Buddha’s Death is one of the best poems ever written in the annals, chronicles of Indic English verse which a few of us could feel it then rather than today and even now the reading public know it not. Romesh Chunder Dutt (1848-1909), who was an ICS, is the writer of the poem which is in the form of a translation. There is something of heresy in it. Dutt is not merely an administrator but is a scholar, an economist, a historian, a professor and a translator who used to teach at University College, London.

Lays of Ancient India: Selections from Indian Poetry Rendered into English Verse is the work of Romesh Chunder Dutt, and the book was published in 1894. Here the poem figures under Passages from Buddhist Scriptures.

Buddha travelled many countries and lands traversing them, crossing beyond into the boundaries lying far flung, imparting moral lessons and precepts, instructing humanity and his gospels reached far and wide till he grew old. Wherever he went there was an aura of his own. Nature seemed to be blissful and bountiful showering upon in its own way through goodness shown, welcome extended to the Great Master. Trees blossomed and fruits hung on. Flowers bloomed untimely. Heavenly music struck from the unknown sources. Fragrance overtook by surprise and the scent seemed to be so sweet and full of aroma.

Unmoved by these, the Master whispered into the ears of the beloved disciple about the futility of all these things. To be holy from within is the most important thing, to be pure from one’s within. If you are loyal, it is important, if you are dutiful otherwise things do not make a way for. To be good is it all, how to noble and kind and merciful. Reference is like a flower. Purity and piety come from one's within and we need to be pietistic.

Night came upon when death was imminent and Buddha lay dying, just before that a Brahman came seeking after truth whom Ananda barred from meeting, asking and disturbing the Master, but he heard the inquisitive soul questioning out of his utter curiosity even though writhing in pain and unable to speak. Even in dying accents he made him understand, tried to quench his thirst.

The man of wisdom never frustrates a soul so inquisitive after spiritual quest. A good soul is supposed to be patient and bearing even though is under some strain and stress and such an extraordinary nobility we could see it in Buddha.

1.

Thus in many lands they wandered,
Buddha and his faithful friend,
Teaching truth to many nations,
Till his life approached its end.
And they say, along the pathway,
As the saintly Master went.
Fruit trees blossomed out of season
And a lovely fragrance lent !
And that flowers and sandal-powder
Gently fell on him from high,
And came strains of heavenly music
Gently wafted from the sky !

2.

But the saintly Master whispered
To his friend beloved and blest,
“ 'Tis not thus, O friend Ananda !
That the Buddha's honoured best.
Not by flowers or sandal-powder,
Not by music's heavenly strain,
Is the soul's true worship rendered,
Useless are these things and vain !
But the brother and the sister,
Man devout and woman holy, —
Pure in life, in duty faithful, —
They 'perform the worship truly ! "

3.

Night came on, and saintly Buddha
Slept in suffering, sick and wan,
When a Brahman, seeking wisdom,
Came to see the holy man.
Anxiously Ananda stopped him,
But spoke Buddha, though in pain,
" He who comes to seek for wisdom
Shall not come to me in vain !
" And he to the pious stranger
Told the truth in language plain,
Taught the law with dying accents,
Stopped, and never spoke again !

From the Mahaparinirvana Sutta.