I was just a young novice monk when I saw him for the last time—the Blessed One, the Buddha. My name is Nanda, and though many may not remember me, I was there in Kusinara the day the world grew quiet. I had joined the monastery when I was twelve, leaving the heat of village life behind to follow the path of peace. At that time, I didn’t understand all the teachings. I wasn’t even sure why we gave up so much. But what I saw on the Buddha’s final day changed everything.
The Buddha, whose birth name was Siddhartha Gautama, was not just our teacher—he was our beacon through the dark forest of suffering. Born a prince in a kingdom called Kapilavastu, he left his riches behind after seeing sickness, old age, and death. He searched for answers and, after years of meditation, attained enlightenment under the Bodhi tree. For the rest of his life, he traveled, teaching the Dharma—the path to end suffering through mindfulness, compassion, and letting go.
When we came to Kusinara, the forest was warm and quiet. The Buddha was old—eighty, with sun-kissed skin lined with wisdom. His steps had grown slower, his voice softer. We all sensed the nearness of his final breath, though no one wanted to say it.
That evening, as the sun slipped behind the sala trees, their white blossoms falling like snow, he lay on his right side beneath their shade. Around him were many who loved him—Ananda, his personal attendant and cousin; monks who had walked with him for years; and villagers who came bringing food and prayers.
Ananda, who had served the Buddha faithfully, knelt beside him. He was shaking, struggling to hold his tears. “Blessed One,” Ananda said, “how will we go on without you?”
The Buddha looked upon him kindly. “Ananda,” he said, “do not weep. All things that are born must someday pass away. This is the way of nature. Be islands unto yourselves. Rely on the Dharma. Let the truth be your guide.”
And then came the words I would never forget for as long as I lived: “All created things are subject to vanish. Strive on with diligence.”
To many, they might sound simple. But in those few words, I saw the heart of everything he had taught us. Nothing stays forever—joy, sorrow, life, or even the Buddha himself. But we are not to despair. Instead, we are to practice—mindfully, compassionately, without clinging.
The sala trees seemed to lean in, their petals falling all around us. Some monks wept, some sat in silent meditation, and others whispered prayers. I simply watched, my chest full, my breath steady.
That night, through my tears, I realized that the Buddha’s passing wasn’t an ending—it was his final teaching. Not to be attached, not even to him. To love and let go. To walk the path, even when the guide is gone.
I’m older now, and the world has changed. But every day, I rise before sunrise with his final words in my heart. “Strive on with diligence.” That means I keep trying, no matter how hard. I try to be kind, to be mindful, and to help others. And when things fall apart—as they sometimes do—I remember that nothing lasts forever. And that’s okay.
For that day in Kusinara was the day I understood—the Buddha did not leave us empty. He left us with the path.
I was just a young novice monk when I saw him for the last time—the Blessed One, the Buddha. My name is Nanda, and though many may not remember me, I was there in Kusinara the day the world grew quiet. I had joined the monastery when I was twelve, leaving the heat of village life behind to follow the path of peace. At that time, I didn’t understand all the teachings. I wasn’t even sure why we gave up so much. But what I saw on the Buddha’s final day changed everything.
The Buddha, whose birth name was Siddhartha Gautama, was not just our teacher—he was our beacon through the dark forest of suffering. Born a prince in a kingdom called Kapilavastu, he left his riches behind after seeing sickness, old age, and death. He searched for answers and, after years of meditation, attained enlightenment under the Bodhi tree. For the rest of his life, he traveled, teaching the Dharma—the path to end suffering through mindfulness, compassion, and letting go.
When we came to Kusinara, the forest was warm and quiet. The Buddha was old—eighty, with sun-kissed skin lined with wisdom. His steps had grown slower, his voice softer. We all sensed the nearness of his final breath, though no one wanted to say it.
That evening, as the sun slipped behind the sala trees, their white blossoms falling like snow, he lay on his right side beneath their shade. Around him were many who loved him—Ananda, his personal attendant and cousin; monks who had walked with him for years; and villagers who came bringing food and prayers.
Ananda, who had served the Buddha faithfully, knelt beside him. He was shaking, struggling to hold his tears. “Blessed One,” Ananda said, “how will we go on without you?”
The Buddha looked upon him kindly. “Ananda,” he said, “do not weep. All things that are born must someday pass away. This is the way of nature. Be islands unto yourselves. Rely on the Dharma. Let the truth be your guide.”
And then came the words I would never forget for as long as I lived: “All created things are subject to vanish. Strive on with diligence.”
To many, they might sound simple. But in those few words, I saw the heart of everything he had taught us. Nothing stays forever—joy, sorrow, life, or even the Buddha himself. But we are not to despair. Instead, we are to practice—mindfully, compassionately, without clinging.
The sala trees seemed to lean in, their petals falling all around us. Some monks wept, some sat in silent meditation, and others whispered prayers. I simply watched, my chest full, my breath steady.
That night, through my tears, I realized that the Buddha’s passing wasn’t an ending—it was his final teaching. Not to be attached, not even to him. To love and let go. To walk the path, even when the guide is gone.
I’m older now, and the world has changed. But every day, I rise before sunrise with his final words in my heart. “Strive on with diligence.” That means I keep trying, no matter how hard. I try to be kind, to be mindful, and to help others. And when things fall apart—as they sometimes do—I remember that nothing lasts forever. And that’s okay.
For that day in Kusinara was the day I understood—the Buddha did not leave us empty. He left us with the path.
