Then he spake his
bidding thus to Ananda: "Between those twin Sala trees, sweeping and
watering, make a clean space, and then arrange my sitting-mat. At
midnight coming, I shall die."
Ananda hearing the bidding of his master, his breath was choked with
heart-sadness; but going and weeping he obeyed the instruction, and
spreading out the mat he came forthwith back to his master and
acquainted him. Tathagata having lain down with his head towards the
north and on his right side, slept thus. Resting upon his hand as on a
pillow with his feet crossed, even as a lion-king; all grief is passed,
his last-born body from this one sleep shall never rise. His followers
round him, in a circle gathered, sigh dolefully: "The eye of the world
is now put out!" The wind is hushed, the forest streams are silent, no
voice is heard of bird or beast. The trees sweat out large flowing
drops, flowers and leaves out of season singly fall, whilst men and
Devas, not yet free from desire, are filled with overwhelming fear. Thus
were they like men wandering through the arid desert, the road full
dangerous, who fail to reach the longed-for hamlet; full of fear they go
on still, dreading they might not find it, their heart borne down with
fear they faint and droop. And now Tathagata, aroused from sleep,
addressed Ananda thus: "Go! tell the Mallas, the time of my decease is
come; they, if they see me not, will ever grieve and suffer deep
regret.
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