"It was a kindly office rendered him By a fast friend, Kunda his name, that brought, He far from meaning it, the master's end. Kunda prepared his master's food, a dish Of swine's flesh dried, with savory messes dressed. Our lord waxed weary with walking, for he was old; Full fifty years long since his wasted youth (Wasted his youth had been on fleshly lusts), He had gone the beggar's ways from door to door While he taught men how to escape from life; Weary thus, Buddha rested in a grove Of mangoes; his disciples, a great band, Accompanying. Kunda's was the grove, and he Sat by the master's side, and with his ears Drank in deep draughts of wisdom from those lips. Then he besought the master to partake, The master with his disciples to partake, Refreshment on the morrow at his house; By silence Buddha signified assent. "So at the hour boar's flesh was offered him; And he did not refuse it for himself, But bade his host give other food to them, His brethren; sweet rice was their share, and cakes. Some prescience warned him what the end would be; 'For other none, save such as I myself,' The Blesséd One to Kunda listening said, 'Were able to receive this nourishment, The boar's flesh, and convert it to right use. So what remains thereof when I have done, Bury it under ground and eat it not.' So spoke lord Buddha and partook the meat. But he was seized straightway with colic pangs That griped him sore; long time be sought in vain For ease to his distress; but he was calm And fully self-possessed amid it all, Uttering no complaint. Relieved at last A little, he to his attendant said-- Ânanda that one was, the Venerable-- 'On now to Kusinârâ I will go.' "But going, he fell weary with the way And rested underneath a tree. 'I thirst,' To Ânanda he said; 'fetch me to drink.' But Ânanda replied: 'This stream, behold, Is turbid, roiled with many passing wheels: Yon other river is a pleasant stream, With banks that make it easy of access.' 'I thirst, O Ânanda,' the master said A second time, repeating the same words. And yet a second time too Ânanda Repeated that the nearer stream was foul, And the one farther on approachable And clear. A third time Buddha said, 'I thirst,' And a third time repeated those same words. Then Ânanda no longer made demur, But took a bowl and to the streamlet went. The water that had just been roiled with wheels Was flowing limpid, bright, and sweet. He thought, 'How wonderful, how marvellous, the power, The might, of the Tathâgata!' But he, The Blesséd One, received the bowl and drank. (Tathâgata we call our Buddha, so Honoring him as one who holds himself Filially faithful to ancestral ways.)