{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_2500/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_2500","id":"gutenberg_2500","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2500","summary":null,"tags":["Brahmans -- Fiction","Buddhism -- Fiction","Buddhist philosophy -- Fiction","Category: German Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Gautama Buddha -- Fiction","India -- Religion -- Fiction","India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction","Nobel Prizes in Literature","Self-realization -- Fiction","Spiritual life -- Fiction"],"text":"Siddhartha\n\nAn Indian Tale\n\n\nby Herman Hesse\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n FIRST PART\n THE SON OF THE BRAHMAN\n WITH THE SAMANAS\n GOTAMA\n AWAKENING\n\n SECOND PART\n KAMALA\n WITH THE CHILDLIKE PEOPLE\n SANSARA\n BY THE RIVER\n THE FERRYMAN\n THE SON\n OM\n GOVINDA\n\n\n\n\nFIRST PART\n\nTo Romain Rolland, my dear friend\n\n\n\n\nTHE SON OF THE BRAHMAN\n\n\nIn the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the\nboats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig\ntree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the\nyoung falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The\nsun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing,\nperforming the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango\ngrove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when\nhis mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father,\nthe scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time,\nSiddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men,\npractising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of\nreflection, the service of meditation. He already knew how to speak the\nOm silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while\ninhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all\nthe concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of\nthe clear-thinking spirit. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths\nof his being, indestructible, one with the universe.\n\nJoy leapt in his father\u2019s heart for his son who was quick to learn,\nthirsty for knowledge; he saw him growing up to become great wise man\nand priest, a prince among the Brahmans.\n\nBliss leapt in his mother\u2019s breast when she saw him, when she saw him\nwalking, when she saw him sit down and get up, Siddhartha, strong,\nhandsome, he who was walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect\nrespect.\n\nLove touched the hearts of the Brahmans\u2019 young daughters when\nSiddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the luminous\nforehead, with the eye of a king, with his slim hips.\n\nBut more than all the others he was loved by Govinda, his friend, the\nson of a Brahman. He loved Siddhartha\u2019s eye and sweet voice, he loved\nhis walk and the perfect decency of his movements, he loved everything\nSiddhartha did and said and what he loved most was his spirit, his\ntranscendent, fiery thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling.\nGovinda knew: he would not become a common Brahman, not a lazy official\nin charge of offerings; not a greedy merchant with magic spells; not a\nvain, vacuous speaker; not a mean, deceitful priest; and also not a\ndecent, stupid sheep in the herd of the many. No, and he, Govinda, as\nwell did not want to become one of those, not one of those tens of\nthousands of Brahmans. He wanted to follow Siddhartha, the beloved, the\nsplendid. And in days to come, when Siddhartha would become a god, when\nhe would join the glorious, then Govinda wanted to follow him as his\nfriend, his companion, his servant, his spear-carrier, his shadow.\n\nSiddhartha was thus loved by everyone. He was a source of joy for\neverybody, he was a delight for them all.\n\nBut he, Siddhartha, was not a source of joy for himself, he found no\ndelight in himself. Walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden,\nsitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation, washing his\nlimbs daily in the bath of repentance, sacrificing in the dim shade of\nthe mango forest, his gestures of perfect decency, everyone\u2019s love and\njoy, he still lacked all joy in his heart. Dreams and restless thoughts\ncame into his mind, flowing from the water of the river, sparkling from\nthe stars of the night, melting from the beams of the sun, dreams came\nto him and a restlessness of the soul, fuming from the sacrifices,\nbreathing forth from the verses of the Rig-Veda, being infused into\nhim, drop by drop, from the teachings of the old Brahmans.\n\nSiddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself, he had started\nto feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother, and\nalso the love of his friend, Govinda, would not bring him joy for ever\nand ever, would not nurse him, feed him, satisfy him. He had started to\nsuspect that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the wise\nBrahmans had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom,\nthat they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness,\nand the vessel was not full, the spirit was not content, the soul was\nnot calm, the heart was not satisfied. The ablutions were good, but\nthey were water, they did not wash off the sin, they did not heal the\nspirit\u2019s thirst, they did not relieve the fear in his heart. The\nsacrifices and the invocation of the gods were excellent\u2014but was that\nall? Did the sacrifices give a happy fortune? And what about the gods?\nWas it really Prajapati who had created the world? Was it not the\nAtman, He, the only one, the singular one? Were the gods not creations,\ncreated like me and you, subject to time, mortal? Was it therefore\ngood, was it right, was it meaningful and the highest occupation to\nmake offerings to the gods? For whom else were offerings to be made,\nwho else was to be worshipped but Him, the only one, the Atman? And\nwhere was Atman to be found, where did He reside, where did his eternal\nheart beat, where else but in one\u2019s own self, in its innermost part, in\nits indestructible part, which everyone had in himself? But where,\nwhere was this self, this innermost part, this ultimate part? It was\nnot flesh and bone, it was neither thought nor consciousness, thus the\nwisest ones taught. So, where, where was it? To reach this place, the\nself, myself, the Atman, there was another way, which was worthwhile\nlooking for? Alas, and nobody showed this way, nobody knew it, not the\nfather, and not the teachers and wise men, not the holy sacrificial\nsongs! They knew everything, the Brahmans and their holy books, they\nknew everything, they had taken care of everything and of more than\neverything, the creation of the world, the origin of speech, of food,\nof inhaling, of exhaling, the arrangement of the senses, the acts of\nthe gods, they knew infinitely much\u2014but was it valuable to know all of\nthis, not knowing that one and only thing, the most important thing,\nthe solely important thing?\n\nSurely, many verses of the holy books, particularly in the Upanishades\nof Samaveda, spoke of this innermost and ultimate thing, wonderful\nverses. \u201cYour soul is the whole world\u201d, was written there, and it was\nwritten that man in his sleep, in his deep sleep, would meet with his\ninnermost part and would reside in the Atman. Marvellous wisdom was in\nthese verses, all knowledge of the wisest ones had been collected here\nin magic words, pure as honey collected by bees. No, not to be looked\ndown upon was the tremendous amount of enlightenment which lay here\ncollected and preserved by innumerable generations of wise\nBrahmans.\u2014But where were the Brahmans, where the priests, where the\nwise men or penitents, who had succeeded in not just knowing this\ndeepest of all knowledge but also to live it? Where was the\nknowledgeable one who wove his spell to bring his familiarity with the\nAtman out of the sleep into the state of being awake, into the life,\ninto every step of the way, into word and deed? Siddhartha knew many\nvenerable Brahmans, chiefly his father, the pure one, the scholar, the\nmost venerable one. His father was to be admired, quiet and noble were\nhis manners, pure his life, wise his words, delicate and noble thoughts\nlived behind its brow\u2014but even he, who knew so much, did he live in\nblissfulness, did he have peace, was he not also just a searching man,\na thirsty man? Did he not, again and again, have to drink from holy\nsources, as a thirsty man, from the offerings, from the books, from the\ndisputes of the Brahmans? Why did he, the irreproachable one, have to\nwash off sins every day, strive for a cleansing every day, over and\nover every day? Was not Atman in him, did not the pristine source\nspring from his heart? It had to be found, the pristine source in one\u2019s\nown self, it had to be possessed! Everything else was searching, was a\ndetour, was getting lost.\n\nThus were Siddhartha\u2019s thoughts, this was his thirst, this was his\nsuffering.\n\nOften he spoke to himself from a Chandogya-Upanishad the words: \u201cTruly,\nthe name of the Brahman is satyam\u2014verily, he who knows such a thing,\nwill enter the heavenly world every day.\u201d Often, it seemed near, the\nheavenly world, but never he had reached it completely, never he had\nquenched the ultimate thirst. And among all the wise and wisest men, he\nknew and whose instructions he had received, among all of them there\nwas no one, who had reached it completely, the heavenly world, who had\nquenched it completely, the eternal thirst.\n\n\u201cGovinda,\u201d Siddhartha spoke to his friend, \u201cGovinda, my dear, come with\nme under the Banyan tree, let\u2019s practise meditation.\u201d\n\nThey went to the Banyan tree, they sat down, Siddhartha right here,\nGovinda twenty paces away. While putting himself down, ready to speak\nthe Om, Siddhartha repeated murmuring the verse:\n\nOm is the bow, the arrow is soul, The Brahman is the arrow\u2019s target,\nThat one should incessantly hit.\n\nAfter the usual time of the exercise in meditation had passed, Govinda\nrose. The evening had come, it was time to perform the evening\u2019s\nablution. He called Siddhartha\u2019s name. Siddhartha did not answer.\nSiddhartha sat there lost in thought, his eyes were rigidly focused\ntowards a very distant target, the tip of his tongue was protruding a\nlittle between the teeth, he seemed not to breathe. Thus sat he,\nwrapped up in contemplation, thinking Om, his soul sent after the\nBrahman as an arrow.\n\nOnce, Samanas had travelled through Siddhartha\u2019s town, ascetics on a\npilgrimage, three skinny, withered men, neither old nor young, with\ndusty and bloody shoulders, almost naked, scorched by the sun,\nsurrounded by loneliness, strangers and enemies to the world, strangers\nand lank jackals in the realm of humans. Behind them blew a hot scent\nof quiet passion, of destructive service, of merciless self-denial.\n\nIn the evening, after the hour of contemplation, Siddhartha spoke to\nGovinda: \u201cEarly tomorrow morning, my friend, Siddhartha will go to the\nSamanas. He will become a Samana.\u201d\n\nGovinda turned pale, when he heard these words and read the decision in\nthe motionless face of his friend, unstoppable like the arrow shot from\nthe bow. Soon and with the first glance, Govinda realized: Now it is\nbeginning, now Siddhartha is taking his own way, now his fate is\nbeginning to sprout, and with his, my own. And he turned pale like a\ndry banana-skin.\n\n\u201cO Siddhartha,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cwill your father permit you to do that?\u201d\n\nSiddhartha looked over as if he was just waking up. Arrow-fast he read\nin Govinda\u2019s soul, read the fear, read the submission.\n\n\u201cO Govinda,\u201d he spoke quietly, \u201clet\u2019s not waste words. Tomorrow, at\ndaybreak I will begin the life of the Samanas. Speak no more of it.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha entered the chamber, where his father was sitting on a mat\nof bast, and stepped behind his father and remained standing there,\nuntil his father felt that someone was standing behind him. Quoth the\nBrahman: \u201cIs that you, Siddhartha? Then say what you came to say.\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cWith your permission, my father. I came to tell you\nthat it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the\nascetics. My desire is to become a Samana. May my father not oppose\nthis.\u201d\n\nThe Brahman fell silent, and remained silent for so long that the stars\nin the small window wandered and changed their relative positions, \u2019ere\nthe silence was broken. Silent and motionless stood the son with his\narms folded, silent and motionless sat the father on the mat, and the\nstars traced their paths in the sky. Then spoke the father: \u201cNot proper\nit is for a Brahman to speak harsh and angry words. But indignation is\nin my heart. I wish not to hear this request for a second time from\nyour mouth.\u201d\n\nSlowly, the Brahman rose; Siddhartha stood silently, his arms folded.\n\n\u201cWhat are you waiting for?\u201d asked the father.\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cYou know what.\u201d\n\nIndignant, the father left the chamber; indignant, he went to his bed\nand lay down.\n\nAfter an hour, since no sleep had come over his eyes, the Brahman stood\nup, paced to and fro, and left the house. Through the small window of\nthe chamber he looked back inside, and there he saw Siddhartha\nstanding, his arms folded, not moving from his spot. Pale shimmered his\nbright robe. With anxiety in his heart, the father returned to his bed.\n\nAfter another hour, since no sleep had come over his eyes, the Brahman\nstood up again, paced to and fro, walked out of the house and saw that\nthe moon had risen. Through the window of the chamber he looked back\ninside; there stood Siddhartha, not moving from his spot, his arms\nfolded, moonlight reflecting from his bare shins. With worry in his\nheart, the father went back to bed.\n\nAnd he came back after an hour, he came back after two hours, looked\nthrough the small window, saw Siddhartha standing, in the moon light,\nby the light of the stars, in the darkness. And he came back hour after\nhour, silently, he looked into the chamber, saw him standing in the\nsame place, filled his heart with anger, filled his heart with unrest,\nfilled his heart with anguish, filled it with sadness.\n\nAnd in the night\u2019s last hour, before the day began, he returned,\nstepped into the room, saw the young man standing there, who seemed\ntall and like a stranger to him.\n\n\u201cSiddhartha,\u201d he spoke, \u201cwhat are you waiting for?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know what.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you always stand that way and wait, until it\u2019ll becomes morning,\nnoon, and evening?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will stand and wait.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will become tired, Siddhartha.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will become tired.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will fall asleep, Siddhartha.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not fall asleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will die, Siddhartha.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will die.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd would you rather die, than obey your father?\u201d\n\n\u201cSiddhartha has always obeyed his father.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo will you abandon your plan?\u201d\n\n\u201cSiddhartha will do what his father will tell him to do.\u201d\n\nThe first light of day shone into the room. The Brahman saw that\nSiddhartha was trembling softly in his knees. In Siddhartha\u2019s face he\nsaw no trembling, his eyes were fixed on a distant spot. Then his\nfather realized that even now Siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in\nhis home, that he had already left him.\n\nThe Father touched Siddhartha\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cYou will,\u201d he spoke, \u201cgo into the forest and be a Samana. When you\u2019ll\nhave found blissfulness in the forest, then come back and teach me to\nbe blissful. If you\u2019ll find disappointment, then return and let us once\nagain make offerings to the gods together. Go now and kiss your mother,\ntell her where you are going to. But for me it is time to go to the\nriver and to perform the first ablution.\u201d\n\nHe took his hand from the shoulder of his son and went outside.\nSiddhartha wavered to the side, as he tried to walk. He put his limbs\nback under control, bowed to his father, and went to his mother to do\nas his father had said.\n\nAs he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day the still\nquiet town, a shadow rose near the last hut, who had crouched there,\nand joined the pilgrim\u2014Govinda.\n\n\u201cYou have come,\u201d said Siddhartha and smiled.\n\n\u201cI have come,\u201d said Govinda.\n\n\n\n\nWITH THE SAMANAS\n\n\nIn the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics, the skinny\nSamanas, and offered them their companionship and\u2014obedience. They were\naccepted.\n\nSiddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahman in the street. He wore\nnothing more than the loincloth and the earth-coloured, unsown cloak.\nHe ate only once a day, and never something cooked. He fasted for\nfifteen days. He fasted for twenty-eight days. The flesh waned from his\nthighs and cheeks. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged eyes,\nlong nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry, shaggy beard\ngrew on his chin. His glance turned to ice when he encountered women;\nhis mouth twitched with contempt, when he walked through a city of\nnicely dressed people. He saw merchants trading, princes hunting,\nmourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians\ntrying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for\nseeding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children\u2014and all of this\nwas not worthy of one look from his eye, it all lied, it all stank, it\nall stank of lies, it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and\nbeautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tasted\nbitter. Life was torture.\n\nA goal stood before Siddhartha, a single goal: to become empty, empty\nof thirst, empty of wishing, empty of dreams, empty of joy and sorrow.\nDead to himself, not to be a self any more, to find tranquility with an\nemptied heart, to be open to miracles in unselfish thoughts, that was\nhis goal. Once all of my self was overcome and had died, once every\ndesire and every urge was silent in the heart, then the ultimate part\nof me had to awake, the innermost of my being, which is no longer my\nself, the great secret.\n\nSilently, Siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun\ndirectly above, glowing with pain, glowing with thirst, and stood\nthere, until he neither felt any pain nor thirst any more. Silently, he\nstood there in the rainy season, from his hair the water was dripping\nover freezing shoulders, over freezing hips and legs, and the penitent\nstood there, until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs\nany more, until they were silent, until they were quiet. Silently, he\ncowered in the thorny bushes, blood dripped from the burning skin, from\nfestering wounds dripped pus, and Siddhartha stayed rigidly, stayed\nmotionless, until no blood flowed any more, until nothing stung any\nmore, until nothing burned any more.\n\nSiddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly, learned to get\nalong with only few breathes, learned to stop breathing. He learned,\nbeginning with the breath, to calm the beat of his heart, learned to\nreduce the beats of his heart, until they were only a few and almost\nnone.\n\nInstructed by the oldest of the Samanas, Siddhartha practised\nself-denial, practised meditation, according to a new Samana rules. A\nheron flew over the bamboo forest\u2014and Siddhartha accepted the heron\ninto his soul, flew over forest and mountains, was a heron, ate fish,\nfelt the pangs of a heron\u2019s hunger, spoke the heron\u2019s croak, died a\nheron\u2019s death. A dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank, and\nSiddhartha\u2019s soul slipped inside the body, was the dead jackal, lay on\nthe banks, got bloated, stank, decayed, was dismembered by hyaenas, was\nskinned by vultures, turned into a skeleton, turned to dust, was blown\nacross the fields. And Siddhartha\u2019s soul returned, had died, had\ndecayed, was scattered as dust, had tasted the gloomy intoxication of\nthe cycle, awaited in new thirst like a hunter in the gap, where he\ncould escape from the cycle, where the end of the causes, where an\neternity without suffering began. He killed his senses, he killed his\nmemory, he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms, was\nan animal, was carrion, was stone, was wood, was water, and awoke every\ntime to find his old self again, sun shone or moon, was his self again,\nturned round in the cycle, felt thirst, overcame the thirst, felt new\nthirst.\n\nSiddhartha learned a lot when he was with the Samanas, many ways\nleading away from the self he learned to go. He went the way of\nself-denial by means of pain, through voluntarily suffering and\novercoming pain, hunger, thirst, tiredness. He went the way of\nself-denial by means of meditation, through imagining the mind to be\nvoid of all conceptions. These and other ways he learned to go, a\nthousand times he left his self, for hours and days he remained in the\nnon-self. But though the ways led away from the self, their end\nnevertheless always led back to the self. Though Siddhartha fled from\nthe self a thousand times, stayed in nothingness, stayed in the animal,\nin the stone, the return was inevitable, inescapable was the hour, when\nhe found himself back in the sunshine or in the moonlight, in the shade\nor in the rain, and was once again his self and Siddhartha, and again\nfelt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him.\n\nBy his side lived Govinda, his shadow, walked the same paths, undertook\nthe same efforts. They rarely spoke to one another, than the service\nand the exercises required. Occasionally the two of them went through\nthe villages, to beg for food for themselves and their teachers.\n\n\u201cHow do you think, Govinda,\u201d Siddhartha spoke one day while begging\nthis way, \u201chow do you think did we progress? Did we reach any goals?\u201d\n\nGovinda answered: \u201cWe have learned, and we\u2019ll continue learning. You\u2019ll\nbe a great Samana, Siddhartha. Quickly, you\u2019ve learned every exercise,\noften the old Samanas have admired you. One day, you\u2019ll be a holy man,\noh Siddhartha.\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cI can\u2019t help but feel that it is not like this, my\nfriend. What I\u2019ve learned, being among the Samanas, up to this day,\nthis, oh Govinda, I could have learned more quickly and by simpler\nmeans. In every tavern of that part of a town where the whorehouses\nare, my friend, among carters and gamblers I could have learned it.\u201d\n\nQuoth Govinda: \u201cSiddhartha is putting me on. How could you have learned\nmeditation, holding your breath, insensitivity against hunger and pain\nthere among these wretched people?\u201d\n\nAnd Siddhartha said quietly, as if he was talking to himself: \u201cWhat is\nmeditation? What is leaving one\u2019s body? What is fasting? What is\nholding one\u2019s breath? It is fleeing from the self, it is a short escape\nof the agony of being a self, it is a short numbing of the senses\nagainst the pain and the pointlessness of life. The same escape, the\nsame short numbing is what the driver of an ox-cart finds in the inn,\ndrinking a few bowls of rice-wine or fermented coconut-milk. Then he\nwon\u2019t feel his self any more, then he won\u2019t feel the pains of life any\nmore, then he finds a short numbing of the senses. When he falls asleep\nover his bowl of rice-wine, he\u2019ll find the same what Siddhartha and\nGovinda find when they escape their bodies through long exercises,\nstaying in the non-self. This is how it is, oh Govinda.