There was a special kind of astrologer who predicted where the dead would be reborn. They were called death astrologers, and they tended to be strange and solitary men. Often, they were drunks. The royal death astrologer was no exception.One afternoon, I stumbled upon him sitting cross-legged behind the granary, tossing rice into a fire. His hair was long and matted and his bloodshot eyes stared into the flames.“Where has Maya been reborn?” I asked him. “Tushita heaven,” he replied. “She is waiting.”“For what?”His eyes fluttered, his chin dropped to his chest and he began to snore.Early the following morning, I returned, hoping to find him sober, but he wasn’t there.Sita said that he had returned to his village to take care of his ailing mother.I thought of packing a bag and setting out to find him, but it was just one of the many crazy fantasies that came into my mind in those days. In and out, they drifted, circling round and round. I drifted, too, wandering around the palace, arriving in some room or alleyway with no memory of how I’d gotten there.One morning, I found myself in front of the banyan tree where Maya and I had lain, dreaming of the future that had died with her. I lay down on the bare ground. Who needed carpets when they were numb? I had Siddhartha with me. Sita’s mother had swaddled him in blankets, and I set him on the ground beside me. Soon, we were both asleep.I dreamt I was saving Maya from Yama Raj but every time I thought he was gone and breathed a sigh of relief, he would appear again. From behind trees, from under the ground, from behind a wall, he would reach for Maya, to snatch her away from me. He pulled one of her arms and I pulled the other.“Let go!” cried Maya.That was when I awoke. Still half in a dream, I stumbled back to my house. Halfway there, I realised I’d left Siddhartha under the tree! I rushed back, and there was Sita’s mother, with Siddhartha screaming in her arms.“What kind of mother forgets her baby?” she hissed, glaring at me.A disturbed one, I thought.When word spread that I had left Siddhartha under the tree, everyone, even servants, avoided me. Not that I cared what they thought. But I did care about Maya and raising her son was the one thing she would have wanted me to do. I felt deep shame that I had let her down in the most basic way. But the sad truth was that I could not care for anyone, not even myself.One evening, I wandered back to the alleyway where the death astrologer had been chanting near the fire. I sat down where he had been. What was Tushita heaven, I wondered, and who was Maya waiting for?As my mind wandered, my eyes settled on the tangle of vines hanging down over the wall. Hidden behind it was a wooden door.I pushed it open and walked down a narrow alley. At the end was another door. I pushed it, too. Before me, a leaf-covered path wound down between tall trees. Their branches formed a kind of roof. Their roots curled across the path like snakes.The woods were the place of wild animals and dangerous men. Women never walked there alone. I knew I should turn back. But something pulled me forward, and even though darkness was falling, I kept going.I smelt the river before I saw it. A damp green breath wafted through the trees.A little later, the forest thinned. Through the trees, I saw the last glimmering light of day, silver on the water. Then I came to a clearing of blackened earth.The cremation ground! It took me a moment to realise that was where I was, and another moment to imagine Maya being carried there. It was the last place Maya had been … well, not alive, but still in her body. I imagined her covered with flowers and the priests placing her on top of the pyre.To my left, half hidden in the woods, poles held up a thatched roof. That must be where the priests sat and chanted, I thought. I remembered how they’d scoffed at Maya when she told them about seeing Yama Raj, how they’d been so focused on Siddhartha that they had completely missed the fact that Maya was going to die.The path made a wide circle around the cremation ground. Each part of the path felt like a chapter of life. Just past the priests’ hut, ancient trees rose up like solemn elders. At the river’s edge, tall rocks tilted out of the water, like people reaching for opposite shore. Where the path turned back into the woods stood a grove of young trees with leaves that fluttered like laughing children. And at the centre of it all was the charred black earth where Maya’s body had turned to ash. Round and round I circled. Sometimes weeping, sometimes completely attuned to whatever wisdom the trees and river were trying to impart.I must have been walking for hours in the darkness when I noticed a light, no bigger than a firefly, at the edge of the woods. A moment later, thousands of them swarmed in a glittering flock to the centre of the cremation ground where they assembled into the shape of a human form, hovering just above the ground.I rubbed my eyes, sure I was imagining things.When I opened them, what I saw was even more astonishing. Maya was sitting cross-legged, gazing at the ground.“Maya!” I screamed, running to her.The lights scattered instantly, flying out in all directions. “Come back!” I screamed, waving my arms to chase themback together.The harder I waved, the more they scattered, finally disappearing in the high branches of the trees.I fell to the ground and wept. Why did I always have to react so quickly? Why couldn’t I have just stood still and watched?The sky was growing light when I walked back up the path. I was exhausted.“Don’t worry,” I whispered as I stepped back through the old door. “I’ll be back.”I was not sure whether I was talking to Maya or myself.Excerpted with permission from The Girl Who Became a Buddha, Maria Denjongpa, Duckbill.