rats and humans rarely want to interact with them. I lifted the puppy into my arms and took her to the path that circles the dimly lit temple to see her condition under the lights. She seemed near death and was obviously in great pain, her breath labored and sporadic. Her eyes were lifeless and distant. A feeling of great sadness overcame me. How could I assist this tiny being lying unresponsive in my hands? What could I do to help relieve her deep suffering? How can one ever really help others when circumstances seem so hopeless? How can I do anything?

Out of the subtle shades of the morning darkness, a shadowed figure accompanied by a robed attendant emerged from around the corner of the quiescent temple. As they approached, I recognized His Eminence Gyaltsab Rinpoche, one of the principle teachers of His Holiness the 17th Karmapa, eagerly walking toward me in his practice of morning kora. Within a breath, he stood in front of me, silently staring at the helpless puppy in my hands with genuine concern. Without the words to express the details of the situation or the understanding of what to do, I laid the puppy’s broken body at the Tibetan lama’s feet.

For a moment, everything in the environment was ultra still and quiet, then the low hum of His Eminence’s prayers filled the air. The attendant, the policemen and I watched motionless. When His Eminence finished the prayers, he paused for a moment, looked at me with encouragement and continued on his way, without words, into the growing light of morning.

I took the puppy to my room, wrapped her up in my favorite black sweatshirt and fell asleep on the floor with her extremely weak and damaged body lying next to my heart, expecting not to see her alive again.

When I awoke only two hours later, she was inches away from my face, sitting upright, staring at me with a look of confusion as to how she had acquired such comfort. Shocked, I began to inspect the dog. She was still in pain, but she was alive and doing remarkably well. I gave her milk and watched with amazement as she drank without hesitation. To my surprise, she began to slowly roam around the unfamiliar territory, sniffing and exploring as if nothing had happened. A miracle?

Two days later, I happily took the recovering puppy back to the temple to visit Gyaltsab Rinpoche. As I walked through the monastery courtyard, several monks sat on the outer perimeter cement wall and watched with silent amazement that anyone would carry a street dog to the temple. I just smiled. They seemed to be intrigued yet stayed at a culturally comfortable distance.

When we entered His Eminence’s quarters, he requested that the puppy be put on the table in front of him. Focused and with great care, he held her body with one hand and gently patted her with the other, softly blowing mantras into her ears. The puppy sat perfectly still and at ease, accepting every gesture, every word with what seemed a deep satisfaction. The exchange was magical in the most ordinary way. It was so simple. It was compassion. I was watching something so wonderfully familiar on a simple human level yet so rarely seen (or trusted) in the relative world these days. I was speechless. For two days.

On the day I left Sidbhari, I went to the temple to say goodbye to the puppy and to bring a last offering of milk. Entering the grounds, I observed with gratitude five young monks from the monastery feeding her and some other puppies fresh milk—and lots of it. Nearby, several other monks were carefully arranging a bed of old rags under the shade of a verdant tree. They were deep in the concentration of care and looked up only occasionally with bright eyes and confident smiles. The blessings of the lama were once again apparent. It seemed a miracle that this sage could save a life from certain death. However, the true miracle was visible in the hearts of others who had witnessed the activity and were reflecting it everywhere with joy. I walked away from the temple that day inspired and with a clear sense of appreciation for what I had seen through the incredible grace of the selfless master’s prayers.

A few months later I made the lengthy trip to Ralang Monastery, Gyaltsab Rinpoche’s seat in Sikkim, to see His Eminence and ask some questions that had been sparked that day in Sidbhari. The trip was well worth the hard effort (purification!). The many obstacles created by the absence of any security or comfort throughout the entire journey are now my ornaments, and were truly the best teachings on patience, tolerance and concentration one could ever ask for. After six days of traveling in India alone, sleeping in places that for some people are a hell realm themselves, praying over every plate of food eaten that it might be bacteria-free, the arrival in Ralang was a triumphant moment indeed.