\u201d\n\nQuoth Govinda: \u201cYou say so, oh friend, and yet you know that Siddhartha\nis no driver of an ox-cart and a Samana is no drunkard. It\u2019s true that\na drinker numbs his senses, it\u2019s true that he briefly escapes and\nrests, but he\u2019ll return from the delusion, finds everything to be\nunchanged, has not become wiser, has gathered no enlightenment,\u2014has not\nrisen several steps.\u201d\n\nAnd Siddhartha spoke with a smile: \u201cI do not know, I\u2019ve never been a\ndrunkard. But that I, Siddhartha, find only a short numbing of the\nsenses in my exercises and meditations and that I am just as far\nremoved from wisdom, from salvation, as a child in the mother\u2019s womb,\nthis I know, oh Govinda, this I know.\u201d\n\nAnd once again, another time, when Siddhartha left the forest together\nwith Govinda, to beg for some food in the village for their brothers\nand teachers, Siddhartha began to speak and said: \u201cWhat now, oh\nGovinda, might we be on the right path? Might we get closer to\nenlightenment? Might we get closer to salvation? Or do we perhaps live\nin a circle\u2014we, who have thought we were escaping the cycle?\u201d\n\nQuoth Govinda: \u201cWe have learned a lot, Siddhartha, there is still much\nto learn. We are not going around in circles, we are moving up, the\ncircle is a spiral, we have already ascended many a level.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha answered: \u201cHow old, would you think, is our oldest Samana,\nour venerable teacher?\u201d\n\nQuoth Govinda: \u201cOur oldest one might be about sixty years of age.\u201d\n\nAnd Siddhartha: \u201cHe has lived for sixty years and has not reached the\nnirvana. He\u2019ll turn seventy and eighty, and you and me, we will grow\njust as old and will do our exercises, and will fast, and will\nmeditate. But we will not reach the nirvana, he won\u2019t and we won\u2019t. Oh\nGovinda, I believe out of all the Samanas out there, perhaps not a\nsingle one, not a single one, will reach the nirvana. We find comfort,\nwe find numbness, we learn feats, to deceive others. But the most\nimportant thing, the path of paths, we will not find.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you only,\u201d spoke Govinda, \u201cwouldn\u2019t speak such terrible words,\nSiddhartha! How could it be that among so many learned men, among so\nmany Brahmans, among so many austere and venerable Samanas, among so\nmany who are searching, so many who are eagerly trying, so many holy\nmen, no one will find the path of paths?\u201d\n\nBut Siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness as\nmockery, with a quiet, a slightly sad, a slightly mocking voice: \u201cSoon,\nGovinda, your friend will leave the path of the Samanas, he has walked\nalong your side for so long. I\u2019m suffering of thirst, oh Govinda, and\non this long path of a Samana, my thirst has remained as strong as\never. I always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of\nquestions. I have asked the Brahmans, year after year, and I have asked\nthe holy Vedas, year after year, and I have asked the devote Samanas,\nyear after year. Perhaps, oh Govinda, it had been just as well, had\nbeen just as smart and just as profitable, if I had asked the\nhornbill-bird or the chimpanzee. It took me a long time and am not\nfinished learning this yet, oh Govinda: that there is nothing to be\nlearned! There is indeed no such thing, so I believe, as what we refer\nto as \u2018learning\u2019. There is, oh my friend, just one knowledge, this is\neverywhere, this is Atman, this is within me and within you and within\nevery creature. And so I\u2019m starting to believe that this knowledge has\nno worser enemy than the desire to know it, than learning.\u201d\n\nAt this, Govinda stopped on the path, rose his hands, and spoke: \u201cIf\nyou, Siddhartha, only would not bother your friend with this kind of\ntalk! Truly, you words stir up fear in my heart. And just consider:\nwhat would become of the sanctity of prayer, what of the venerability\nof the Brahmans\u2019 caste, what of the holiness of the Samanas, if it was\nas you say, if there was no learning?! What, oh Siddhartha, what would\nthen become of all of this what is holy, what is precious, what is\nvenerable on earth?!\u201d\n\nAnd Govinda mumbled a verse to himself, a verse from an Upanishad:\n\nHe who ponderingly, of a purified spirit, loses himself in the\nmeditation of Atman, unexpressable by words is his blissfulness of his\nheart.\n\nBut Siddhartha remained silent. He thought about the words which\nGovinda had said to him and thought the words through to their end.\n\nYes, he thought, standing there with his head low, what would remain of\nall that which seemed to us to be holy? What remains? What can stand\nthe test? And he shook his head.\n\nAt one time, when the two young men had lived among the Samanas for\nabout three years and had shared their exercises, some news, a rumour,\na myth reached them after being retold many times: A man had appeared,\nGotama by name, the exalted one, the Buddha, he had overcome the\nsuffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths.\nHe was said to wander through the land, teaching, surrounded by\ndisciples, without possession, without home, without a wife, in the\nyellow cloak of an ascetic, but with a cheerful brow, a man of bliss,\nand Brahmans and princes would bow down before him and would become his\nstudents.\n\nThis myth, this rumour, this legend resounded, its fragrance rose up,\nhere and there; in the towns, the Brahmans spoke of it and in the\nforest, the Samanas; again and again, the name of Gotama, the Buddha\nreached the ears of the young men, with good and with bad talk, with\npraise and with defamation.\n\nIt was as if the plague had broken out in a country and news had been\nspreading around that in one or another place there was a man, a wise\nman, a knowledgeable one, whose word and breath was enough to heal\neveryone who had been infected with the pestilence, and as such news\nwould go through the land and everyone would talk about it, many would\nbelieve, many would doubt, but many would get on their way as soon as\npossible, to seek the wise man, the helper, just like this myth\nran through the land, that fragrant myth of Gotama, the Buddha, the\nwise man of the family of Sakya. He possessed, so the believers said,\nthe highest enlightenment, he remembered his previous lives, he had\nreached the nirvana and never returned into the cycle, was never again\nsubmerged in the murky river of physical forms. Many wonderful and\nunbelievable things were reported of him, he had performed miracles,\nhad overcome the devil, had spoken to the gods. But his enemies and\ndisbelievers said, this Gotama was a vain seducer, who spent his\ndays in luxury, scorned the offerings, was without learning, and knew\nneither exercises nor self-castigation.\n\nThe myth of Buddha sounded sweet. The scent of magic flowed from these\nreports. After all, the world was sick, life was hard to bear\u2014and\nbehold, here a source seemed to spring forth, here a messenger seemed\nto call out, comforting, mild, full of noble promises. Everywhere where\nthe rumour of Buddha was heard, everywhere in the lands of India, the\nyoung men listened up, felt a longing, felt hope, and among the\nBrahmans\u2019 sons of the towns and villages every pilgrim and stranger was\nwelcome, when he brought news of him, the exalted one, the Sakyamuni.\n\nThe myth had also reached the Samanas in the forest, and also\nSiddhartha, and also Govinda, slowly, drop by drop, every drop laden\nwith hope, every drop laden with doubt. They rarely talked about it,\nbecause the oldest one of the Samanas did not like this myth. He had\nheard that this alleged Buddha used to be an ascetic before and had\nlived in the forest, but had then turned back to luxury and worldly\npleasures, and he had no high opinion of this Gotama.\n\n\u201cOh Siddhartha,\u201d Govinda spoke one day to his friend. \u201cToday, I was in\nthe village, and a Brahman invited me into his house, and in his house,\nthere was the son of a Brahman from Magadha, who has seen the Buddha\nwith his own eyes and has heard him teach. Verily, this made my chest\nache when I breathed, and thought to myself: If only I would too, if\nonly we both would too, Siddhartha and me, live to see the hour when we\nwill hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfected man! Speak,\nfriend, wouldn\u2019t we want to go there too and listen to the teachings\nfrom the Buddha\u2019s mouth?\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cAlways, oh Govinda, I had thought, Govinda would\nstay with the Samanas, always I had believed his goal was to live to be\nsixty and seventy years of age and to keep on practising those feats\nand exercises, which are becoming a Samana. But behold, I had not known\nGovinda well enough, I knew little of his heart. So now you, my\nfaithful friend, want to take a new path and go there, where the Buddha\nspreads his teachings.\u201d\n\nQuoth Govinda: \u201cYou\u2019re mocking me. Mock me if you like, Siddhartha! But\nhave you not also developed a desire, an eagerness, to hear these\nteachings? And have you not at one time said to me, you would not walk\nthe path of the Samanas for much longer?\u201d\n\nAt this, Siddhartha laughed in his very own manner, in which his voice\nassumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery, and said: \u201cWell,\nGovinda, you\u2019ve spoken well, you\u2019ve remembered correctly. If you only\nremembered the other thing as well, you\u2019ve heard from me, which is that\nI have grown distrustful and tired against teachings and learning, and\nthat my faith in words, which are brought to us by teachers, is small.\nBut let\u2019s do it, my dear, I am willing to listen to these\nteachings\u2014though in my heart I believe that we\u2019ve already tasted the\nbest fruit of these teachings.\u201d\n\nQuoth Govinda: \u201cYour willingness delights my heart. But tell me, how\nshould this be possible? How should the Gotama\u2019s teachings, even before\nwe have heard them, have already revealed their best fruit to us?\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cLet us eat this fruit and wait for the rest, oh\nGovinda! But this fruit, which we already now received thanks to the\nGotama, consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas! Whether he\nhas also other and better things to give us, oh friend, let us await\nwith calm hearts.\u201d\n\nOn this very same day, Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the\nSamanas of his decision, that he wanted to leave him. He informed the\noldest one with all the courtesy and modesty becoming to a younger one\nand a student. But the Samana became angry, because the two young men\nwanted to leave him, and talked loudly and used crude swearwords.\n\nGovinda was startled and became embarrassed. But Siddhartha put his\nmouth close to Govinda\u2019s ear and whispered to him: \u201cNow, I want to show\nthe old man that I\u2019ve learned something from him.\u201d\n\nPositioning himself closely in front of the Samana, with a concentrated\nsoul, he captured the old man\u2019s glance with his glances, deprived him\nof his power, made him mute, took away his free will, subdued him under\nhis own will, commanded him, to do silently, whatever he demanded him\nto do. The old man became mute, his eyes became motionless, his will\nwas paralysed, his arms were hanging down; without power, he had fallen\nvictim to Siddhartha\u2019s spell. But Siddhartha\u2019s thoughts brought the\nSamana under their control, he had to carry out, what they commanded.\nAnd thus, the old man made several bows, performed gestures of\nblessing, spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey. And the\nyoung men returned the bows with thanks, returned the wish, went on\ntheir way with salutations.\n\nOn the way, Govinda said: \u201cOh Siddhartha, you have learned more from\nthe Samanas than I knew. It is hard, it is very hard to cast a spell on\nan old Samana. Truly, if you had stayed there, you would soon have\nlearned to walk on water.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not seek to walk on water,\u201d said Siddhartha. \u201cLet old Samanas be\ncontent with such feats!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nGOTAMA\n\n\nIn the town of Savathi, every child knew the name of the exalted\nBuddha, and every house was prepared to fill the alms-dish of Gotama\u2019s\ndisciples, the silently begging ones. Near the town was Gotama\u2019s\nfavourite place to stay, the grove of Jetavana, which the rich merchant\nAnathapindika, an obedient worshipper of the exalted one, had given him\nand his people for a gift.\n\nAll tales and answers, which the two young ascetics had received in\ntheir search for Gotama\u2019s abode, had pointed them towards this area.\nAnd arriving at Savathi, in the very first house, before the door of\nwhich they stopped to beg, food has been offered to them, and they\naccepted the food, and Siddhartha asked the woman, who handed them the\nfood:\n\n\u201cWe would like to know, oh charitable one, where the Buddha dwells, the\nmost venerable one, for we are two Samanas from the forest and have\ncome, to see him, the perfected one, and to hear the teachings from his\nmouth.\u201d\n\nQuoth the woman: \u201cHere, you have truly come to the right place, you\nSamanas from the forest. You should know, in Jetavana, in the garden of\nAnathapindika is where the exalted one dwells. There you pilgrims shall\nspend the night, for there is enough space for the innumerable, who\nflock here, to hear the teachings from his mouth.\u201d\n\nThis made Govinda happy, and full of joy he exclaimed: \u201cWell so, thus\nwe have reached our destination, and our path has come to an end! But\ntell us, oh mother of the pilgrims, do you know him, the Buddha, have\nyou seen him with your own eyes?\u201d\n\nQuoth the woman: \u201cMany times I have seen him, the exalted one. On many\ndays, I have seen him, walking through the alleys in silence, wearing\nhis yellow cloak, presenting his alms-dish in silence at the doors of\nthe houses, leaving with a filled dish.\u201d\n\nDelightedly, Govinda listened and wanted to ask and hear much more. But\nSiddhartha urged him to walk on. They thanked and left and hardly had\nto ask for directions, for rather many pilgrims and monks as well from\nGotama\u2019s community were on their way to the Jetavana. And since they\nreached it at night, there were constant arrivals, shouts, and talk of\nthose who sought shelter and got it. The two Samanas, accustomed to\nlife in the forest, found quickly and without making any noise a place\nto stay and rested there until the morning.\n\nAt sunrise, they saw with astonishment what a large crowd of believers\nand curious people had spent the night here. On all paths of the\nmarvellous grove, monks walked in yellow robes, under the trees they\nsat here and there, in deep contemplation\u2014or in a conversation about\nspiritual matters, the shady gardens looked like a city, full of\npeople, bustling like bees. The majority of the monks went out with\ntheir alms-dish, to collect food in town for their lunch, the only meal\nof the day. The Buddha himself, the enlightened one, was also in the\nhabit of taking this walk to beg in the morning.\n\nSiddhartha saw him, and he instantly recognised him, as if a god had\npointed him out to him. He saw him, a simple man in a yellow robe,\nbearing the alms-dish in his hand, walking silently.\n\n\u201cLook here!\u201d Siddhartha said quietly to Govinda. \u201cThis one is the\nBuddha.\u201d\n\nAttentively, Govinda looked at the monk in the yellow robe, who seemed\nto be in no way different from the hundreds of other monks. And soon,\nGovinda also realized: This is the one. And they followed him and\nobserved him.\n\nThe Buddha went on his way, modestly and deep in his thoughts, his calm\nface was neither happy nor sad, it seemed to smile quietly and\ninwardly. With a hidden smile, quiet, calm, somewhat resembling a\nhealthy child, the Buddha walked, wore the robe and placed his feet\njust as all of his monks did, according to a precise rule. But his face\nand his walk, his quietly lowered glance, his quietly dangling hand and\neven every finger of his quietly dangling hand expressed peace,\nexpressed perfection, did not search, did not imitate, breathed softly\nin an unwhithering calm, in an unwhithering light, an untouchable\npeace.\n\nThus Gotama walked towards the town, to collect alms, and the two\nSamanas recognised him solely by the perfection of his calm, by the\nquietness of his appearance, in which there was no searching, no\ndesire, no imitation, no effort to be seen, only light and peace.\n\n\u201cToday, we\u2019ll hear the teachings from his mouth,\u201d said Govinda.\n\nSiddhartha did not answer. He felt little curiosity for the teachings,\nhe did not believe that they would teach him anything new, but he had,\njust as Govinda had, heard the contents of this Buddha\u2019s teachings\nagain and again, though these reports only represented second- or\nthird-hand information. But attentively he looked at Gotama\u2019s head, his\nshoulders, his feet, his quietly dangling hand, and it seemed to him as\nif every joint of every finger of this hand was of these teachings,\nspoke of, breathed of, exhaled the fragrant of, glistened of truth.\nThis man, this Buddha was truthful down to the gesture of his last\nfinger. This man was holy. Never before, Siddhartha had venerated a\nperson so much, never before he had loved a person as much as this one.\n\nThey both followed the Buddha until they reached the town and then\nreturned in silence, for they themselves intended to abstain from on\nthis day. They saw Gotama returning\u2014what he ate could not even have\nsatisfied a bird\u2019s appetite, and they saw him retiring into the shade\nof the mango-trees.\n\nBut in the evening, when the heat cooled down and everyone in the camp\nstarted to bustle about and gathered around, they heard the Buddha\nteaching. They heard his voice, and it was also perfected, was of\nperfect calmness, was full of peace. Gotama taught the teachings of\nsuffering, of the origin of suffering, of the way to relieve suffering.\nCalmly and clearly his quiet speech flowed on. Suffering was life, full\nof suffering was the world, but salvation from suffering had been\nfound: salvation was obtained by him who would walk the path of the\nBuddha. With a soft, yet firm voice the exalted one spoke, taught the\nfour main doctrines, taught the eightfold path, patiently he went the\nusual path of the teachings, of the examples, of the repetitions,\nbrightly and quietly his voice hovered over the listeners, like a\nlight, like a starry sky.\n\nWhen the Buddha\u2014night had already fallen\u2014ended his speech, many a\npilgrim stepped forward and asked to be accepted into the community,\nsought refuge in the teachings. And Gotama accepted them by speaking:\n\u201cYou have heard the teachings well, it has come to you well. Thus join\nus and walk in holiness, to put an end to all suffering.\u201d\n\nBehold, then Govinda, the shy one, also stepped forward and spoke: \u201cI\nalso take my refuge in the exalted one and his teachings,\u201d and he asked\nto be accepted into the community of his disciples and was accepted.\n\nRight afterwards, when the Buddha had retired for the night, Govinda\nturned to Siddhartha and spoke eagerly: \u201cSiddhartha, it is not my place\nto scold you. We have both heard the exalted one, we have both\nperceived the teachings. Govinda has heard the teachings, he has taken\nrefuge in it. But you, my honoured friend, don\u2019t you also want to walk\nthe path of salvation? Would you want to hesitate, do you want to wait\nany longer?\u201d\n\nSiddhartha awakened as if he had been asleep, when he heard Govinda\u2019s\nwords. For a long time, he looked into Govinda\u2019s face. Then he spoke\nquietly, in a voice without mockery: \u201cGovinda, my friend, now you have\ntaken this step, now you have chosen this path. Always, oh Govinda,\nyou\u2019ve been my friend, you\u2019ve always walked one step behind me. Often I\nhave thought: Won\u2019t Govinda for once also take a step by himself,\nwithout me, out of his own soul? Behold, now you\u2019ve turned into a man\nand are choosing your path for yourself. I wish that you would go it up\nto its end, oh my friend, that you shall find salvation!\u201d\n\nGovinda, not completely understanding it yet, repeated his question in\nan impatient tone: \u201cSpeak up, I beg you, my dear! Tell me, since it\ncould not be any other way, that you also, my learned friend, will take\nyour refuge with the exalted Buddha!\u201d\n\nSiddhartha placed his hand on Govinda\u2019s shoulder: \u201cYou failed to hear\nmy good wish for you, oh Govinda. I\u2019m repeating it: I wish that you\nwould go this path up to its end, that you shall find salvation!\u201d\n\nIn this moment, Govinda realized that his friend had left him, and he\nstarted to weep.\n\n\u201cSiddhartha!\u201d he exclaimed lamentingly.\n\nSiddhartha kindly spoke to him: \u201cDon\u2019t forget, Govinda, that you are\nnow one of the Samanas of the Buddha! You have renounced your home and\nyour parents, renounced your birth and possessions, renounced your free\nwill, renounced all friendship. This is what the teachings require,\nthis is what the exalted one wants. This is what you wanted for\nyourself. Tomorrow, oh Govinda, I\u2019ll leave you.\u201d\n\nFor a long time, the friends continued walking in the grove; for a long\ntime, they lay there and found no sleep. And over and over again,\nGovinda urged his friend, he should tell him why he would not want to\nseek refuge in Gotama\u2019s teachings, what fault he would find in these\nteachings. But Siddhartha turned him away every time and said: \u201cBe\ncontent, Govinda! Very good are the teachings of the exalted one, how\ncould I find a fault in them?\u201d\n\nVery early in the morning, a follower of Buddha, one of his oldest\nmonks, went through the garden and called all those to him who had as\nnovices taken their refuge in the teachings, to dress them up in the\nyellow robe and to instruct them in the first teachings and duties of\ntheir position. Then Govinda broke loose, embraced once again his\nchildhood friend and left with the novices.\n\nBut Siddhartha walked through the grove, lost in thought.\n\nThen he happened to meet Gotama, the exalted one, and when he greeted\nhim with respect and the Buddha\u2019s glance was so full of kindness and\ncalm, the young man summoned his courage and asked the venerable one\nfor the permission to talk to him. Silently the exalted one nodded his\napproval.\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cYesterday, oh exalted one, I had been privileged to\nhear your wondrous teachings. Together with my friend, I had come from\nafar, to hear your teachings. And now my friend is going to stay with\nyour people, he has taken his refuge with you. But I will again start\non my pilgrimage.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs you please,\u201d the venerable one spoke politely.\n\n\u201cToo bold is my speech,\u201d Siddhartha continued, \u201cbut I do not want to\nleave the exalted one without having honestly told him my thoughts.\nDoes it please the venerable one to listen to me for one moment\nlonger?\u201d\n\nSilently, the Buddha nodded his approval.\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cOne thing, oh most venerable one, I have admired in\nyour teachings most of all. Everything in your teachings is perfectly\nclear, is proven; you are presenting the world as a perfect chain, a\nchain which is never and nowhere broken, an eternal chain the links of\nwhich are causes and effects. Never before, this has been seen so\nclearly; never before, this has been presented so irrefutably; truly,\nthe heart of every Brahman has to beat stronger with love, once he has\nseen the world through your teachings perfectly connected, without\ngaps, clear as a crystal, not depending on chance, not depending on\ngods. Whether it may be good or bad, whether living according to it\nwould be suffering or joy, I do not wish to discuss, possibly this is\nnot essential\u2014but the uniformity of the world, that everything which\nhappens is connected, that the great and the small things are all\nencompassed by the same forces of time, by the same law of causes, of\ncoming into being and of dying, this is what shines brightly out of\nyour exalted teachings, oh perfected one. But according to your very\nown teachings, this unity and necessary sequence of all things is\nnevertheless broken in one place, through a small gap, this world of\nunity is invaded by something alien, something new, something which had\nnot been there before, and which cannot be demonstrated and cannot be\nproven: these are your teachings of overcoming the world, of salvation.