"It may be, my disciples, that your thought is: 'The Word has lost its Master; we have no longer a Master.' But this ye are not to think. The doctrine, my disciples, which I have taught you, that will be your Master, when I am gone. Therefore, cling to no external support. Hold fast to the doctrine as a support! Be your own light, your own support."
Me also he noticed then—full of pity did the look of the All-Pitiful One rest on me, and I felt that my pilgrimage had not been in vain.
After a short time he spoke again—
"It might perhaps be, my disciples, that in some one of you a doubt should arise with regard to the Master or with regard to the doctrine. Ask freely, disciples, in order that ye may not have to reproach yourselves later, that ye may not say: 'The Master was with us, face to face, and we did not ask him.'"
Thus he spoke, and gave to every one the opportunity of speaking, but all remained silent.
How, indeed, could a doubt have remained in the presence of the parting Master? Lying there, with the gentle light of the moon flowing over him—as though heavenly genii were preparing his last bath; rained upon by the falling blossoms—as though earth were bewailing her loss; in the midst of the deeply moved band of disciples, himself unmoved, quiet, cheerful; who did not feel that this Perfectly Holy One had for ever cast off all imperfections, had overcome all evil? What is called "the visible Nirvana," that we saw before us, in the luminous features of the departing Buddha.
Ananda, stirred to the very depths of his soul, folded his hands and said—
"How wonderful, of a truth, O Master, is this. Verily,