\nBut with this small gap, with this small breach, the entire eternal and\nuniform law of the world is breaking apart again and becomes void.\nPlease forgive me for expressing this objection.\u201d\n\nQuietly, Gotama had listened to him, unmoved. Now he spoke, the\nperfected one, with his kind, with his polite and clear voice: \u201cYou\u2019ve\nheard the teachings, oh son of a Brahman, and good for you that you\u2019ve\nthought about it thus deeply. You\u2019ve found a gap in it, an error. You\nshould think about this further. But be warned, oh seeker of knowledge,\nof the thicket of opinions and of arguing about words. There is nothing\nto opinions, they may be beautiful or ugly, smart or foolish, everyone\ncan support them or discard them. But the teachings, you\u2019ve heard from\nme, are no opinion, and their goal is not to explain the world to those\nwho seek knowledge. They have a different goal; their goal is salvation\nfrom suffering. This is what Gotama teaches, nothing else.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish that you, oh exalted one, would not be angry with me,\u201d said the\nyoung man. \u201cI have not spoken to you like this to argue with you, to\nargue about words. You are truly right, there is little to opinions.\nBut let me say this one more thing: I have not doubted in you for a\nsingle moment. I have not doubted for a single moment that you are\nBuddha, that you have reached the goal, the highest goal towards which\nso many thousands of Brahmans and sons of Brahmans are on their way.\nYou have found salvation from death. It has come to you in the course\nof your own search, on your own path, through thoughts, through\nmeditation, through realizations, through enlightenment. It has not\ncome to you by means of teachings! And\u2014thus is my thought, oh exalted\none,\u2014nobody will obtain salvation by means of teachings! You will not\nbe able to convey and say to anybody, oh venerable one, in words and\nthrough teachings what has happened to you in the hour of\nenlightenment! The teachings of the enlightened Buddha contain much, it\nteaches many to live righteously, to avoid evil. But there is one thing\nwhich these so clear, these so venerable teachings do not contain: they\ndo not contain the mystery of what the exalted one has experienced for\nhimself, he alone among hundreds of thousands. This is what I have\nthought and realized, when I have heard the teachings. This is why I am\ncontinuing my travels\u2014not to seek other, better teachings, for I know\nthere are none, but to depart from all teachings and all teachers and\nto reach my goal by myself or to die. But often, I\u2019ll think of this\nday, oh exalted one, and of this hour, when my eyes beheld a holy man.\u201d\n\nThe Buddha\u2019s eyes quietly looked to the ground; quietly, in perfect\nequanimity his inscrutable face was smiling.\n\n\u201cI wish,\u201d the venerable one spoke slowly, \u201cthat your thoughts shall not\nbe in error, that you shall reach the goal! But tell me: Have you seen\nthe multitude of my Samanas, my many brothers, who have taken refuge in\nthe teachings? And do you believe, oh stranger, oh Samana, do you\nbelieve that it would be better for them all the abandon the teachings\nand to return into the life the world and of desires?\u201d\n\n\u201cFar is such a thought from my mind,\u201d exclaimed Siddhartha. \u201cI wish\nthat they shall all stay with the teachings, that they shall reach\ntheir goal! It is not my place to judge another person\u2019s life. Only for\nmyself, for myself alone, I must decide, I must chose, I must refuse.\nSalvation from the self is what we Samanas search for, oh exalted one.\nIf I merely were one of your disciples, oh venerable one, I\u2019d fear that\nit might happen to me that only seemingly, only deceptively my self\nwould be calm and be redeemed, but that in truth it would live on and\ngrow, for then I had replaced my self with the teachings, my duty to\nfollow you, my love for you, and the community of the monks!\u201d\n\nWith half of a smile, with an unwavering openness and kindness, Gotama\nlooked into the stranger\u2019s eyes and bid him to leave with a hardly\nnoticeable gesture.\n\n\u201cYou are wise, oh Samana,\u201d the venerable one spoke. \u201cYou know how to\ntalk wisely, my friend. Be aware of too much wisdom!\u201d\n\nThe Buddha turned away, and his glance and half of a smile remained\nforever etched in Siddhartha\u2019s memory.\n\nI have never before seen a person glance and smile, sit and walk this\nway, he thought; truly, I wish to be able to glance and smile, sit and\nwalk this way, too, thus free, thus venerable, thus concealed, thus\nopen, thus childlike and mysterious. Truly, only a person who has\nsucceeded in reaching the innermost part of his self would glance and\nwalk this way. Well so, I also will seek to reach the innermost part of\nmy self.\n\nI saw a man, Siddhartha thought, a single man, before whom I would have\nto lower my glance. I do not want to lower my glance before any other,\nnot before any other. No teachings will entice me any more, since this\nman\u2019s teachings have not enticed me.\n\nI am deprived by the Buddha, thought Siddhartha, I am deprived, and\neven more he has given to me. He has deprived me of my friend, the one\nwho had believed in me and now believes in him, who had been my shadow\nand is now Gotama\u2019s shadow. But he has given me Siddhartha, myself.\n\n\n\n\nAWAKENING\n\n\nWhen Siddhartha left the grove, where the Buddha, the perfected one,\nstayed behind, where Govinda stayed behind, then he felt that in this\ngrove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him. He pondered\nabout this sensation, which filled him completely, as he was slowly\nwalking along. He pondered deeply, like diving into a deep water he let\nhimself sink down to the ground of the sensation, down to the place\nwhere the causes lie, because to identify the causes, so it seemed to\nhim, is the very essence of thinking, and by this alone sensations turn\ninto realizations and are not lost, but become entities and start to\nemit like rays of light what is inside of them.\n\nSlowly walking along, Siddhartha pondered. He realized that he was no\nyouth any more, but had turned into a man. He realized that one thing\nhad left him, as a snake is left by its old skin, that one thing no\nlonger existed in him, which had accompanied him throughout his youth\nand used to be a part of him: the wish to have teachers and to listen\nto teachings. He had also left the last teacher who had appeared on his\npath, even him, the highest and wisest teacher, the most holy one,\nBuddha, he had left him, had to part with him, was not able to accept\nhis teachings.\n\nSlower, he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself: \u201cBut what is\nthis, what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers,\nand what they, who have taught you much, were still unable to teach\nyou?\u201d And he found: \u201cIt was the self, the purpose and essence of which\nI sought to learn. It was the self, I wanted to free myself from, which\nI sought to overcome. But I was not able to overcome it, could only\ndeceive it, could only flee from it, only hide from it. Truly, no thing\nin this world has kept my thoughts thus busy, as this my very own self,\nthis mystery of me being alive, of me being one and being separated and\nisolated from all others, of me being Siddhartha! And there is no thing\nin this world I know less about than about me, about Siddhartha!\u201d\n\nHaving been pondering while slowly walking along, he now stopped as\nthese thoughts caught hold of him, and right away another thought\nsprang forth from these, a new thought, which was: \u201cThat I know nothing\nabout myself, that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to\nme, stems from one cause, a single cause: I was afraid of myself, I was\nfleeing from myself! I searched Atman, I searched Brahman, I was\nwilling to dissect my self and peel off all of its layers, to find the\ncore of all peels in its unknown interior, the Atman, life, the divine\npart, the ultimate part. But I have lost myself in the process.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha opened his eyes and looked around, a smile filled his face\nand a feeling of awakening from long dreams flowed through him from his\nhead down to his toes. And it was not long before he walked again,\nwalked quickly like a man who knows what he has got to do.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d he thought, taking a deep breath, \u201cnow I would not let Siddhartha\nescape from me again! No longer, I want to begin my thoughts and my\nlife with Atman and with the suffering of the world. I do not want to\nkill and dissect myself any longer, to find a secret behind the ruins.\nNeither Yoga-Veda shall teach me any more, nor Atharva-Veda, nor the\nascetics, nor any kind of teachings. I want to learn from myself, want\nto be my student, want to get to know myself, the secret of\nSiddhartha.\u201d\n\nHe looked around, as if he was seeing the world for the first time.\nBeautiful was the world, colourful was the world, strange and\nmysterious was the world! Here was blue, here was yellow, here was\ngreen, the sky and the river flowed, the forest and the mountains were\nrigid, all of it was beautiful, all of it was mysterious and magical,\nand in its midst was he, Siddhartha, the awakening one, on the path to\nhimself. All of this, all this yellow and blue, river and forest,\nentered Siddhartha for the first time through the eyes, was no longer a\nspell of Mara, was no longer the veil of Maya, was no longer a\npointless and coincidental diversity of mere appearances, despicable to\nthe deeply thinking Brahman, who scorns diversity, who seeks unity.\nBlue was blue, river was river, and if also in the blue and the river,\nin Siddhartha, the singular and divine lived hidden, so it was still\nthat very divinity\u2019s way and purpose, to be here yellow, here blue,\nthere sky, there forest, and here Siddhartha. The purpose and the\nessential properties were not somewhere behind the things, they were in\nthem, in everything.\n\n\u201cHow deaf and stupid have I been!\u201d he thought, walking swiftly along.\n\u201cWhen someone reads a text, wants to discover its meaning, he will not\nscorn the symbols and letters and call them deceptions, coincidence,\nand worthless hull, but he will read them, he will study and love them,\nletter by letter. But I, who wanted to read the book of the world and\nthe book of my own being, I have, for the sake of a meaning I had\nanticipated before I read, scorned the symbols and letters, I called\nthe visible world a deception, called my eyes and my tongue\ncoincidental and worthless forms without substance. No, this is over, I\nhave awakened, I have indeed awakened and have not been born before\nthis very day.\u201d\n\nIn thinking these thoughts, Siddhartha stopped once again, suddenly, as\nif there was a snake lying in front of him on the path.\n\nBecause suddenly, he had also become aware of this: He, who was indeed\nlike someone who had just woken up or like a new-born baby, he had to\nstart his life anew and start again at the very beginning. When he had\nleft in this very morning from the grove Jetavana, the grove of that\nexalted one, already awakening, already on the path towards himself, he\nhad every intention, regarded as natural and took for granted, that he,\nafter years as an ascetic, would return to his home and his father. But\nnow, only in this moment, when he stopped as if a snake was lying on\nhis path, he also awoke to this realization: \u201cBut I am no longer the\none I was, I am no ascetic any more, I am not a priest any more, I am\nno Brahman any more. Whatever should I do at home and at my father\u2019s\nplace? Study? Make offerings? Practise meditation? But all this is\nover, all of this is no longer alongside my path.\u201d\n\nMotionless, Siddhartha remained standing there, and for the time of one\nmoment and breath, his heart felt cold, he felt a cold in his chest, as\na small animal, a bird or a rabbit, would when seeing how alone he was.\nFor many years, he had been without home and had felt nothing. Now, he\nfelt it. Still, even in the deepest meditation, he had been his\nfather\u2019s son, had been a Brahman, of a high caste, a cleric. Now, he\nwas nothing but Siddhartha, the awoken one, nothing else was left.\nDeeply, he inhaled, and for a moment, he felt cold and shivered. Nobody\nwas thus alone as he was. There was no nobleman who did not belong to\nthe noblemen, no worker that did not belong to the workers, and found\nrefuge with them, shared their life, spoke their language. No Brahman,\nwho would not be regarded as Brahmans and lived with them, no ascetic\nwho would not find his refuge in the caste of the Samanas, and even the\nmost forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one and alone, he was\nalso surrounded by a place he belonged to, he also belonged to a caste,\nin which he was at home. Govinda had become a monk, and a thousand\nmonks were his brothers, wore the same robe as he, believed in his\nfaith, spoke his language. But he, Siddhartha, where did he belong to?\nWith whom would he share his life? Whose language would he speak?\n\nOut of this moment, when the world melted away all around him, when he\nstood alone like a star in the sky, out of this moment of a cold and\ndespair, Siddhartha emerged, more a self than before, more firmly\nconcentrated. He felt: This had been the last tremor of the awakening,\nthe last struggle of this birth. And it was not long until he walked\nagain in long strides, started to proceed swiftly and impatiently,\nheading no longer for home, no longer to his father, no longer back.\n\n\n\n\nSECOND PART\n\nDedicated to Wilhelm Gundert, my cousin in Japan\n\n\n\n\nKAMALA\n\n\nSiddhartha learned something new on every step of his path, for the\nworld was transformed, and his heart was enchanted. He saw the sun\nrising over the mountains with their forests and setting over the\ndistant beach with its palm-trees. At night, he saw the stars in the\nsky in their fixed positions and the crescent of the moon floating like\na boat in the blue. He saw trees, stars, animals, clouds, rainbows,\nrocks, herbs, flowers, stream and river, the glistening dew in the\nbushes in the morning, distant high mountains which were blue and pale,\nbirds sang and bees, wind silverishly blew through the rice-field. All\nof this, a thousand-fold and colourful, had always been there, always\nthe sun and the moon had shone, always rivers had roared and bees had\nbuzzed, but in former times all of this had been nothing more to\nSiddhartha than a fleeting, deceptive veil before his eyes, looked upon\nin distrust, destined to be penetrated and destroyed by thought, since\nit was not the essential existence, since this essence lay beyond, on\nthe other side of, the visible. But now, his liberated eyes stayed on\nthis side, he saw and became aware of the visible, sought to be at home\nin this world, did not search for the true essence, did not aim at a\nworld beyond. Beautiful was this world, looking at it thus, without\nsearching, thus simply, thus childlike. Beautiful were the moon and the\nstars, beautiful was the stream and the banks, the forest and the\nrocks, the goat and the gold-beetle, the flower and the butterfly.\nBeautiful and lovely it was, thus to walk through the world, thus\nchildlike, thus awoken, thus open to what is near, thus without\ndistrust. Differently the sun burnt the head, differently the shade of\nthe forest cooled him down, differently the stream and the cistern, the\npumpkin and the banana tasted. Short were the days, short the nights,\nevery hour sped swiftly away like a sail on the sea, and under the sail\nwas a ship full of treasures, full of joy. Siddhartha saw a group of\napes moving through the high canopy of the forest, high in the\nbranches, and heard their savage, greedy song. Siddhartha saw a male\nsheep following a female one and mating with her. In a lake of reeds,\nhe saw the pike hungrily hunting for its dinner; propelling themselves\naway from it, in fear, wiggling and sparkling, the young fish jumped in\ndroves out of the water; the scent of strength and passion came\nforcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water, which the pike stirred\nup, impetuously hunting.\n\nAll of this had always existed, and he had not seen it; he had not been\nwith it. Now he was with it, he was part of it. Light and shadow ran\nthrough his eyes, stars and moon ran through his heart.\n\nOn the way, Siddhartha also remembered everything he had experienced in\nthe Garden Jetavana, the teaching he had heard there, the divine\nBuddha, the farewell from Govinda, the conversation with the exalted\none. Again he remembered his own words, he had spoken to the exalted\none, every word, and with astonishment he became aware of the fact that\nthere he had said things which he had not really known yet at this\ntime. What he had said to Gotama: his, the Buddha\u2019s, treasure and\nsecret was not the teachings, but the unexpressable and not teachable,\nwhich he had experienced in the hour of his enlightenment\u2014it was\nnothing but this very thing which he had now gone to experience, what\nhe now began to experience. Now, he had to experience his self. It is\ntrue that he had already known for a long time that his self was Atman,\nin its essence bearing the same eternal characteristics as Brahman. But\nnever, he had really found this self, because he had wanted to capture\nit in the net of thought. With the body definitely not being the self,\nand not the spectacle of the senses, so it also was not the thought,\nnot the rational mind, not the learned wisdom, not the learned ability\nto draw conclusions and to develop previous thoughts in to new ones.\nNo, this world of thought was also still on this side, and nothing\ncould be achieved by killing the random self of the senses, if the\nrandom self of thoughts and learned knowledge was fattened on the other\nhand. Both, the thoughts as well as the senses, were pretty things, the\nultimate meaning was hidden behind both of them, both had to be\nlistened to, both had to be played with, both neither had to be scorned\nnor overestimated, from both the secret voices of the innermost truth\nhad to be attentively perceived. He wanted to strive for nothing,\nexcept for what the voice commanded him to strive for, dwell on\nnothing, except where the voice would advise him to do so. Why had\nGotama, at that time, in the hour of all hours, sat down under the\nbo-tree, where the enlightenment hit him? He had heard a voice, a voice\nin his own heart, which had commanded him to seek rest under this tree,\nand he had neither preferred self-castigation, offerings, ablutions,\nnor prayer, neither food nor drink, neither sleep nor dream, he had\nobeyed the voice. To obey like this, not to an external command, only\nto the voice, to be ready like this, this was good, this was necessary,\nnothing else was necessary.\n\nIn the night when he slept in the straw hut of a ferryman by the river,\nSiddhartha had a dream: Govinda was standing in front of him, dressed\nin the yellow robe of an ascetic. Sad was how Govinda looked like,\nsadly he asked: Why have you forsaken me? At this, he embraced Govinda,\nwrapped his arms around him, and as he was pulling him close to his\nchest and kissed him, it was not Govinda any more, but a woman, and a\nfull breast popped out of the woman\u2019s dress, at which Siddhartha lay\nand drank, sweetly and strongly tasted the milk from this breast. It\ntasted of woman and man, of sun and forest, of animal and flower, of\nevery fruit, of every joyful desire. It intoxicated him and rendered\nhim unconscious.\u2014When Siddhartha woke up, the pale river shimmered\nthrough the door of the hut, and in the forest, a dark call of an owl\nresounded deeply and pleasantly.\n\nWhen the day began, Siddhartha asked his host, the ferryman, to get him\nacross the river. The ferryman got him across the river on his\nbamboo-raft, the wide water shimmered reddishly in the light of the\nmorning.\n\n\u201cThis is a beautiful river,\u201d he said to his companion.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the ferryman, \u201ca very beautiful river, I love it more than\nanything. Often I have listened to it, often I have looked into its\neyes, and always I have learned from it. Much can be learned from a\nriver.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thank you, my benefactor,\u201d spoke Siddhartha, disembarking on the\nother side of the river. \u201cI have no gift I could give you for your\nhospitality, my dear, and also no payment for your work. I am a man\nwithout a home, a son of a Brahman and a Samana.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did see it,\u201d spoke the ferryman, \u201cand I haven\u2019t expected any payment\nfrom you and no gift which would be the custom for guests to bear. You\nwill give me the gift another time.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think so?\u201d asked Siddhartha amusedly.\n\n\u201cSurely. This too, I have learned from the river: everything is coming\nback! You too, Samana, will come back. Now farewell! Let your\nfriendship be my reward. Commemorate me, when you\u2019ll make offerings to\nthe gods.\u201d\n\nSmiling, they parted. Smiling, Siddhartha was happy about the\nfriendship and the kindness of the ferryman. \u201cHe is like Govinda,\u201d he\nthought with a smile, \u201call I meet on my path are like Govinda. All are\nthankful, though they are the ones who would have a right to receive\nthanks. All are submissive, all would like to be friends, like to obey,\nthink little. Like children are all people.\u201d\n\nAt about noon, he came through a village. In front of the mud cottages,\nchildren were rolling about in the street, were playing with\npumpkin-seeds and sea-shells, screamed and wrestled, but they all\ntimidly fled from the unknown Samana. In the end of the village, the\npath led through a stream, and by the side of the stream, a young woman\nwas kneeling and washing clothes. When Siddhartha greeted her, she\nlifted her head and looked up to him with a smile, so that he saw the\nwhite in her eyes glistening. He called out a blessing to her, as it is\nthe custom among travellers, and asked how far he still had to go to\nreach the large city. Then she got up and came to him, beautifully her\nwet mouth was shimmering in her young face. She exchanged humorous\nbanter with him, asked whether he had eaten already, and whether it was\ntrue that the Samanas slept alone in the forest at night and were not\nallowed to have any women with them. While talking, she put her left\nfoot on his right one and made a movement as a woman does who would\nwant to initiate that kind of sexual pleasure with a man, which the\ntextbooks call \u201cclimbing a tree\u201d. Siddhartha felt his blood heating up,\nand since in this moment he had to think of his dream again, he bend\nslightly down to the woman and kissed with his lips the brown nipple of\nher breast. Looking up, he saw her face smiling full of lust and her\neyes, with contracted pupils, begging with desire.\n\nSiddhartha also felt desire and felt the source of his sexuality\nmoving; but since he had never touched a woman before, he hesitated for\na moment, while his hands were already prepared to reach out for her.\nAnd in this moment he heard, shuddering with awe, the voice of his\ninnermost self, and this voice said No. Then, all charms disappeared\nfrom the young woman\u2019s smiling face, he no longer saw anything else but\nthe damp glance of a female animal in heat. Politely, he petted her\ncheek, turned away from her and disappeared away from the disappointed\nwoman with light steps into the bamboo-wood.\n\nOn this day, he reached the large city before the evening, and was\nhappy, for he felt the need to be among people. For a long time, he had\nlived in the forests, and the straw hut of the ferryman, in which he\nhad slept that night, had been the first roof for a long time he had\nhad over his head.\n\nBefore the city, in a beautifully fenced grove, the traveller came\nacross a small group of servants, both male and female, carrying\nbaskets. In their midst, carried by four servants in an ornamental\nsedan-chair, sat a woman, the mistress, on red pillows under a\ncolourful canopy. Siddhartha stopped at the entrance to the\npleasure-garden and watched the parade, saw the servants, the maids,\nthe baskets, saw the sedan-chair and saw the lady in it. Under black\nhair, which made to tower high on her head, he saw a very fair, very\ndelicate, very smart face, a brightly red mouth, like a freshly cracked\nfig, eyebrows which were well tended and painted in a high arch, smart\nand watchful dark eyes, a clear, tall neck rising from a green and\ngolden garment, resting fair hands, long and thin, with wide golden\nbracelets over the wrists.\n\nSiddhartha saw how beautiful she was, and his heart rejoiced. He bowed\ndeeply, when the sedan-chair came closer, and straightening up again,\nhe looked at the fair, charming face, read for a moment in the smart\neyes with the high arcs above, breathed in a slight fragrant, he did\nnot know. With a smile, the beautiful woman nodded for a moment and\ndisappeared into the grove, and then the servants as well.\n\nThus I am entering this city, Siddhartha thought, with a charming omen.\nHe instantly felt drawn into the grove, but he thought about it, and\nonly now he became aware of how the servants and maids had looked at\nhim at the entrance, how despicable, how distrustful, how rejecting.\n\nI am still a Samana, he thought, I am still an ascetic and beggar. I\nmust not remain like this, I will not be able to enter the grove like\nthis. And he laughed.\n\nThe next person who came along this path he asked about the grove and\nfor the name of the woman, and was told that this was the grove of\nKamala, the famous courtesan, and that, aside from the grove, she owned\na house in the city.\n\nThen, he entered the city. Now he had a goal.\n\nPursuing his goal, he allowed the city to suck him in, drifted through\nthe flow of the streets, stood still on the squares, rested on the\nstairs of stone by the river. When the evening came, he made friends\nwith barber\u2019s assistant, whom he had seen working in the shade of an\narch in a building, whom he found again praying in a temple of Vishnu,\nwhom he told about stories of Vishnu and the Lakshmi. Among the boats\nby the river, he slept this night, and early in the morning, before the\nfirst customers came into his shop, he had the barber\u2019s assistant shave\nhis beard and cut his hair, comb his hair and anoint it with fine oil.\nThen he went to take his bath in the river.\n\nWhen late in the afternoon, beautiful Kamala approached her grove in\nher sedan-chair, Siddhartha was standing at the entrance, made a bow\nand received the courtesan\u2019s greeting. But that servant who walked at\nthe very end of her train he motioned to him and asked him to inform\nhis mistress that a young Brahman would wish to talk to her. After a\nwhile, the servant returned, asked him, who had been waiting, to follow\nhim, conducted him, who was following him, without a word into a\npavilion, where Kamala was lying on a couch, and left him alone with\nher.\n\n\u201cWeren\u2019t you already standing out there yesterday, greeting me?\u201d asked\nKamala.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s true that I\u2019ve already seen and greeted you yesterday.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut didn\u2019t you yesterday wear a beard, and long hair, and dust in your\nhair?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have observed well, you have seen everything. You have seen\nSiddhartha, the son of a Brahman, who has left his home to become a\nSamana, and who has been a Samana for three years. But now, I have left\nthat path and came into this city, and the first one I met, even before\nI had entered the city, was you. To say this, I have come to you, oh\nKamala! You are the first woman whom Siddhartha is not addressing with\nhis eyes turned to the ground. Never again I want to turn my eyes to\nthe ground, when I\u2019m coming across a beautiful woman.\u201d\n\nKamala smiled and played with her fan of peacocks\u2019 feathers. And asked:\n\u201cAnd only to tell me this, Siddhartha has come to me?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo tell you this and to thank you for being so beautiful. And if it\ndoesn\u2019t displease you, Kamala, I would like to ask you to be my friend\nand teacher, for I know nothing yet of that art which you have mastered\nin the highest degree.\u201d\n\nAt this, Kamala laughed aloud.\n\n\u201cNever before this has happened to me, my friend, that a Samana from\nthe forest came to me and wanted to learn from me! Never before this\nhas happened to me, that a Samana came to me with long hair and an old,\ntorn loincloth! Many young men come to me, and there are also sons of\nBrahmans among them, but they come in beautiful clothes, they come in\nfine shoes, they have perfume in their hair and money in their pouches.\nThis is, oh Samana, how the young men are like who come to me.\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cAlready I am starting to learn from you. Even\nyesterday, I was already learning. I have already taken off my beard,\nhave combed the hair, have oil in my hair. There is little which is\nstill missing in me, oh excellent one: fine clothes, fine shoes, money\nin my pouch. You shall know, Siddhartha has set harder goals for\nhimself than such trifles, and he has reached them. How shouldn\u2019t I\nreach that goal, which I have set for myself yesterday: to be your\nfriend and to learn the joys of love from you! You\u2019ll see that I\u2019ll\nlearn quickly, Kamala, I have already learned harder things than what\nyou\u2019re supposed to teach me. And now let\u2019s get to it: You aren\u2019t\nsatisfied with Siddhartha as he is, with oil in his hair, but without\nclothes, without shoes, without money?\u201d\n\nLaughing, Kamala exclaimed: \u201cNo, my dear, he doesn\u2019t satisfy me yet.\nClothes are what he must have, pretty clothes, and shoes, pretty shoes,\nand lots of money in his pouch, and gifts for Kamala. Do you know it\nnow, Samana from the forest? Did you mark my words?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I have marked your words,\u201d Siddhartha exclaimed. \u201cHow should I\nnot mark words which are coming from such a mouth! Your mouth is like a\nfreshly cracked fig, Kamala. My mouth is red and fresh as well, it will\nbe a suitable match for yours, you\u2019ll see.\u2014But tell me, beautiful\nKamala, aren\u2019t you at all afraid of the Samana from the forest, who has\ncome to learn how to make love?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever for should I be afraid of a Samana, a stupid Samana from the\nforest, who is coming from the jackals and doesn\u2019t even know yet what\nwomen are?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, he\u2019s strong, the Samana, and he isn\u2019t afraid of anything. He could\nforce you, beautiful girl. He could kidnap you. He could hurt you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Samana, I am not afraid of this. Did any Samana or Brahman ever\nfear, someone might come and grab him and steal his learning, and his\nreligious devotion, and his depth of thought? No, for they are his very\nown, and he would only give away from those whatever he is willing to\ngive and to whomever he is willing to give. Like this it is, precisely\nlike this it is also with Kamala and with the pleasures of love.\nBeautiful and red is Kamala\u2019s mouth, but just try to kiss it against\nKamala\u2019s will, and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from\nit, which knows how to give so many sweet things! You are learning\neasily, Siddhartha, thus you should also learn this: love can be\nobtained by begging, buying, receiving it as a gift, finding it in the\nstreet, but it cannot be stolen. In this, you have come up with the\nwrong path. No, it would be a pity, if a pretty young man like you\nwould want to tackle it in such a wrong manner.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha bowed with a smile. \u201cIt would be a pity, Kamala, you are so\nright! It would be such a great pity. No, I shall not lose a single\ndrop of sweetness from your mouth, nor you from mine! So it is settled:\nSiddhartha will return, once he\u2019ll have what he still lacks: clothes,\nshoes, money. But speak, lovely Kamala, couldn\u2019t you still give me one\nsmall advice?\u201d\n\n\u201cAn advice? Why not? Who wouldn\u2019t like to give an advice to a poor,\nignorant Samana, who is coming from the jackals of the forest?\u201d\n\n\u201cDear Kamala, thus advise me where I should go to, that I\u2019ll find these\nthree things most quickly?\u201d\n\n\u201cFriend, many would like to know this. You must do what you\u2019ve learned\nand ask for money, clothes, and shoes in return. There is no other way\nfor a poor man to obtain money. What might you be able to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can think. I can wait. I can fast.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing else?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing. But yes, I can also write poetry. Would you like to give me a\nkiss for a poem?\u201d\n\n\u201cI would like to, if I\u2019ll like your poem. What would be its title?\u201d\n\nSiddhartha spoke, after he had thought about it for a moment, these\nverses:\n\nInto her shady grove stepped the pretty Kamala, At the grove\u2019s entrance\nstood the brown Samana. Deeply, seeing the lotus\u2019s blossom, Bowed that\nman, and smiling Kamala thanked. More lovely, thought the young man,\nthan offerings for gods, More lovely is offering to pretty Kamala.\n\nKamala loudly clapped her hands, so that the golden bracelets clanged.\n\n\u201cBeautiful are your verses, oh brown Samana, and truly, I\u2019m losing\nnothing when I\u2019m giving you a kiss for them.\u201d\n\nShe beckoned him with her eyes, he tilted his head so that his face\ntouched hers and placed his mouth on that mouth which was like a\nfreshly cracked fig. For a long time, Kamala kissed him, and with a\ndeep astonishment Siddhartha felt how she taught him, how wise she was,\nhow she controlled him, rejected him, lured him, and how after this\nfirst one there was to be a long, a well ordered, well tested sequence\nof kisses, every one different from the others, he was still to receive.\nBreathing deeply, he remained standing where he was, and was in this\nmoment astonished like a child about the cornucopia of knowledge and\nthings worth learning, which revealed itself before his eyes.\n\n\u201cVery beautiful are your verses,\u201d exclaimed Kamala, \u201cif I was rich, I\nwould give you pieces of gold for them. But it will be difficult for\nyou to earn thus much money with verses as you need. For you need a lot\nof money, if you want to be Kamala\u2019s friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe way you\u2019re able to kiss, Kamala!\u201d stammered Siddhartha.\n\n\u201cYes, this I am able to do, therefore I do not lack clothes, shoes,\nbracelets, and all beautiful things. But what will become of you?\nAren\u2019t you able to do anything else but thinking, fasting, making\npoetry?\u201d\n\n\u201cI also know the sacrificial songs,\u201d said Siddhartha, \u201cbut I do not\nwant to sing them any more. I also know magic spells, but I do not want\nto speak them any more. I have read the scriptures\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cStop,\u201d Kamala interrupted him. \u201cYou\u2019re able to read? And write?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, I can do this. Many people can do this.\u201d\n\n\u201cMost people can\u2019t. I also can\u2019t do it. It is very good that you\u2019re\nable to read and write, very good. You will also still find use for the\nmagic spells.\u201d\n\nIn this moment, a maid came running in and whispered a message into her\nmistress\u2019s ear.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a visitor for me,\u201d exclaimed Kamala. \u201cHurry and get yourself\naway, Siddhartha, nobody may see you in here, remember this! Tomorrow,\nI\u2019ll see you again.\u201d\n\nBut to the maid she gave the order to give the pious Brahman white\nupper garments. Without fully understanding what was happening to him,\nSiddhartha found himself being dragged away by the maid, brought into a\ngarden-house avoiding the direct path, being given upper garments as a\ngift, led into the bushes, and urgently admonished to get himself out\nof the grove as soon as possible without being seen.\n\nContently, he did as he had been told. Being accustomed to the forest,\nhe managed to get out of the grove and over the hedge without making a\nsound. Contently, he returned to the city, carrying the rolled up\ngarments under his arm. At the inn, where travellers stay, he\npositioned himself by the door, without words he asked for food,\nwithout a word he accepted a piece of rice-cake. Perhaps as soon as\ntomorrow, he thought, I will ask no one for food any more.\n\nSuddenly, pride flared up in him. He was no Samana any more, it was no\nlonger becoming to him to beg. He gave the rice-cake to a dog and\nremained without food.\n\n\u201cSimple is the life which people lead in this world here,\u201d thought\nSiddhartha. \u201cIt presents no difficulties. Everything was difficult,\ntoilsome, and ultimately hopeless, when I was still a Samana. Now,\neverything is easy, easy like that lesson in kissing, which Kamala is\ngiving me. I need clothes and money, nothing else; these are small,\nnear goals, they won\u2019t make a person lose any sleep.\u201d\n\nHe had already discovered Kamala\u2019s house in the city long before, there\nhe turned up the following day.\n\n\u201cThings are working out well,\u201d she called out to him. \u201cThey are\nexpecting you at Kamaswami\u2019s, he is the richest merchant of the city.\nIf he\u2019ll like you, he\u2019ll accept you into his service. Be smart, brown\nSamana. I had others tell him about you. Be polite towards him, he is\nvery powerful. But don\u2019t be too modest! I do not want you to become his\nservant, you shall become his equal, or else I won\u2019t be satisfied with\nyou. Kamaswami is starting to get old and lazy. If he\u2019ll like you,\nhe\u2019ll entrust you with a lot.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha thanked her and laughed, and when she found out that he had\nnot eaten anything yesterday and today, she sent for bread and fruits\nand treated him to it.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve been lucky,\u201d she said when they parted, \u201cI\u2019m opening one door\nafter another for you. How come? Do you have a spell?\u201d\n\nSiddhartha said: \u201cYesterday, I told you I knew how to think, to wait,\nand to fast, but you thought this was of no use. But it is useful for\nmany things, Kamala, you\u2019ll see. You\u2019ll see that the stupid Samanas are\nlearning and able to do many pretty things in the forest, which the\nlikes of you aren\u2019t capable of. The day before yesterday, I was still a\nshaggy beggar, as soon as yesterday I have kissed Kamala, and soon I\u2019ll\nbe a merchant and have money and all those things you insist upon.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell yes,\u201d she admitted. \u201cBut where would you be without me? What\nwould you be, if Kamala wasn\u2019t helping you?\u201d\n\n\u201cDear Kamala,\u201d said Siddhartha and straightened up to his full height,\n\u201cwhen I came to you into your grove, I did the first step. It was my\nresolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman. From that\nmoment on when I had made this resolution, I also knew that I would\ncarry it out. I knew that you would help me, at your first glance at\nthe entrance of the grove I already knew it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what if I hadn\u2019t been willing?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou were willing. Look, Kamala: When you throw a rock into the water,\nit will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. This is\nhow it is when Siddhartha has a goal, a resolution. Siddhartha does\nnothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he passes through the\nthings of the world like a rock through water, without doing anything,\nwithout stirring; he is drawn, he lets himself fall. His goal attracts\nhim, because he doesn\u2019t let anything enter his soul which might oppose\nthe goal. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. This\nis what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected\nby means of the daemons. Nothing is effected by daemons, there are no\ndaemons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if\nhe is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast.\u201d\n\nKamala listened to him. She loved his voice, she loved the look from\nhis eyes.\n\n\u201cPerhaps it is so,\u201d she said quietly, \u201cas you say, friend. But perhaps\nit is also like this: that Siddhartha is a handsome man, that his\nglance pleases the women, that therefore good fortune is coming towards\nhim.\u201d\n\nWith one kiss, Siddhartha bid his farewell. \u201cI wish that it should be\nthis way, my teacher; that my glance shall please you, that always good\nfortune shall come to me out of your direction!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nWITH THE CHILDLIKE PEOPLE\n\n\nSiddhartha went to Kamaswami the merchant, he was directed into a rich\nhouse, servants led him between precious carpets into a chamber, where\nhe awaited the master of the house.\n\nKamaswami entered, a swiftly, smoothly moving man with very gray hair,\nwith very intelligent, cautious eyes, with a greedy mouth. Politely,\nthe host and the guest greeted one another.\n\n\u201cI have been told,\u201d the merchant began, \u201cthat you were a Brahman, a\nlearned man, but that you seek to be in the service of a merchant.\nMight you have become destitute, Brahman, so that you seek to serve?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Siddhartha, \u201cI have not become destitute and have never been\ndestitute. You should know that I\u2019m coming from the Samanas, with whom\nI have lived for a long time.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you\u2019re coming from the Samanas, how could you be anything but\ndestitute? Aren\u2019t the Samanas entirely without possessions?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am without possessions,\u201d said Siddhartha, \u201cif this is what you mean.\nSurely, I am without possessions. But I am so voluntarily, and\ntherefore I am not destitute.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what are you planning to live of, being without possessions?\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t thought of this yet, sir. For more than three years, I have\nbeen without possessions, and have never thought about of what I should\nlive.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you\u2019ve lived of the possessions of others.\u201d\n\n\u201cPresumable this is how it is. After all, a merchant also lives of what\nother people own.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell said. But he wouldn\u2019t take anything from another person for\nnothing; he would give his merchandise in return.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo it seems to be indeed. Everyone takes, everyone gives, such is\nlife.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if you don\u2019t mind me asking: being without possessions, what would\nyou like to give?\u201d\n\n\u201cEveryone gives what he has. The warrior gives strength, the merchant\ngives merchandise, the teacher teachings, the farmer rice, the fisher\nfish.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes indeed. And what is it now what you\u2019ve got to give? What is it\nthat you\u2019ve learned, what you\u2019re able to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can think. I can wait. I can fast.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s everything?\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe, that\u2019s everything!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what\u2019s the use of that? For example, the fasting\u2014what is it good\nfor?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is very good, sir. When a person has nothing to eat, fasting is the\nsmartest thing he could do. When, for example, Siddhartha hadn\u2019t\nlearned to fast, he would have to accept any kind of service before\nthis day is up, whether it may be with you or wherever, because hunger\nwould force him to do so. But like this, Siddhartha can wait calmly, he\nknows no impatience, he knows no emergency, for a long time he can\nallow hunger to besiege him and can laugh about it. This, sir, is what\nfasting is good for.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, Samana. Wait for a moment.\u201d\n\nKamaswami left the room and returned with a scroll, which he handed to\nhis guest while asking: \u201cCan you read this?\u201d\n\nSiddhartha looked at the scroll, on which a sales-contract had been\nwritten down, and began to read out its contents.\n\n\u201cExcellent,\u201d said Kamaswami. \u201cAnd would you write something for me on\nthis piece of paper?\u201d\n\nHe handed him a piece of paper and a pen, and Siddhartha wrote and\nreturned the paper.\n\nKamaswami read: \u201cWriting is good, thinking is better. Being smart is\ngood, being patient is better.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is excellent how you\u2019re able to write,\u201d the merchant praised him.\n\u201cMany a thing we will still have to discuss with one another. For\ntoday, I\u2019m asking you to be my guest and to live in this house.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha thanked and accepted, and lived in the dealer\u2019s house from\nnow on. Clothes were brought to him, and shoes, and every day, a\nservant prepared a bath for him. Twice a day, a plentiful meal was\nserved, but Siddhartha only ate once a day, and ate neither meat nor\ndid he drink wine. Kamaswami told him about his trade, showed him the\nmerchandise and storage-rooms, showed him calculations. Siddhartha got\nto know many new things, he heard a lot and spoke little. And thinking\nof Kamala\u2019s words, he was never subservient to the merchant, forced him\nto treat him as an equal, yes even more than an equal. Kamaswami\nconducted his business with care and often with passion, but Siddhartha\nlooked upon all of this as if it was a game, the rules of which he\ntried hard to learn precisely, but the contents of which did not touch\nhis heart.\n\nHe was not in Kamaswami\u2019s house for long, when he already took part in\nhis landlord\u2019s business. But daily, at the hour appointed by her, he\nvisited beautiful Kamala, wearing pretty clothes, fine shoes, and soon\nhe brought her gifts as well. Much he learned from her red, smart\nmouth. Much he learned from her tender, supple hand. Him, who was,\nregarding love, still a boy and had a tendency to plunge blindly and\ninsatiably into lust like into a bottomless pit, him she taught,\nthoroughly starting with the basics, about that school of thought which\nteaches that pleasure cannot be taken without giving pleasure, and that\nevery gesture, every caress, every touch, every look, every spot of the\nbody, however small it was, had its secret, which would bring happiness\nto those who know about it and unleash it. She taught him, that lovers\nmust not part from one another after celebrating love, without one\nadmiring the other, without being just as defeated as they have been\nvictorious, so that none of them should start feeling fed up or\nbored and get that evil feeling of having abused or having been abused.\nWonderful hours he spent with the beautiful and smart artist, became\nher student, her lover, her friend. Here with Kamala was the worth and\npurpose of his present life, not with the business of Kamaswami.\n\nThe merchant passed duties of writing important letters and\ncontracts on to him and got into the habit of discussing all important\naffairs with him. He soon saw that Siddhartha knew little about rice\nand wool, shipping and trade, but that he acted in a fortunate manner,\nand that Siddhartha surpassed him, the merchant, in calmness and\nequanimity, and in the art of listening and deeply understanding\npreviously unknown people. \u201cThis Brahman,\u201d he said to a friend, \u201cis no\nproper merchant and will never be one, there is never any passion in\nhis soul when he conducts our business. But he has that mysterious\nquality of those people to whom success comes all by itself, whether\nthis may be a good star of his birth, magic, or something he has\nlearned among Samanas. He always seems to be merely playing with our\nbusiness-affairs, they never fully become a part of him, they never\nrule over him, he is never afraid of failure, he is never upset by a\nloss.\u201d\n\nThe friend advised the merchant: \u201cGive him from the business he\nconducts for you a third of the profits, but let him also be liable for\nthe same amount of the losses, when there is a loss. Then, he\u2019ll become\nmore zealous.\u201d\n\nKamaswami followed the advice. But Siddhartha cared little about this.\nWhen he made a profit, he accepted it with equanimity; when he made\nlosses, he laughed and said: \u201cWell, look at this, so this one turned\nout badly!\u201d\n\nIt seemed indeed, as if he did not care about the business. At one\ntime, he travelled to a village to buy a large harvest of rice there.\nBut when he got there, the rice had already been sold to another\nmerchant. Nevertheless, Siddhartha stayed for several days in that\nvillage, treated the farmers for a drink, gave copper-coins to their\nchildren, joined in the celebration of a wedding, and returned\nextremely satisfied from his trip. Kamaswami held against him that he\nhad not turned back right away, that he had wasted time and money.\nSiddhartha answered: \u201cStop scolding, dear friend! Nothing was ever\nachieved by scolding. If a loss has occurred, let me bear that loss. I\nam very satisfied with this trip. I have gotten to know many kinds of\npeople, a Brahman has become my friend, children have sat on my knees,\nfarmers have shown me their fields, nobody knew that I was a merchant.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all very nice,\u201d exclaimed Kamaswami indignantly, \u201cbut in fact,\nyou are a merchant after all, one ought to think! Or might you have\nonly travelled for your amusement?\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely,\u201d Siddhartha laughed, \u201csurely I have travelled for my\namusement. For what else? I have gotten to know people and places, I\nhave received kindness and trust, I have found friendship. Look, my\ndear, if I had been Kamaswami, I would have travelled back, being\nannoyed and in a hurry, as soon as I had seen that my purchase had been\nrendered impossible, and time and money would indeed have been lost.\nBut like this, I\u2019ve had a few good days, I\u2019ve learned, had joy, I\u2019ve\nneither harmed myself nor others by annoyance and hastiness. And if\nI\u2019ll ever return there again, perhaps to buy an upcoming harvest, or\nfor whatever purpose it might be, friendly people will receive me in a\nfriendly and happy manner, and I will praise myself for not showing any\nhurry and displeasure at that time. So, leave it as it is, my friend,\nand don\u2019t harm yourself by scolding! If the day will come, when you\nwill see: this Siddhartha is harming me, then speak a word and\nSiddhartha will go on his own path. But until then, let\u2019s be satisfied\nwith one another.\u201d\n\nFutile were also the merchant\u2019s attempts, to convince Siddhartha that\nhe should eat his bread. Siddhartha ate his own bread, or rather they\nboth ate other people\u2019s bread, all people\u2019s bread. Siddhartha never\nlistened to Kamaswami\u2019s worries and Kamaswami had many worries. Whether\nthere was a business-deal going on which was in danger of failing, or\nwhether a shipment of merchandise seemed to have been lost, or a debtor\nseemed to be unable to pay, Kamaswami could never convince his partner\nthat it would be useful to utter a few words of worry or anger, to have\nwrinkles on the forehead, to sleep badly. When, one day, Kamaswami held\nagainst him that he had learned everything he knew from him, he\nreplied: \u201cWould you please not kid me with such jokes! What I\u2019ve\nlearned from you is how much a basket of fish costs and how much\ninterest may be charged on loaned money. These are your areas of\nexpertise. I haven\u2019t learned to think from you, my dear Kamaswami, you\nought to be the one seeking to learn from me.\u201d\n\nIndeed his soul was not with the trade. The business was good enough to\nprovide him with the money for Kamala, and it earned him much more than\nhe needed. Besides from this, Siddhartha\u2019s interest and curiosity was\nonly concerned with the people, whose businesses, crafts, worries,\npleasures, and acts of foolishness used to be as alien and distant to\nhim as the moon. However easily he succeeded in talking to all of them,\nin living with all of them, in learning from all of them, he was still\naware that there was something which separated him from them and this\nseparating factor was him being a Samana. He saw mankind going through\nlife in a childlike or animallike manner, which he loved and also\ndespised at the same time. He saw them toiling, saw them suffering, and\nbecoming gray for the sake of things which seemed to him entirely\nunworthy of this price, for money, for little pleasures, for being\nslightly honoured, he saw them scolding and insulting each other, he\nsaw them complaining about pain at which a Samana would only smile, and\nsuffering because of deprivations which a Samana would not feel.\n\nHe was open to everything these people brought his way. Welcome was\nthe merchant who offered him linen for sale, welcome was the debtor who\nsought another loan, welcome was the beggar who told him for one hour\nthe story of his poverty and who was not half as poor as any given\nSamana. He did not treat the rich foreign merchant any different than\nthe servant who shaved him and the street-vendor whom he let cheat him\nout of some small change when buying bananas. When Kamaswami came to\nhim, to complain about his worries or to reproach him concerning his\nbusiness, he listened curiously and happily, was puzzled by him, tried\nto understand him, consented that he was a little bit right, only as\nmuch as he considered indispensable, and turned away from him, towards\nthe next person who would ask for him. And there were many who came to\nhim, many to do business with him, many to cheat him, many to draw some\nsecret out of him, many to appeal to his sympathy, many to get his\nadvice. He gave advice, he pitied, he made gifts, he let them cheat him\na bit, and this entire game and the passion with which all people\nplayed this game occupied his thoughts just as much as the gods and\nBrahmans used to occupy them.\n\nAt times he felt, deep in his chest, a dying, quiet voice, which\nadmonished him quietly, lamented quietly; he hardly perceived it. And\nthen, for an hour, he became aware of the strange life he was leading,\nof him doing lots of things which were only a game, of, though being\nhappy and feeling joy at times, real life still passing him by and not\ntouching him. As a ball-player plays with his balls, he played with his\nbusiness-deals, with the people around him, watched them, found\namusement in them; with his heart, with the source of his being, he was\nnot with them. The source ran somewhere, far away from him, ran and ran\ninvisibly, had nothing to do with his life any more. And at several\ntimes he suddenly became scared on account of such thoughts and wished\nthat he would also be gifted with the ability to participate in all of\nthese childlike-naive occupations of the daytime with passion and with\nhis heart, really to live, really to act, really to enjoy and to live\ninstead of just standing by as a spectator. But again and again, he\ncame back to beautiful Kamala, learned the art of love, practised the\ncult of lust, in which more than in anything else giving and taking\nbecomes one, chatted with her, learned from her, gave her advice,\nreceived advice. She understood him better than Govinda used to\nunderstand him, she was more similar to him.\n\nOnce, he said to her: \u201cYou are like me, you are different from most\npeople. You are Kamala, nothing else, and inside of you, there is a\npeace and refuge, to which you can go at every hour of the day and be\nat home at yourself, as I can also do. Few people have this, and yet\nall could have it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot all people are smart,\u201d said Kamala.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Siddhartha, \u201cthat\u2019s not the reason why. Kamaswami is just as\nsmart as I, and still has no refuge in himself. Others have it, who are\nsmall children with respect to their mind. Most people, Kamala, are\nlike a falling leaf, which is blown and is turning around through the\nair, and wavers, and tumbles to the ground. But others, a few, are like\nstars, they go on a fixed course, no wind reaches them, in themselves\nthey have their law and their course. Among all the learned men and\nSamanas, of which I knew many, there was one of this kind, a perfected\none, I\u2019ll never be able to forget him. It is that Gotama, the exalted\none, who is spreading those teachings. Thousands of followers are\nlistening to his teachings every day, follow his instructions every\nhour, but they are all falling leaves, not in themselves they have\nteachings and a law.\u201d\n\nKamala looked at him with a smile. \u201cAgain, you\u2019re talking about him,\u201d\nshe said, \u201cagain, you\u2019re having a Samana\u2019s thoughts.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha said nothing, and they played the game of love, one of the\nthirty or forty different games Kamala knew. Her body was flexible like\nthat of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter; he who had learned from\nher how to make love, was knowledgeable of many forms of lust, many\nsecrets. For a long time, she played with Siddhartha, enticed him,\nrejected him, forced him, embraced him: enjoyed his masterful skills,\nuntil he was defeated and rested exhausted by her side.\n\nThe courtesan bent over him, took a long look at his face, at his eyes,\nwhich had grown tired.\n\n\u201cYou are the best lover,\u201d she said thoughtfully, \u201cI ever saw. You\u2019re\nstronger than others, more supple, more willing. You\u2019ve learned my art\nwell, Siddhartha. At some time, when I\u2019ll be older, I\u2019d want to bear\nyour child. And yet, my dear, you\u2019ve remained a Samana, and yet you do\nnot love me, you love nobody. Isn\u2019t it so?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt might very well be so,\u201d Siddhartha said tiredly. \u201cI am like you.\nYou also do not love\u2014how else could you practise love as a craft?\nPerhaps, people of our kind can\u2019t love. The childlike people can;\nthat\u2019s their secret.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSANSARA\n\n\nFor a long time, Siddhartha had lived the life of the world and of\nlust, though without being a part of it. His senses, which he had\nkilled off in hot years as a Samana, had awoken again, he had tasted\nriches, had tasted lust, had tasted power; nevertheless he had still\nremained in his heart for a long time a Samana; Kamala, being smart,\nhad realized this quite right. It was still the art of thinking, of\nwaiting, of fasting, which guided his life; still the people of the\nworld, the childlike people, had remained alien to him as he was alien\nto them.\n\nYears passed by; surrounded by the good life, Siddhartha hardly felt\nthem fading away. He had become rich, for quite a while he possessed a\nhouse of his own and his own servants, and a garden before the city by\nthe river. The people liked him, they came to him, whenever they needed\nmoney or advice, but there was nobody close to him, except Kamala.\n\nThat high, bright state of being awake, which he had experienced that\none time at the height of his youth, in those days after Gotama\u2019s\nsermon, after the separation from Govinda, that tense expectation, that\nproud state of standing alone without teachings and without teachers,\nthat supple willingness to listen to the divine voice in his own heart,\nhad slowly become a memory, had been fleeting; distant and quiet, the\nholy source murmured, which used to be near, which used to murmur\nwithin himself. Nevertheless, many things he had learned from the\nSamanas, he had learned from Gotama, he had learned from his father the\nBrahman, had remained within him for a long time afterwards: moderate\nliving, joy of thinking, hours of meditation, secret knowledge of the\nself, of his eternal entity, which is neither body nor consciousness.\nMany a part of this he still had, but one part after another had been\nsubmerged and had gathered dust. Just as a potter\u2019s wheel, once it has\nbeen set in motion, will keep on turning for a long time and only\nslowly lose its vigour and come to a stop, thus Siddhartha\u2019s soul had\nkept on turning the wheel of asceticism, the wheel of thinking, the\nwheel of differentiation for a long time, still turning, but it turned\nslowly and hesitantly and was close to coming to a standstill. Slowly,\nlike humidity entering the dying stem of a tree, filling it slowly and\nmaking it rot, the world and sloth had entered Siddhartha\u2019s soul,\nslowly it filled his soul, made it heavy, made it tired, put it to\nsleep. On the other hand, his senses had become alive, there was much\nthey had learned, much they had experienced.\n\nSiddhartha had learned to trade, to use his power over people, to enjoy\nhimself with a woman, he had learned to wear beautiful clothes, to give\norders to servants, to bathe in perfumed waters. He had learned to eat\ntenderly and carefully prepared food, even fish, even meat and poultry,\nspices and sweets, and to drink wine, which causes sloth and\nforgetfulness. He had learned to play with dice and on a chess-board,\nto watch dancing girls, to have himself carried about in a sedan-chair,\nto sleep on a soft bed. But still he had felt different from and\nsuperior to the others; always he had watched them with some mockery,\nsome mocking disdain, with the same disdain which a Samana constantly\nfeels for the people of the world. When Kamaswami was ailing, when he\nwas annoyed, when he felt insulted, when he was vexed by his worries as\na merchant, Siddhartha had always watched it with mockery. Just slowly\nand imperceptibly, as the harvest seasons and rainy seasons passed by,\nhis mockery had become more tired, his superiority had become more\nquiet. Just slowly, among his growing riches, Siddhartha had assumed\nsomething of the childlike people\u2019s ways for himself, something of\ntheir childlikeness and of their fearfulness. And yet, he envied them,\nenvied them just the more, the more similar he became to them. He\nenvied them for the one thing that was missing from him and that they\nhad, the importance they were able to attach to their lives, the amount\nof passion in their joys and fears, the fearful but sweet happiness of\nbeing constantly in love. These people were all of the time in love\nwith themselves, with women, with their children, with honours or\nmoney, with plans or hopes. But he did not learn this from them, this\nout of all things, this joy of a child and this foolishness of a child;\nhe learned from them out of all things the unpleasant ones, which he\nhimself despised. It happened more and more often that, in the morning\nafter having had company the night before, he stayed in bed for a long\ntime, felt unable to think and tired. It happened that he became angry\nand impatient, when Kamaswami bored him with his worries. It happened\nthat he laughed just too loud when he lost a game of dice. His face\nwas still smarter and more spiritual than others, but it rarely\nlaughed, and assumed, one after another, those features which are so\noften found in the faces of rich people, those features of discontent,\nof sickliness, of ill-humour, of sloth, of a lack of love. Slowly the\ndisease of the soul, which rich people have, grabbed hold of him.\n\nLike a veil, like a thin mist, tiredness came over Siddhartha, slowly,\ngetting a bit denser every day, a bit murkier every month, a bit\nheavier every year. As a new dress becomes old in time, loses its\nbeautiful colour in time, gets stains, gets wrinkles, gets worn off at\nthe seams, and starts to show threadbare spots here and there, thus\nSiddhartha\u2019s new life, which he had started after his separation from\nGovinda, had grown old, lost colour and splendour as the years passed\nby, was gathering wrinkles and stains, and hidden at bottom, already\nshowing its ugliness here and there, disappointment and disgust were\nwaiting. Siddhartha did not notice it. He only noticed that this bright\nand reliable voice inside of him, which had awoken in him at that time\nand had ever guided him in his best times, had become silent.\n\nHe had been captured by the world, by lust, covetousness, sloth, and\nfinally also by that vice which he had used to despise and mock the\nmost as the most foolish one of all vices: greed. Property,\npossessions, and riches also had finally captured him; they were no\nlonger a game and trifles to him, had become a shackle and a burden. In\na strange and devious way, Siddhartha had gotten into this final and\nmost base of all dependencies, by means of the game of dice. It was\nsince that time, when he had stopped being a Samana in his heart, that\nSiddhartha began to play the game for money and precious things, which\nhe at other times only joined with a smile and casually as a custom of\nthe childlike people, with an increasing rage and passion. He was a\nfeared gambler, few dared to take him on, so high and audacious were\nhis stakes. He played the game due to a pain of his heart, losing and\nwasting his wretched money in the game brought him an angry joy, in no\nother way he could demonstrate his disdain for wealth, the merchants\u2019\nfalse god, more clearly and more mockingly. Thus he gambled with high\nstakes and mercilessly, hating himself, mocking himself, won thousands,\nthrew away thousands, lost money, lost jewelry, lost a house in the\ncountry, won again, lost again. That fear, that terrible and petrifying\nfear, which he felt while he was rolling the dice, while he was worried\nabout losing high stakes, that fear he loved and sought to always renew\nit, always increase it, always get it to a slightly higher level, for\nin this feeling alone he still felt something like happiness, something\nlike an intoxication, something like an elevated form of life in the\nmidst of his saturated, lukewarm, dull life.\n\nAnd after each big loss, his mind was set on new riches, pursued the\ntrade more zealously, forced his debtors more strictly to pay, because\nhe wanted to continue gambling, he wanted to continue squandering,\ncontinue demonstrating his disdain of wealth. Siddhartha lost his\ncalmness when losses occurred, lost his patience when he was not paid\non time, lost his kindness towards beggars, lost his disposition for\ngiving away and loaning money to those who petitioned him. He, who\ngambled away tens of thousands at one roll of the dice and laughed at\nit, became more strict and more petty in his business, occasionally\ndreaming at night about money! And whenever he woke up from this ugly\nspell, whenever he found his face in the mirror at the bedroom\u2019s wall\nto have aged and become more ugly, whenever embarrassment and disgust\ncame over him, he continued fleeing, fleeing into a new game, fleeing\ninto a numbing of his mind brought on by sex, by wine, and from there\nhe fled back into the urge to pile up and obtain possessions. In this\npointless cycle he ran, growing tired, growing old, growing ill.\n\nThen the time came when a dream warned him. He had spent the hours of\nthe evening with Kamala, in her beautiful pleasure-garden. They had\nbeen sitting under the trees, talking, and Kamala had said thoughtful\nwords, words behind which a sadness and tiredness lay hidden. She had\nasked him to tell her about Gotama, and could not hear enough of him,\nhow clear his eyes, how still and beautiful his mouth, how kind his\nsmile, how peaceful his walk had been. For a long time, he had to tell\nher about the exalted Buddha, and Kamala had sighed and had said: \u201cOne\nday, perhaps soon, I\u2019ll also follow that Buddha. I\u2019ll give him my\npleasure-garden for a gift and take my refuge in his teachings.\u201d But\nafter this, she had aroused him, and had tied him to her in the act of\nmaking love with painful fervour, biting and in tears, as if, once\nmore, she wanted to squeeze the last sweet drop out of this vain,\nfleeting pleasure. Never before, it had become so strangely clear to\nSiddhartha, how closely lust was akin to death. Then he had lain by her\nside, and Kamala\u2019s face had been close to him, and under her eyes and\nnext to the corners of her mouth he had, as clearly as never before,\nread a fearful inscription, an inscription of small lines, of slight\ngrooves, an inscription reminiscent of autumn and old age, just as\nSiddhartha himself, who was only in his forties, had already noticed,\nhere and there, gray hairs among his black ones. Tiredness was written\non Kamala\u2019s beautiful face, tiredness from walking a long path, which\nhas no happy destination, tiredness and the beginning of withering, and\nconcealed, still unsaid, perhaps not even conscious anxiety: fear of\nold age, fear of the autumn, fear of having to die. With a sigh, he had\nbid his farewell to her, the soul full of reluctance, and full of\nconcealed anxiety.\n\nThen, Siddhartha had spent the night in his house with dancing girls\nand wine, had acted as if he was superior to them, towards the\nfellow-members of his caste, though this was no longer true, had drunk\nmuch wine and gone to bed a long time after midnight, being tired and\nyet excited, close to weeping and despair, and had for a long time\nsought to sleep in vain, his heart full of misery which he thought he\ncould not bear any longer, full of a disgust which he felt penetrating\nhis entire body like the lukewarm, repulsive taste of the wine, the\njust too sweet, dull music, the just too soft smile of the dancing\ngirls, the just too sweet scent of their hair and breasts. But more\nthan by anything else, he was disgusted by himself, by his perfumed\nhair, by the smell of wine from his mouth, by the flabby tiredness and\nlistlessness of his skin. Like when someone, who has eaten and drunk\nfar too much, vomits it back up again with agonising pain and is\nnevertheless glad about the relief, thus this sleepless man wished to\nfree himself of these pleasures, these habits and all of this pointless\nlife and himself, in an immense burst of disgust. Not until the light\nof the morning and the beginning of the first activities in the street\nbefore his city-house, he had slightly fallen asleep, had found for a\nfew moments a half unconsciousness, a hint of sleep. In those moments,\nhe had a dream:\n\nKamala owned a small, rare singing bird in a golden cage. Of this bird,\nhe dreamt. He dreamt: this bird had become mute, who at other times\nalways used to sing in the morning, and since this arose his attention,\nhe stepped in front of the cage and looked inside; there the small bird\nwas dead and lay stiff on the ground. He took it out, weighed it for a\nmoment in his hand, and then threw it away, out in the street, and in\nthe same moment, he felt terribly shocked, and his heart hurt, as if he\nhad thrown away from himself all value and everything good by throwing\nout this dead bird.\n\nStarting up from this dream, he felt encompassed by a deep sadness.\nWorthless, so it seemed to him, worthless and pointless was the way he\nhad been going through life; nothing which was alive, nothing which was\nin some way delicious or worth keeping he had left in his hands. Alone\nhe stood there and empty like a castaway on the shore.\n\nWith a gloomy mind, Siddhartha went to the pleasure-garden he owned,\nlocked the gate, sat down under a mango-tree, felt death in his heart\nand horror in his chest, sat and sensed how everything died in him,\nwithered in him, came to an end in him. By and by, he gathered his\nthoughts, and in his mind, he once again went the entire path of his\nlife, starting with the first days he could remember. When was there\never a time when he had experienced happiness, felt a true bliss? Oh\nyes, several times he had experienced such a thing. In his years as a\nboy, he had had a taste of it, when he had obtained praise from the\nBrahmans, he had felt it in his heart: \u201cThere is a path in front of the\none who has distinguished himself in the recitation of the holy verses,\nin the dispute with the learned ones, as an assistant in the\nofferings.\u201d Then, he had felt it in his heart: \u201cThere is a path in\nfront of you, you are destined for, the gods are awaiting you.\u201d And\nagain, as a young man, when the ever rising, upward fleeing, goal of\nall thinking had ripped him out of and up from the multitude of those\nseeking the same goal, when he wrestled in pain for the purpose of\nBrahman, when every obtained knowledge only kindled new thirst in him,\nthen again he had, in the midst of the thirst, in the midst of the pain\nfelt this very same thing: \u201cGo on! Go on! You are called upon!\u201d He had\nheard this voice when he had left his home and had chosen the life of a\nSamana, and again when he had gone away from the Samanas to that\nperfected one, and also when he had gone away from him to the\nuncertain. For how long had he not heard this voice any more, for how\nlong had he reached no height any more, how even and dull was the\nmanner in which his path had passed through life, for many long years,\nwithout a high goal, without thirst, without elevation, content with\nsmall lustful pleasures and yet never satisfied! For all of these many\nyears, without knowing it himself, he had tried hard and longed to\nbecome a man like those many, like those children, and in all this, his\nlife had been much more miserable and poorer than theirs, and their\ngoals were not his, nor their worries; after all, that entire world of\nthe Kamaswami-people had only been a game to him, a dance he would\nwatch, a comedy. Only Kamala had been dear, had been valuable to\nhim\u2014but was she still thus? Did he still need her, or she him? Did they\nnot play a game without an ending? Was it necessary to live for this?\nNo, it was not necessary! The name of this game was Sansara, a game for\nchildren, a game which was perhaps enjoyable to play once, twice, ten\ntimes\u2014but for ever and ever over again?\n\nThen, Siddhartha knew that the game was over, that he could not play it\nany more. Shivers ran over his body, inside of him, so he felt,\nsomething had died.\n\nThat entire day, he sat under the mango-tree, thinking of his father,\nthinking of Govinda, thinking of Gotama. Did he have to leave them to\nbecome a Kamaswami? He still sat there, when the night had fallen.\nWhen, looking up, he caught sight of the stars, he thought: \u201cHere I\u2019m\nsitting under my mango-tree, in my pleasure-garden.\u201d He smiled a\nlittle\u2014was it really necessary, was it right, was it not as foolish game,\nthat he owned a mango-tree, that he owned a garden?\n\nHe also put an end to this, this also died in him. He rose, bid his\nfarewell to the mango-tree, his farewell to the pleasure-garden. Since\nhe had been without food this day, he felt strong hunger, and thought\nof his house in the city, of his chamber and bed, of the table with the\nmeals on it. He smiled tiredly, shook himself, and bid his farewell to\nthese things.\n\nIn the same hour of the night, Siddhartha left his garden, left the\ncity, and never came back. For a long time, Kamaswami had people look\nfor him, thinking that he had fallen into the hands of robbers. Kamala\nhad no one look for him. When she was told that Siddhartha had\ndisappeared, she was not astonished. Did she not always expect it? Was\nhe not a Samana, a man who was at home nowhere, a pilgrim? And most of\nall, she had felt this the last time they had been together, and she\nwas happy, in spite of all the pain of the loss, that she had pulled\nhim so affectionately to her heart for this last time, that she had\nfelt one more time to be so completely possessed and penetrated by him.\n\nWhen she received the first news of Siddhartha\u2019s disappearance, she\nwent to the window, where she held a rare singing bird captive in a\ngolden cage. She opened the door of the cage, took the bird out and let\nit fly. For a long time, she gazed after it, the flying bird. From this\nday on, she received no more visitors and kept her house locked. But\nafter some time, she became aware that she was pregnant from the last\ntime she was together with Siddhartha.\n\n\n\n\nBY THE RIVER\n\n\nSiddhartha walked through the forest, was already far from the city,\nand knew nothing but that one thing, that there was no going back for\nhim, that this life, as he had lived it for many years until now, was\nover and done away with, and that he had tasted all of it, sucked\neverything out of it until he was disgusted with it. Dead was the\nsinging bird he had dreamt of. Dead was the bird in his heart. Deeply,\nhe had been entangled in Sansara, he had sucked up disgust and death\nfrom all sides into his body, like a sponge sucks up water until it is\nfull. And full he was, full of the feeling of been sick of it, full of\nmisery, full of death, there was nothing left in this world which could\nhave attracted him, given him joy, given him comfort.\n\nPassionately he wished to know nothing about himself anymore, to have\nrest, to be dead. If there only was a lightning-bolt to strike him\ndead! If there only was a tiger to devour him! If there only was a\nwine, a poison which would numb his senses, bring him forgetfulness and\nsleep, and no awakening from that! Was there still any kind of filth\nhe had not soiled himself with, a sin or foolish act he had not\ncommitted, a dreariness of the soul he had not brought upon himself?\nWas it still at all possible to be alive? Was it possible to breathe\nin again and again, to breathe out, to feel hunger, to eat again, to\nsleep again, to sleep with a woman again? Was this cycle not exhausted\nand brought to a conclusion for him?\n\nSiddhartha reached the large river in the forest, the same river over\nwhich a long time ago, when he had still been a young man and came from\nthe town of Gotama, a ferryman had conducted him. By this river he\nstopped, hesitantly he stood at the bank. Tiredness and hunger had\nweakened him, and whatever for should he walk on, wherever to, to which\ngoal? No, there were no more goals, there was nothing left but the\ndeep, painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream, to spit\nout this stale wine, to put an end to this miserable and shameful life.\n\nA hang bent over the bank of the river, a coconut-tree; Siddhartha\nleaned against its trunk with his shoulder, embraced the trunk with one\narm, and looked down into the green water, which ran and ran under him,\nlooked down and found himself to be entirely filled with the wish to\nlet go and to drown in these waters. A frightening emptiness was\nreflected back at him by the water, answering to the terrible emptiness\nin his soul. Yes, he had reached the end. There was nothing left for\nhim, except to annihilate himself, except to smash the failure into\nwhich he had shaped his life, to throw it away, before the feet of\nmockingly laughing gods. This was the great vomiting he had longed for:\ndeath, the smashing to bits of the form he hated! Let him be food for\nfishes, this dog Siddhartha, this lunatic, this depraved and rotten\nbody, this weakened and abused soul! Let him be food for fishes and\ncrocodiles, let him be chopped to bits by the daemons!\n\nWith a distorted face, he stared into the water, saw the reflection of\nhis face and spit at it. In deep tiredness, he took his arm away from\nthe trunk of the tree and turned a bit, in order to let himself fall\nstraight down, in order to finally drown. With his eyes closed, he\nslipped towards death.\n\nThen, out of remote areas of his soul, out of past times of his now\nweary life, a sound stirred up. It was a word, a syllable, which he,\nwithout thinking, with a slurred voice, spoke to himself, the old word\nwhich is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the Brahmans, the\nholy \u201cOm\u201d, which roughly means \u201cthat what is perfect\u201d or \u201cthe\ncompletion\u201d. And in the moment when the sound of \u201cOm\u201d touched\nSiddhartha\u2019s ear, his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the\nfoolishness of his actions.\n\nSiddhartha was deeply shocked. So this was how things were with him, so\ndoomed was he, so much he had lost his way and was forsaken by all\nknowledge, that he had been able to seek death, that this wish, this\nwish of a child, had been able to grow in him: to find rest by\nannihilating his body! What all agony of these recent times, all\nsobering realizations, all desperation had not brought about, this was\nbrought on by this moment, when the Om entered his consciousness: he\nbecame aware of himself in his misery and in his error.\n\nOm! he spoke to himself: Om! and again he knew about Brahman, knew\nabout the indestructibility of life, knew about all that is divine,\nwhich he had forgotten.\n\nBut this was only a moment, flash. By the foot of the coconut-tree,\nSiddhartha collapsed, struck down by tiredness, mumbling Om, placed his\nhead on the root of the tree and fell into a deep sleep.\n\nDeep was his sleep and without dreams, for a long time he had not known\nsuch a sleep any more. When he woke up after many hours, he felt as if\nten years had passed, he heard the water quietly flowing, did not know\nwhere he was and who had brought him here, opened his eyes, saw with\nastonishment that there were trees and the sky above him, and he\nremembered where he was and how he got here. But it took him a long\nwhile for this, and the past seemed to him as if it had been covered by\na veil, infinitely distant, infinitely far away, infinitely\nmeaningless. He only knew that his previous life (in the first moment\nwhen he thought about it, this past life seemed to him like a very old,\nprevious incarnation, like an early pre-birth of his present self)\u2014that\nhis previous life had been abandoned by him, that, full of disgust and\nwretchedness, he had even intended to throw his life away, but that by\na river, under a coconut-tree, he had come to his senses, the holy word\nOm on his lips, that then he had fallen asleep and had now woken up and\nwas looking at the world as a new man. Quietly, he spoke the word Om to\nhimself, speaking which he had fallen asleep, and it seemed to him as\nif his entire long sleep had been nothing but a long meditative\nrecitation of Om, a thinking of Om, a submergence and complete entering\ninto Om, into the nameless, the perfected.\n\nWhat a wonderful sleep had this been! Never before by sleep, he had\nbeen thus refreshed, thus renewed, thus rejuvenated! Perhaps, he had\nreally died, had drowned and was reborn in a new body? But no, he knew\nhimself, he knew his hands and his feet, knew the place where he lay,\nknew this self in his chest, this Siddhartha, the eccentric, the weird\none, but this Siddhartha was nevertheless transformed, was renewed, was\nstrangely well rested, strangely awake, joyful and curious.\n\nSiddhartha straightened up, then he saw a person sitting opposite to\nhim, an unknown man, a monk in a yellow robe with a shaven head,\nsitting in the position of pondering. He observed the man, who had\nneither hair on his head nor a beard, and he had not observed him for\nlong when he recognised this monk as Govinda, the friend of his youth,\nGovinda who had taken his refuge with the exalted Buddha. Govinda had\naged, he too, but still his face bore the same features, expressed\nzeal, faithfulness, searching, timidness. But when Govinda now, sensing\nhis gaze, opened his eyes and looked at him, Siddhartha saw that\nGovinda did not recognise him. Govinda was happy to find him awake;\napparently, he had been sitting here for a long time and been waiting\nfor him to wake up, though he did not know him.\n\n\u201cI have been sleeping,\u201d said Siddhartha. \u201cHowever did you get here?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have been sleeping,\u201d answered Govinda. \u201cIt is not good to be\nsleeping in such places, where snakes often are and the animals of the\nforest have their paths. I, oh sir, am a follower of the exalted\nGotama, the Buddha, the Sakyamuni, and have been on a pilgrimage\ntogether with several of us on this path, when I saw you lying and\nsleeping in a place where it is dangerous to sleep. Therefore, I sought\nto wake you up, oh sir, and since I saw that your sleep was very deep,\nI stayed behind from my group and sat with you. And then, so it seems,\nI have fallen asleep myself, I who wanted to guard your sleep. Badly, I\nhave served you, tiredness has overwhelmed me. But now that you\u2019re\nawake, let me go to catch up with my brothers.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thank you, Samana, for watching out over my sleep,\u201d spoke\nSiddhartha. \u201cYou\u2019re friendly, you followers of the exalted one. Now you\nmay go then.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going, sir. May you, sir, always be in good health.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thank you, Samana.\u201d\n\nGovinda made the gesture of a salutation and said: \u201cFarewell.\u201d\n\n\u201cFarewell, Govinda,\u201d said Siddhartha.\n\nThe monk stopped.\n\n\u201cPermit me to ask, sir, from where do you know my name?\u201d\n\nNow, Siddhartha smiled.\n\n\u201cI know you, oh Govinda, from your father\u2019s hut, and from the school of\nthe Brahmans, and from the offerings, and from our walk to the Samanas,\nand from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in\nthe grove Jetavana.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re Siddhartha,\u201d Govinda exclaimed loudly. \u201cNow, I\u2019m recognising\nyou, and don\u2019t comprehend any more how I couldn\u2019t recognise you right\naway. Be welcome, Siddhartha, my joy is great, to see you again.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt also gives me joy, to see you again. You\u2019ve been the guard of my\nsleep, again I thank you for this, though I wouldn\u2019t have required any\nguard. Where are you going to, oh friend?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going nowhere. We monks are always travelling, whenever it is not\nthe rainy season, we always move from one place to another, live\naccording to the rules of the teachings passed on to us, accept alms,\nmove on. It is always like this. But you, Siddhartha, where are you\ngoing to?\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cWith me too, friend, it is as it is with you. I\u2019m\ngoing nowhere. I\u2019m just travelling. I\u2019m on a pilgrimage.\u201d\n\nGovinda spoke: \u201cYou\u2019re saying: you\u2019re on a pilgrimage, and I believe\nyou. But, forgive me, oh Siddhartha, you do not look like a pilgrim.\nYou\u2019re wearing a rich man\u2019s garments, you\u2019re wearing the shoes of a\ndistinguished gentleman, and your hair, with the fragrance of perfume,\nis not a pilgrim\u2019s hair, not the hair of a Samana.\u201d\n\n\u201cRight so, my dear, you have observed well, your keen eyes see\neverything. But I haven\u2019t said to you that I was a Samana. I said: I\u2019m\non a pilgrimage. And so it is: I\u2019m on a pilgrimage.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re on a pilgrimage,\u201d said Govinda. \u201cBut few would go on a\npilgrimage in such clothes, few in such shoes, few with such hair.\nNever I have met such a pilgrim, being a pilgrim myself for many\nyears.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe you, my dear Govinda. But now, today, you\u2019ve met a pilgrim\njust like this, wearing such shoes, such a garment. Remember, my dear:\nNot eternal is the world of appearances, not eternal, anything but\neternal are our garments and the style of our hair, and our hair and\nbodies themselves. I\u2019m wearing a rich man\u2019s clothes, you\u2019ve seen this\nquite right. I\u2019m wearing them, because I have been a rich man, and I\u2019m\nwearing my hair like the worldly and lustful people, for I have been\none of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd now, Siddhartha, what are you now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know it, I don\u2019t know it just like you. I\u2019m travelling. I was\na rich man and am no rich man any more, and what I\u2019ll be tomorrow, I\ndon\u2019t know.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve lost your riches?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve lost them or they me. They somehow happened to slip away from me.\nThe wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly, Govinda. Where\nis Siddhartha the Brahman? Where is Siddhartha the Samana? Where is\nSiddhartha the rich man? Non-eternal things change quickly, Govinda,\nyou know it.\u201d\n\nGovinda looked at the friend of his youth for a long time, with doubt\nin his eyes. After that, he gave him the salutation which one would use\non a gentleman and went on his way.\n\nWith a smiling face, Siddhartha watched him leave, he loved him still,\nthis faithful man, this fearful man. And how could he not have loved\neverybody and everything in this moment, in the glorious hour after his\nwonderful sleep, filled with Om! The enchantment, which had happened\ninside of him in his sleep and by means of the Om, was this very thing\nthat he loved everything, that he was full of joyful love for\neverything he saw. And it was this very thing, so it seemed to him now,\nwhich had been his sickness before, that he was not able to love\nanybody or anything.\n\nWith a smiling face, Siddhartha watched the leaving monk. The sleep had\nstrengthened him much, but hunger gave him much pain, for by now he had\nnot eaten for two days, and the times were long past when he had been\ntough against hunger. With sadness, and yet also with a smile, he\nthought of that time. In those days, so he remembered, he had boasted\nof three things to Kamala, had been able to do three noble and\nundefeatable feats: fasting\u2014waiting\u2014thinking. These had been his\npossessions, his power and strength, his solid staff; in the busy,\nlaborious years of his youth, he had learned these three feats, nothing\nelse. And now, they had abandoned him, none of them was his any more,\nneither fasting, nor waiting, nor thinking. For the most wretched\nthings, he had given them up, for what fades most quickly, for sensual\nlust, for the good life, for riches! His life had indeed been strange.\nAnd now, so it seemed, now he had really become a childlike person.\n\nSiddhartha thought about his situation. Thinking was hard on him, he\ndid not really feel like it, but he forced himself.\n\nNow, he thought, since all these most easily perishing things have\nslipped from me again, now I\u2019m standing here under the sun again just\nas I have been standing here a little child, nothing is mine, I have no\nabilities, there is nothing I could bring about, I have learned\nnothing. How wondrous is this! Now, that I\u2019m no longer young, that my\nhair is already half gray, that my strength is fading, now I\u2019m starting\nagain at the beginning and as a child! Again, he had to smile. Yes, his\nfate had been strange! Things were going downhill with him, and now he\nwas again facing the world void and naked and stupid. But he could not\nfeel sad about this, no, he even felt a great urge to laugh, to laugh\nabout himself, to laugh about this strange, foolish world.\n\n\u201cThings are going downhill with you!\u201d he said to himself, and laughed\nabout it, and as he was saying it, he happened to glance at the river,\nand he also saw the river going downhill, always moving on downhill,\nand singing and being happy through it all. He liked this well, kindly\nhe smiled at the river. Was this not the river in which he had intended\nto drown himself, in past times, a hundred years ago, or had he dreamed\nthis?\n\nWondrous indeed was my life, so he thought, wondrous detours it has\ntaken. As a boy, I had only to do with gods and offerings. As a youth,\nI had only to do with asceticism, with thinking and meditation, was\nsearching for Brahman, worshipped the eternal in the Atman. But as a\nyoung man, I followed the penitents, lived in the forest, suffered of\nheat and frost, learned to hunger, taught my body to become dead.\nWonderfully, soon afterwards, insight came towards me in the form of\nthe great Buddha\u2019s teachings, I felt the knowledge of the oneness of\nthe world circling in me like my own blood. But I also had to leave\nBuddha and the great knowledge. I went and learned the art of love with\nKamala, learned trading with Kamaswami, piled up money, wasted money,\nlearned to love my stomach, learned to please my senses. I had to spend\nmany years losing my spirit, to unlearn thinking again, to forget the\noneness. Isn\u2019t it just as if I had turned slowly and on a long detour\nfrom a man into a child, from a thinker into a childlike person? And\nyet, this path has been very good; and yet, the bird in my chest has\nnot died. But what a path has this been! I had to pass through so much\nstupidity, through so much vice, through so many errors, through so\nmuch disgust and disappointments and woe, just to become a child again\nand to be able to start over. But it was right so, my heart says \u201cYes\u201d\nto it, my eyes smile to it. I\u2019ve had to experience despair, I\u2019ve had to\nsink down to the most foolish one of all thoughts, to the thought of\nsuicide, in order to be able to experience divine grace, to hear Om\nagain, to be able to sleep properly and awake properly again. I had to\nbecome a fool, to find Atman in me again. I had to sin, to be able to\nlive again. Where else might my path lead me to? It is foolish, this\npath, it moves in loops, perhaps it is going around in a circle. Let it\ngo as it likes, I want to take it.\n\nWonderfully, he felt joy rolling like waves in his chest.\n\nWherever from, he asked his heart, where from did you get this\nhappiness? Might it come from that long, good sleep, which has done me\nso good? Or from the word Om, which I said? Or from the fact that I\nhave escaped, that I have completely fled, that I am finally free again\nand am standing like a child under the sky? Oh how good is it to have\nfled, to have become free! How clean and beautiful is the air here, how\ngood to breathe! There, where I ran away from, there everything smelled\nof ointments, of spices, of wine, of excess, of sloth. How I hated this\nworld of the rich, of those who revel in fine food, of the gamblers!\nHow I hated myself for staying in this terrible world for so long! How\nI hated myself, have deprived, poisoned, tortured myself, have made\nmyself old and evil! No, never again I will, as I used to like doing so\nmuch, delude myself into thinking that Siddhartha was wise! But this\none thing I have done well, this I like, this I must praise, that there\nis now an end to that hatred against myself, to that foolish and dreary\nlife! I praise you, Siddhartha, after so many years of foolishness, you\nhave once again had an idea, have done something, have heard the bird\nin your chest singing and have followed it!\n\nThus he praised himself, found joy in himself, listened curiously to\nhis stomach, which was rumbling with hunger. He had now, so he felt, in\nthese recent times and days, completely tasted and spit out, devoured\nup to the point of desperation and death, a piece of suffering, a piece\nof misery. Like this, it was good. For much longer, he could have\nstayed with Kamaswami, made money, wasted money, filled his stomach,\nand let his soul die of thirst; for much longer he could have lived in\nthis soft, well upholstered hell, if this had not happened: the moment\nof complete hopelessness and despair, that most extreme moment, when he\nhung over the rushing waters and was ready to destroy himself. That he\nhad felt this despair, this deep disgust, and that he had not succumbed\nto it, that the bird, the joyful source and voice in him was still\nalive after all, this was why he felt joy, this was why he laughed,\nthis was why his face was smiling brightly under his hair which had\nturned gray.\n\n\u201cIt is good,\u201d he thought, \u201cto get a taste of everything for oneself,\nwhich one needs to know. That lust for the world and riches do not\nbelong to the good things, I have already learned as a child. I have\nknown it for a long time, but I have experienced only now. And now I\nknow it, don\u2019t just know it in my memory, but in my eyes, in my heart,\nin my stomach. Good for me, to know this!\u201d\n\nFor a long time, he pondered his transformation, listened to the bird,\nas it sang for joy. Had not this bird died in him, had he not felt its\ndeath? No, something else from within him had died, something which\nalready for a long time had yearned to die. Was it not this what he\nused to intend to kill in his ardent years as a penitent? Was this not\nhis self, his small, frightened, and proud self, he had wrestled with\nfor so many years, which had defeated him again and again, which was\nback again after every killing, prohibited joy, felt fear? Was it not\nthis, which today had finally come to its death, here in the forest, by\nthis lovely river? Was it not due to this death, that he was now like a\nchild, so full of trust, so without fear, so full of joy?\n\nNow Siddhartha also got some idea of why he had fought this self in\nvain as a Brahman, as a penitent. Too much knowledge had held him back,\ntoo many holy verses, too many sacrificial rules, to much\nself-castigation, so much doing and striving for that goal! Full of\narrogance, he had been, always the smartest, always working the most,\nalways one step ahead of all others, always the knowing and spiritual\none, always the priest or wise one. Into being a priest, into this\narrogance, into this spirituality, his self had retreated, there it sat\nfirmly and grew, while he thought he would kill it by fasting and\npenance. Now he saw it and saw that the secret voice had been right,\nthat no teacher would ever have been able to bring about his salvation.\nTherefore, he had to go out into the world, lose himself to lust and\npower, to woman and money, had to become a merchant, a dice-gambler, a\ndrinker, and a greedy person, until the priest and Samana in him was\ndead. Therefore, he had to continue bearing these ugly years, bearing\nthe disgust, the teachings, the pointlessness of a dreary and wasted\nlife up to the end, up to bitter despair, until Siddhartha the lustful,\nSiddhartha the greedy could also die. He had died, a new Siddhartha had\nwoken up from the sleep. He would also grow old, he would also\neventually have to die, mortal was Siddhartha, mortal was every\nphysical form. But today he was young, was a child, the new Siddhartha,\nand was full of joy.\n\nHe thought these thoughts, listened with a smile to his stomach,\nlistened gratefully to a buzzing bee. Cheerfully, he looked into the\nrushing river, never before he had liked a water so well as this one,\nnever before he had perceived the voice and the parable of the moving\nwater thus strongly and beautifully. It seemed to him, as if the river\nhad something special to tell him, something he did not know yet, which\nwas still awaiting him. In this river, Siddhartha had intended to drown\nhimself, in it the old, tired, desperate Siddhartha had drowned today.\nBut the new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing water, and\ndecided for himself, not to leave it very soon.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FERRYMAN\n\n\nBy this river I want to stay, thought Siddhartha, it is the same which\nI have crossed a long time ago on my way to the childlike people, a\nfriendly ferryman had guided me then, he is the one I want to go to,\nstarting out from his hut, my path had led me at that time into a new\nlife, which had now grown old and is dead\u2014my present path, my present\nnew life, shall also take its start there!\n\nTenderly, he looked into the rushing water, into the transparent green,\ninto the crystal lines of its drawing, so rich in secrets. Bright\npearls he saw rising from the deep, quiet bubbles of air floating on\nthe reflecting surface, the blue of the sky being depicted in it. With\na thousand eyes, the river looked at him, with green ones, with white\nones, with crystal ones, with sky-blue ones. How did he love this\nwater, how did it delight him, how grateful was he to it! In his heart\nhe heard the voice talking, which was newly awaking, and it told him:\nLove this water! Stay near it! Learn from it! Oh yes, he wanted to\nlearn from it, he wanted to listen to it. He who would understand this\nwater and its secrets, so it seemed to him, would also understand many\nother things, many secrets, all secrets.\n\nBut out of all secrets of the river, he today only saw one, this one\ntouched his soul. He saw: this water ran and ran, incessantly it ran,\nand was nevertheless always there, was always at all times the same and\nyet new in every moment! Great be he who would grasp this, understand\nthis! He understood and grasped it not, only felt some idea of it\nstirring, a distant memory, divine voices.\n\nSiddhartha rose, the workings of hunger in his body became unbearable.\nIn a daze he walked on, up the path by the bank, upriver, listened to\nthe current, listened to the rumbling hunger in his body.\n\nWhen he reached the ferry, the boat was just ready, and the same\nferryman who had once transported the young Samana across the river,\nstood in the boat, Siddhartha recognised him, he had also aged very\nmuch.\n\n\u201cWould you like to ferry me over?\u201d he asked.\n\nThe ferryman, being astonished to see such an elegant man walking along\nand on foot, took him into his boat and pushed it off the bank.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a beautiful life you have chosen for yourself,\u201d the passenger\nspoke. \u201cIt must be beautiful to live by this water every day and to\ncruise on it.\u201d\n\nWith a smile, the man at the oar moved from side to side: \u201cIt is\nbeautiful, sir, it is as you say. But isn\u2019t every life, isn\u2019t every\nwork beautiful?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis may be true. But I envy you for yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you would soon stop enjoying it. This is nothing for people\nwearing fine clothes.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha laughed. \u201cOnce before, I have been looked upon today because\nof my clothes, I have been looked upon with distrust. Wouldn\u2019t you,\nferryman, like to accept these clothes, which are a nuisance to me,\nfrom me? For you must know, I have no money to pay your fare.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re joking, sir,\u201d the ferryman laughed.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not joking, friend. Behold, once before you have ferried me across\nthis water in your boat for the immaterial reward of a good deed. Thus,\ndo it today as well, and accept my clothes for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you, sir, intent to continue travelling without clothes?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, most of all I wouldn\u2019t want to continue travelling at all. Most of\nall I would rather you, ferryman, gave me an old loincloth and kept me\nwith you as your assistant, or rather as your trainee, for I\u2019ll have to\nlearn first how to handle the boat.\u201d\n\nFor a long time, the ferryman looked at the stranger, searching.\n\n\u201cNow I recognise you,\u201d he finally said. \u201cAt one time, you\u2019ve slept in\nmy hut, this was a long time ago, possibly more than twenty years ago,\nand you\u2019ve been ferried across the river by me, and we parted like good\nfriends. Haven\u2019t you been a Samana? I can\u2019t think of your name any\nmore.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name is Siddhartha, and I was a Samana, when you\u2019ve last seen me.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be welcome, Siddhartha. My name is Vasudeva. You will, so I hope,\nbe my guest today as well and sleep in my hut, and tell me, where\nyou\u2019re coming from and why these beautiful clothes are such a nuisance\nto you.\u201d\n\nThey had reached the middle of the river, and Vasudeva pushed the oar\nwith more strength, in order to overcome the current. He worked calmly,\nhis eyes fixed in on the front of the boat, with brawny arms.\nSiddhartha sat and watched him, and remembered, how once before, on\nthat last day of his time as a Samana, love for this man had stirred in\nhis heart. Gratefully, he accepted Vasudeva\u2019s invitation. When they had\nreached the bank, he helped him to tie the boat to the stakes; after\nthis, the ferryman asked him to enter the hut, offered him bread and\nwater, and Siddhartha ate with eager pleasure, and also ate with eager\npleasure of the mango fruits Vasudeva offered him.\n\nAfterwards, it was almost the time of the sunset, they sat on a log by\nthe bank, and Siddhartha told the ferryman about where he originally\ncame from and about his life, as he had seen it before his eyes today,\nin that hour of despair. Until late at night, lasted his tale.\n\nVasudeva listened with great attention. Listening carefully, he let\neverything enter his mind, birthplace and childhood, all that learning,\nall that searching, all joy, all distress. This was among the\nferryman\u2019s virtues one of the greatest: like only a few, he knew how to\nlisten. Without him having spoken a word, the speaker sensed how\nVasudeva let his words enter his mind, quiet, open, waiting, how he did\nnot lose a single one, awaited not a single one with impatience, did\nnot add his praise or rebuke, was just listening. Siddhartha felt, what\na happy fortune it is, to confess to such a listener, to bury in his\nheart his own life, his own search, his own suffering.\n\nBut in the end of Siddhartha\u2019s tale, when he spoke of the tree by the\nriver, and of his deep fall, of the holy Om, and how he had felt such a\nlove for the river after his slumber, the ferryman listened with twice\nthe attention, entirely and completely absorbed by it, with his eyes\nclosed.\n\nBut when Siddhartha fell silent, and a long silence had occurred, then\nVasudeva said: \u201cIt is as I thought. The river has spoken to you. It is\nyour friend as well, it speaks to you as well. That is good, that is\nvery good. Stay with me, Siddhartha, my friend. I used to have a wife,\nher bed was next to mine, but she has died a long time ago, for a long\ntime, I have lived alone. Now, you shall live with me, there is space\nand food for both.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thank you,\u201d said Siddhartha, \u201cI thank you and accept. And I also\nthank you for this, Vasudeva, for listening to me so well! These people\nare rare who know how to listen. And I did not meet a single one who\nknew it as well as you did. I will also learn in this respect from\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will learn it,\u201d spoke Vasudeva, \u201cbut not from me. The river has\ntaught me to listen, from it you will learn it as well. It knows\neverything, the river, everything can be learned from it. See, you\u2019ve\nalready learned this from the water too, that it is good to strive\ndownwards, to sink, to seek depth. The rich and elegant Siddhartha is\nbecoming an oarsman\u2019s servant, the learned Brahman Siddhartha becomes a\nferryman: this has also been told to you by the river. You\u2019ll learn\nthat other thing from it as well.\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha after a long pause: \u201cWhat other thing, Vasudeva?\u201d\n\nVasudeva rose. \u201cIt is late,\u201d he said, \u201clet\u2019s go to sleep. I can\u2019t tell\nyou that other thing, oh friend. You\u2019ll learn it, or perhaps you know\nit already. See, I\u2019m no learned man, I have no special skill in\nspeaking, I also have no special skill in thinking. All I\u2019m able to do\nis to listen and to be godly, I have learned nothing else. If I was\nable to say and teach it, I might be a wise man, but like this I am\nonly a ferryman, and it is my task to ferry people across the river. I\nhave transported many, thousands; and to all of them, my river has been\nnothing but an obstacle on their travels. They travelled to seek money\nand business, and for weddings, and on pilgrimages, and the river was\nobstructing their path, and the ferryman\u2019s job was to get them quickly\nacross that obstacle. But for some among thousands, a few, four or\nfive, the river has stopped being an obstacle, they have heard its\nvoice, they have listened to it, and the river has become sacred to\nthem, as it has become sacred to me. Let\u2019s rest now, Siddhartha.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha stayed with the ferryman and learned to operate the boat,\nand when there was nothing to do at the ferry, he worked with Vasudeva\nin the rice-field, gathered wood, plucked the fruit off the\nbanana-trees. He learned to build an oar, and learned to mend the boat,\nand to weave baskets, and was joyful because of everything he learned,\nand the days and months passed quickly. But more than Vasudeva could\nteach him, he was taught by the river. Incessantly, he learned from it.\nMost of all, he learned from it to listen, to pay close attention with\na quiet heart, with a waiting, opened soul, without passion, without a\nwish, without judgement, without an opinion.\n\nIn a friendly manner, he lived side by side with Vasudeva, and\noccasionally they exchanged some words, few and at length thought about\nwords. Vasudeva was no friend of words; rarely, Siddhartha succeeded in\npersuading him to speak.\n\n\u201cDid you,\u201d so he asked him at one time, \u201cdid you too learn that secret\nfrom the river: that there is no time?\u201d\n\nVasudeva\u2019s face was filled with a bright smile.\n\n\u201cYes, Siddhartha,\u201d he spoke. \u201cIt is this what you mean, isn\u2019t it: that\nthe river is everywhere at once, at the source and at the mouth, at the\nwaterfall, at the ferry, at the rapids, in the sea, in the mountains,\neverywhere at once, and that there is only the present time for it, not\nthe shadow of the past, not the shadow of the future?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis it is,\u201d said Siddhartha. \u201cAnd when I had learned it, I looked at\nmy life, and it was also a river, and the boy Siddhartha was only\nseparated from the man Siddhartha and from the old man Siddhartha by a\nshadow, not by something real. Also, Siddhartha\u2019s previous births were\nno past, and his death and his return to Brahma was no future. Nothing\nwas, nothing will be; everything is, everything has existence and is\npresent.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha spoke with ecstasy; deeply, this enlightenment had delighted\nhim. Oh, was not all suffering time, were not all forms of tormenting\noneself and being afraid time, was not everything hard, everything\nhostile in the world gone and overcome as soon as one had overcome\ntime, as soon as time would have been put out of existence by one\u2019s\nthoughts? In ecstatic delight, he had spoken, but Vasudeva smiled at\nhim brightly and nodded in confirmation; silently he nodded, brushed\nhis hand over Siddhartha\u2019s shoulder, turned back to his work.\n\nAnd once again, when the river had just increased its flow in the rainy\nseason and made a powerful noise, then said Siddhartha: \u201cIsn\u2019t it so,\noh friend, the river has many voices, very many voices? Hasn\u2019t it the\nvoice of a king, and of a warrior, and of a bull, and of a bird of the\nnight, and of a woman giving birth, and of a sighing man, and a\nthousand other voices more?\u201d\n\n\u201cSo it is,\u201d Vasudeva nodded, \u201call voices of the creatures are in its\nvoice.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you know,\u201d Siddhartha continued, \u201cwhat word it speaks, when you\nsucceed in hearing all of its ten thousand voices at once?\u201d\n\nHappily, Vasudeva\u2019s face was smiling, he bent over to Siddhartha and\nspoke the holy Om into his ear. And this had been the very thing which\nSiddhartha had also been hearing.\n\nAnd time after time, his smile became more similar to the ferryman\u2019s,\nbecame almost just as bright, almost just as thoroughly glowing with\nbliss, just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles, just as alike to\na child\u2019s, just as alike to an old man\u2019s. Many travellers, seeing the\ntwo ferrymen, thought they were brothers. Often, they sat in the\nevening together by the bank on the log, said nothing and both listened\nto the water, which was no water to them, but the voice of life, the\nvoice of what exists, of what is eternally taking shape. And it\nhappened from time to time that both, when listening to the river,\nthought of the same things, of a conversation from the day before\nyesterday, of one of their travellers, the face and fate of whom had\noccupied their thoughts, of death, of their childhood, and that they\nboth in the same moment, when the river had been saying something good\nto them, looked at each other, both thinking precisely the same thing,\nboth delighted about the same answer to the same question.\n\nThere was something about this ferry and the two ferrymen which was\ntransmitted to others, which many of the travellers felt. It happened\noccasionally that a traveller, after having looked at the face of one\nof the ferrymen, started to tell the story of his life, told about\npains, confessed evil things, asked for comfort and advice. It happened\noccasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with\nthem to listen to the river. It also happened that curious people came,\nwho had been told that there were two wise men, or sorcerers, or holy\nmen living by that ferry. The curious people asked many questions, but\nthey got no answers, and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men,\nthey only found two friendly little old men, who seemed to be mute and\nto have become a bit strange and gaga. And the curious people laughed\nand were discussing how foolishly and gullibly the common people were\nspreading such empty rumours.\n\nThe years passed by, and nobody counted them. Then, at one time, monks\ncame by on a pilgrimage, followers of Gotama, the Buddha, who were\nasking to be ferried across the river, and by them the ferrymen were\ntold that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher,\nfor the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon\ndie his last human death, in order to become one with the salvation. It\nwas not long, until a new flock of monks came along on their\npilgrimage, and another one, and the monks as well as most of the other\ntravellers and people walking through the land spoke of nothing else\nthan of Gotama and his impending death. And as people are flocking from\neverywhere and from all sides, when they are going to war or to the\ncoronation of a king, and are gathering like ants in droves, thus they\nflocked, like being drawn on by a magic spell, to where the great\nBuddha was awaiting his death, where the huge event was to take place\nand the great perfected one of an era was to become one with the glory.\n\nOften, Siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man, the\ngreat teacher, whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken\nhundreds of thousands, whose voice he had also once heard, whose holy\nface he had also once seen with respect. Kindly, he thought of him, saw\nhis path to perfection before his eyes, and remembered with a smile\nthose words which he had once, as a young man, said to him, the exalted\none. They had been, so it seemed to him, proud and precocious words;\nwith a smile, he remembered them. For a long time he knew that there\nwas nothing standing between Gotama and him any more, though he was\nstill unable to accept his teachings. No, there was no teaching a truly\nsearching person, someone who truly wanted to find, could accept. But\nhe who had found, he could approve of any teachings, every path, every\ngoal, there was nothing standing between him and all the other thousand\nany more who lived in that what is eternal, who breathed what is\ndivine.\n\nOn one of these days, when so many went on a pilgrimage to the dying\nBuddha, Kamala also went to him, who used to be the most beautiful of\nthe courtesans. A long time ago, she had retired from her previous\nlife, had given her garden to the monks of Gotama as a gift, had taken\nher refuge in the teachings, was among the friends and benefactors of\nthe pilgrims. Together with Siddhartha the boy, her son, she had gone\non her way due to the news of the near death of Gotama, in simple\nclothes, on foot. With her little son, she was travelling by the river;\nbut the boy had soon grown tired, desired to go back home, desired to\nrest, desired to eat, became disobedient and started whining.\n\nKamala often had to take a rest with him, he was accustomed to having\nhis way against her, she had to feed him, had to comfort him, had to\nscold him. He did not comprehend why he had to go on this exhausting\nand sad pilgrimage with his mother, to an unknown place, to a stranger,\nwho was holy and about to die. So what if he died, how did this concern\nthe boy?\n\nThe pilgrims were getting close to Vasudeva\u2019s ferry, when little\nSiddhartha once again forced his mother to rest. She, Kamala herself,\nhad also become tired, and while the boy was chewing a banana, she\ncrouched down on the ground, closed her eyes a bit, and rested. But\nsuddenly, she uttered a wailing scream, the boy looked at her in fear\nand saw her face having grown pale from horror; and from under her\ndress, a small, black snake fled, by which Kamala had been bitten.\n\nHurriedly, they now both ran along the path, in order to reach people,\nand got near to the ferry, there Kamala collapsed, and was not able to\ngo any further. But the boy started crying miserably, only interrupting\nit to kiss and hug his mother, and she also joined his loud screams for\nhelp, until the sound reached Vasudeva\u2019s ears, who stood at the ferry.\nQuickly, he came walking, took the woman on his arms, carried her into\nthe boat, the boy ran along, and soon they all reached the hut, where\nSiddhartha stood by the stove and was just lighting the fire. He looked\nup and first saw the boy\u2019s face, which wondrously reminded him of\nsomething, like a warning to remember something he had forgotten. Then\nhe saw Kamala, whom he instantly recognised, though she lay unconscious\nin the ferryman\u2019s arms, and now he knew that it was his own son, whose\nface had been such a warning reminder to him, and the heart stirred in\nhis chest.\n\nKamala\u2019s wound was washed, but had already turned black and her body\nwas swollen, she was made to drink a healing potion. Her consciousness\nreturned, she lay on Siddhartha\u2019s bed in the hut and bent over her\nstood Siddhartha, who used to love her so much. It seemed like a dream\nto her; with a smile, she looked at her friend\u2019s face; just slowly she,\nrealized her situation, remembered the bite, called timidly for the\nboy.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s with you, don\u2019t worry,\u201d said Siddhartha.\n\nKamala looked into his eyes. She spoke with a heavy tongue, paralysed\nby the poison. \u201cYou\u2019ve become old, my dear,\u201d she said, \u201cyou\u2019ve become\ngray. But you are like the young Samana, who at one time came without\nclothes, with dusty feet, to me into the garden. You are much more like\nhim than you were like him at that time when you had left me and\nKamaswami. In the eyes, you\u2019re like him, Siddhartha. Alas, I have also\ngrown old, old\u2014could you still recognise me?\u201d\n\nSiddhartha smiled: \u201cInstantly, I recognised you, Kamala, my dear.\u201d\n\nKamala pointed to her boy and said: \u201cDid you recognise him as well? He\nis your son.\u201d\n\nHer eyes became confused and fell shut. The boy wept, Siddhartha took\nhim on his knees, let him weep, petted his hair, and at the sight of\nthe child\u2019s face, a Brahman prayer came to his mind, which he had\nlearned a long time ago, when he had been a little boy himself. Slowly,\nwith a singing voice, he started to speak; from his past and childhood,\nthe words came flowing to him. And with that singsong, the boy became\ncalm, was only now and then uttering a sob and fell asleep. Siddhartha\nplaced him on Vasudeva\u2019s bed. Vasudeva stood by the stove and cooked\nrice. Siddhartha gave him a look, which he returned with a smile.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019ll die,\u201d Siddhartha said quietly.\n\nVasudeva nodded; over his friendly face ran the light of the stove\u2019s\nfire.\n\nOnce again, Kamala returned to consciousness. Pain distorted her face,\nSiddhartha\u2019s eyes read the suffering on her mouth, on her pale cheeks.\nQuietly, he read it, attentively, waiting, his mind becoming one with\nher suffering. Kamala felt it, her gaze sought his eyes.\n\nLooking at him, she said: \u201cNow I see that your eyes have changed as\nwell. They\u2019ve become completely different. By what do I still recognise\nthat you\u2019re Siddhartha? It\u2019s you, and it\u2019s not you.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha said nothing, quietly his eyes looked at hers.\n\n\u201cYou have achieved it?\u201d she asked. \u201cYou have found peace?\u201d\n\nHe smiled and placed his hand on hers.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m seeing it,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019m seeing it. I too will find peace.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have found it,\u201d Siddhartha spoke in a whisper.\n\nKamala never stopped looking into his eyes. She thought about her\npilgrimage to Gotama, which she wanted to take, in order to see the\nface of the perfected one, to breathe his peace, and she thought that\nshe had now found him in his place, and that it was good, just as good,\nas if she had seen the other one. She wanted to tell this to him, but\nthe tongue no longer obeyed her will. Without speaking, she looked at\nhim, and he saw the life fading from her eyes. When the final pain\nfilled her eyes and made them grow dim, when the final shiver ran\nthrough her limbs, his finger closed her eyelids.\n\nFor a long time, he sat and looked at her peacefully dead face. For a\nlong time, he observed her mouth, her old, tired mouth, with those\nlips, which had become thin, and he remembered, that he used to, in the\nspring of his years, compare this mouth with a freshly cracked fig. For\na long time, he sat, read in the pale face, in the tired wrinkles,\nfilled himself with this sight, saw his own face lying in the same\nmanner, just as white, just as quenched out, and saw at the same time\nhis face and hers being young, with red lips, with fiery eyes, and the\nfeeling of this both being present and at the same time real, the\nfeeling of eternity, completely filled every aspect of his being.\nDeeply he felt, more deeply than ever before, in this hour, the\nindestructibility of every life, the eternity of every moment.\n\nWhen he rose, Vasudeva had prepared rice for him. But Siddhartha did\nnot eat. In the stable, where their goat stood, the two old men\nprepared beds of straw for themselves, and Vasudeva lay himself down to\nsleep. But Siddhartha went outside and sat this night before the hut,\nlistening to the river, surrounded by the past, touched and encircled\nby all times of his life at the same time. But occasionally, he rose,\nstepped to the door of the hut and listened, whether the boy was\nsleeping.\n\nEarly in the morning, even before the sun could be seen, Vasudeva came\nout of the stable and walked over to his friend.\n\n\u201cYou haven\u2019t slept,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cNo, Vasudeva. I sat here, I was listening to the river. A lot it has\ntold me, deeply it has filled me with the healing thought, with the\nthought of oneness.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve experienced suffering, Siddhartha, but I see: no sadness has\nentered your heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my dear, how should I be sad? I, who have been rich and happy,\nhave become even richer and happier now. My son has been given to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour son shall be welcome to me as well. But now, Siddhartha, let\u2019s\nget to work, there is much to be done. Kamala has died on the same bed\non which my wife had died a long time ago. Let us also build Kamala\u2019s\nfuneral pile on the same hill on which I had then built my wife\u2019s\nfuneral pile.\u201d\n\nWhile the boy was still asleep, they built the funeral pile.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SON\n\n\nTimid and weeping, the boy had attended his mother\u2019s funeral; gloomy\nand shy, he had listened to Siddhartha, who greeted him as his son and\nwelcomed him at his place in Vasudeva\u2019s hut. Pale, he sat for many days\nby the hill of the dead, did not want to eat, gave no open look, did\nnot open his heart, met his fate with resistance and denial.\n\nSiddhartha spared him and let him do as he pleased, he honoured his\nmourning. Siddhartha understood that his son did not know him, that he\ncould not love him like a father. Slowly, he also saw and understood\nthat the eleven-year-old was a pampered boy, a mother\u2019s boy, and that\nhe had grown up in the habits of rich people, accustomed to finer food,\nto a soft bed, accustomed to giving orders to servants. Siddhartha\nunderstood that the mourning, pampered child could not suddenly and\nwillingly be content with a life among strangers and in poverty. He did\nnot force him, he did many a chore for him, always picked the best\npiece of the meal for him. Slowly, he hoped to win him over, by\nfriendly patience.\n\nRich and happy, he had called himself, when the boy had come to him.\nSince time had passed on in the meantime, and the boy remained a\nstranger and in a gloomy disposition, since he displayed a proud and\nstubbornly disobedient heart, did not want to do any work, did not pay\nhis respect to the old men, stole from Vasudeva\u2019s fruit-trees, then\nSiddhartha began to understand that his son had not brought him\nhappiness and peace, but suffering and worry. But he loved him, and he\npreferred the suffering and worries of love over happiness and joy\nwithout the boy. Since young Siddhartha was in the hut, the old men had\nsplit the work. Vasudeva had again taken on the job of the ferryman all\nby himself, and Siddhartha, in order to be with his son, did the work\nin the hut and the field.\n\nFor a long time, for long months, Siddhartha waited for his son to\nunderstand him, to accept his love, to perhaps reciprocate it. For long\nmonths, Vasudeva waited, watching, waited and said nothing. One day,\nwhen Siddhartha the younger had once again tormented his father very\nmuch with spite and an unsteadiness in his wishes and had broken both\nof his rice-bowls, Vasudeva took in the evening his friend aside and\ntalked to him.\n\n\u201cPardon me,\u201d he said, \u201cfrom a friendly heart, I\u2019m talking to you. I\u2019m\nseeing that you are tormenting yourself, I\u2019m seeing that you\u2019re in\ngrief. Your son, my dear, is worrying you, and he is also worrying me.\nThat young bird is accustomed to a different life, to a different nest.\nHe has not, like you, run away from riches and the city, being\ndisgusted and fed up with it; against his will, he had to leave all\nthis behind. I asked the river, oh friend, many times I have asked it.\nBut the river laughs, it laughs at me, it laughs at you and me, and is\nshaking with laughter at our foolishness. Water wants to join water,\nyouth wants to join youth, your son is not in the place where he can\nprosper. You too should ask the river; you too should listen to it!\u201d\n\nTroubled, Siddhartha looked into his friendly face, in the many\nwrinkles of which there was incessant cheerfulness.\n\n\u201cHow could I part with him?\u201d he said quietly, ashamed. \u201cGive me some\nmore time, my dear! See, I\u2019m fighting for him, I\u2019m seeking to win his\nheart, with love and with friendly patience I intend to capture it. One\nday, the river shall also talk to him, he also is called upon.\u201d\n\nVasudeva\u2019s smile flourished more warmly. \u201cOh yes, he too is called\nupon, he too is of the eternal life. But do we, you and me, know what\nhe is called upon to do, what path to take, what actions to perform,\nwhat pain to endure? Not a small one, his pain will be; after all, his\nheart is proud and hard, people like this have to suffer a lot, err a\nlot, do much injustice, burden themselves with much sin. Tell me, my\ndear: you\u2019re not taking control of your son\u2019s upbringing? You don\u2019t\nforce him? You don\u2019t beat him? You don\u2019t punish him?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Vasudeva, I don\u2019t do anything of this.\u201d\n\n\u201cI knew it. You don\u2019t force him, don\u2019t beat him, don\u2019t give him orders,\nbecause you know that \u2018soft\u2019 is stronger than \u2018hard\u2019, water stronger\nthan rocks, love stronger than force. Very good, I praise you. But\naren\u2019t you mistaken in thinking that you wouldn\u2019t force him, wouldn\u2019t\npunish him? Don\u2019t you shackle him with your love? Don\u2019t you make him\nfeel inferior every day, and don\u2019t you make it even harder on him with\nyour kindness and patience? Don\u2019t you force him, the arrogant and\npampered boy, to live in a hut with two old banana-eaters, to whom even\nrice is a delicacy, whose thoughts can\u2019t be his, whose hearts are old\nand quiet and beat in a different pace than his? Isn\u2019t he forced, isn\u2019t\nhe punished by all this?\u201d\n\nTroubled, Siddhartha looked to the ground. Quietly, he asked: \u201cWhat do\nyou think should I do?\u201d\n\nQuoth Vasudeva: \u201cBring him into the city, bring him into his mother\u2019s\nhouse, there\u2019ll still be servants around, give him to them. And when\nthere aren\u2019t any around any more, bring him to a teacher, not for the\nteachings\u2019 sake, but so that he shall be among other boys, and among\ngirls, and in the world which is his own. Have you never thought of\nthis?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re seeing into my heart,\u201d Siddhartha spoke sadly. \u201cOften, I have\nthought of this. But look, how shall I put him, who had no tender heart\nanyhow, into this world? Won\u2019t he become exuberant, won\u2019t he lose\nhimself to pleasure and power, won\u2019t he repeat all of his father\u2019s\nmistakes, won\u2019t he perhaps get entirely lost in Sansara?\u201d\n\nBrightly, the ferryman\u2019s smile lit up; softly, he touched Siddhartha\u2019s\narm and said: \u201cAsk the river about it, my friend! Hear it laugh about\nit! Would you actually believe that you had committed your foolish acts\nin order to spare your son from committing them too? And could you in\nany way protect your son from Sansara? How could you? By means of\nteachings, prayer, admonition? My dear, have you entirely forgotten\nthat story, that story containing so many lessons, that story about\nSiddhartha, a Brahman\u2019s son, which you once told me here on this very\nspot? Who has kept the Samana Siddhartha safe from Sansara, from sin,\nfrom greed, from foolishness? Were his father\u2019s religious devotion, his\nteacher\u2019s warnings, his own knowledge, his own search able to keep him\nsafe? Which father, which teacher had been able to protect him from\nliving his life for himself, from soiling himself with life, from\nburdening himself with guilt, from drinking the bitter drink for\nhimself, from finding his path for himself? Would you think, my dear,\nanybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path? That perhaps\nyour little son would be spared, because you love him, because you\nwould like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment? But\neven if you would die ten times for him, you would not be able to take\nthe slightest part of his destiny upon yourself.\u201d\n\nNever before, Vasudeva had spoken so many words. Kindly, Siddhartha\nthanked him, went troubled into the hut, could not sleep for a long\ntime. Vasudeva had told him nothing he had not already thought and\nknown for himself. But this was a knowledge he could not act upon,\nstronger than the knowledge was his love for the boy, stronger was his\ntenderness, his fear to lose him. Had he ever lost his heart so much to\nsomething, had he ever loved any person thus, thus blindly, thus\nsufferingly, thus unsuccessfully, and yet thus happily?\n\nSiddhartha could not heed his friend\u2019s advice, he could not give up the\nboy. He let the boy give him orders, he let him disregard him. He said\nnothing and waited; daily, he began the mute struggle of friendliness,\nthe silent war of patience. Vasudeva also said nothing and waited,\nfriendly, knowing, patient. They were both masters of patience.\n\nAt one time, when the boy\u2019s face reminded him very much of Kamala,\nSiddhartha suddenly had to think of a line which Kamala a long time\nago, in the days of their youth, had once said to him. \u201cYou cannot\nlove,\u201d she had said to him, and he had agreed with her and had compared\nhimself with a star, while comparing the childlike people with falling\nleaves, and nevertheless he had also sensed an accusation in that line.\nIndeed, he had never been able to lose or devote himself completely to\nanother person, to forget himself, to commit foolish acts for the love\nof another person; never he had been able to do this, and this was, as\nit had seemed to him at that time, the great distinction which set him\napart from the childlike people. But now, since his son was here, now\nhe, Siddhartha, had also become completely a childlike person,\nsuffering for the sake of another person, loving another person, lost\nto a love, having become a fool on account of love. Now he too felt,\nlate, once in his lifetime, this strongest and strangest of all\npassions, suffered from it, suffered miserably, and was nevertheless in\nbliss, was nevertheless renewed in one respect, enriched by one thing.\n\nHe did sense very well that this love, this blind love for his son, was\na passion, something very human, that it was Sansara, a murky source,\ndark waters. Nevertheless, he felt at the same time, it was not\nworthless, it was necessary, came from the essence of his own being.\nThis pleasure also had to be atoned for, this pain also had to be\nendured, these foolish acts also had to be committed.\n\nThrough all this, the son let him commit his foolish acts, let him\ncourt for his affection, let him humiliate himself every day by giving\nin to his moods. This father had nothing which would have delighted him\nand nothing which he would have feared. He was a good man, this father,\na good, kind, soft man, perhaps a very devout man, perhaps a saint, all\nthese were no attributes which could win the boy over. He was bored by\nthis father, who kept him prisoner here in this miserable hut of his,\nhe was bored by him, and for him to answer every naughtiness with a\nsmile, every insult with friendliness, every viciousness with kindness,\nthis very thing was the hated trick of this old sneak. Much more the\nboy would have liked it if he had been threatened by him, if he had\nbeen abused by him.\n\nA day came when what young Siddhartha had on his mind came bursting\nforth, and he openly turned against his father. The latter had given\nhim a task, he had told him to gather brushwood. But the boy did not\nleave the hut, in stubborn disobedience and rage he stayed where he\nwas, thumped on the ground with his feet, clenched his fists, and\nscreamed in a powerful outburst his hatred and contempt into his\nfather\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cGet the brushwood for yourself!\u201d he shouted, foaming at the mouth, \u201cI\u2019m\nnot your servant. I do know that you won\u2019t hit me, you don\u2019t dare; I\ndo know that you constantly want to punish me and put me down with\nyour religious devotion and your indulgence. You want me to become like\nyou, just as devout, just as soft, just as wise! But I, listen up, just\nto make you suffer, I rather want to become a highway-robber and\nmurderer, and go to hell, than to become like you! I hate you, you\u2019re\nnot my father, and if you\u2019ve ten times been my mother\u2019s fornicator!\u201d\n\nRage and grief boiled over in him, foamed at the father in a hundred\nsavage and evil words. Then the boy ran away and only returned late at\nnight.\n\nBut the next morning, he had disappeared. What had also disappeared was\na small basket, woven out of bast of two colours, in which the ferrymen\nkept those copper and silver coins which they received as a fare. The\nboat had also disappeared, Siddhartha saw it lying by the opposite\nbank. The boy had run away.\n\n\u201cI must follow him,\u201d said Siddhartha, who had been shivering with grief\nsince those ranting speeches the boy had made yesterday. \u201cA child\ncan\u2019t go through the forest all alone. He\u2019ll perish. We must build a\nraft, Vasudeva, to get over the water.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will build a raft,\u201d said Vasudeva, \u201cto get our boat back, which the\nboy has taken away. But him, you shall let run along, my friend, he is\nno child any more, he knows how to get around. He\u2019s looking for the\npath to the city, and he is right, don\u2019t forget that. He\u2019s doing what\nyou\u2019ve failed to do yourself. He\u2019s taking care of himself, he\u2019s taking\nhis course. Alas, Siddhartha, I see you suffering, but you\u2019re suffering\na pain at which one would like to laugh, at which you\u2019ll soon laugh for\nyourself.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha did not answer. He already held the axe in his hands and\nbegan to make a raft of bamboo, and Vasudeva helped him to tie the\ncanes together with ropes of grass. Then they crossed over, drifted far\noff their course, pulled the raft upriver on the opposite bank.\n\n\u201cWhy did you take the axe along?\u201d asked Siddhartha.\n\nVasudeva said: \u201cIt might have been possible that the oar of our boat\ngot lost.\u201d\n\nBut Siddhartha knew what his friend was thinking. He thought, the boy\nwould have thrown away or broken the oar in order to get even and in\norder to keep them from following him. And in fact, there was no oar\nleft in the boat. Vasudeva pointed to the bottom of the boat and looked\nat his friend with a smile, as if he wanted to say: \u201cDon\u2019t you see what\nyour son is trying to tell you? Don\u2019t you see that he doesn\u2019t want to\nbe followed?\u201d But he did not say this in words. He started making a new\noar. But Siddhartha bid his farewell, to look for the run-away.\nVasudeva did not stop him.\n\nWhen Siddhartha had already been walking through the forest for a long\ntime, the thought occurred to him that his search was useless. Either,\nso he thought, the boy was far ahead and had already reached the city,\nor, if he should still be on his way, he would conceal himself from\nhim, the pursuer. As he continued thinking, he also found that he, on\nhis part, was not worried for his son, that he knew deep inside that he\nhad neither perished nor was in any danger in the forest. Nevertheless,\nhe ran without stopping, no longer to save him, just to satisfy his\ndesire, just to perhaps see him one more time. And he ran up to just\noutside of the city.\n\nWhen, near the city, he reached a wide road, he stopped, by the\nentrance of the beautiful pleasure-garden, which used to belong to\nKamala, where he had seen her for the first time in her sedan-chair.\nThe past rose up in his soul, again he saw himself standing there,\nyoung, a bearded, naked Samana, the hair full of dust. For a long time,\nSiddhartha stood there and looked through the open gate into the\ngarden, seeing monks in yellow robes walking among the beautiful trees.\n\nFor a long time, he stood there, pondering, seeing images, listening to\nthe story of his life. For a long time, he stood there, looked at the\nmonks, saw young Siddhartha in their place, saw young Kamala walking\namong the high trees. Clearly, he saw himself being served food and\ndrink by Kamala, receiving his first kiss from her, looking proudly and\ndisdainfully back on his Brahmanism, beginning proudly and full of\ndesire his worldly life. He saw Kamaswami, saw the servants, the\norgies, the gamblers with the dice, the musicians, saw Kamala\u2019s\nsong-bird in the cage, lived through all this once again, breathed\nSansara, was once again old and tired, felt once again disgust, felt\nonce again the wish to annihilate himself, was once again healed by the\nholy Om.\n\nAfter having been standing by the gate of the garden for a long time,\nSiddhartha realised that his desire was foolish, which had made him go\nup to this place, that he could not help his son, that he was not\nallowed to cling to him. Deeply, he felt the love for the run-away in\nhis heart, like a wound, and he felt at the same time that this wound\nhad not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it, that it had\nto become a blossom and had to shine.\n\nThat this wound did not blossom yet, did not shine yet, at this hour,\nmade him sad. Instead of the desired goal, which had drawn him here\nfollowing the run-away son, there was now emptiness. Sadly, he sat down,\nfelt something dying in his heart, experienced emptiness, saw no joy\nany more, no goal. He sat lost in thought and waited. This he had\nlearned by the river, this one thing: waiting, having patience,\nlistening attentively. And he sat and listened, in the dust of the\nroad, listened to his heart, beating tiredly and sadly, waited for a\nvoice. Many an hour he crouched, listening, saw no images any more,\nfell into emptiness, let himself fall, without seeing a path. And when\nhe felt the wound burning, he silently spoke the Om, filled himself\nwith Om. The monks in the garden saw him, and since he crouched for\nmany hours, and dust was gathering on his gray hair, one of them came\nto him and placed two bananas in front of him. The old man did not see\nhim.\n\nFrom this petrified state, he was awoken by a hand touching his\nshoulder. Instantly, he recognised this touch, this tender, bashful\ntouch, and regained his senses. He rose and greeted Vasudeva, who had\nfollowed him. And when he looked into Vasudeva\u2019s friendly face, into\nthe small wrinkles, which were as if they were filled with nothing but\nhis smile, into the happy eyes, then he smiled too. Now he saw the\nbananas lying in front of him, picked them up, gave one to the\nferryman, ate the other one himself. After this, he silently went back\ninto the forest with Vasudeva, returned home to the ferry. Neither one\ntalked about what had happened today, neither one mentioned the boy\u2019s\nname, neither one spoke about him running away, neither one spoke about\nthe wound. In the hut, Siddhartha lay down on his bed, and when after a\nwhile Vasudeva came to him, to offer him a bowl of coconut-milk, he\nalready found him asleep.\n\n\n\n\nOM\n\n\nFor a long time, the wound continued to burn. Many a traveller\nSiddhartha had to ferry across the river who was accompanied by a son\nor a daughter, and he saw none of them without envying him, without\nthinking: \u201cSo many, so many thousands possess this sweetest of good\nfortunes\u2014why don\u2019t I? Even bad people, even thieves and robbers have\nchildren and love them, and are being loved by them, all except for\nme.\u201d Thus simply, thus without reason he now thought, thus similar to\nthe childlike people he had become.\n\nDifferently than before, he now looked upon people, less smart, less\nproud, but instead warmer, more curious, more involved. When he ferried\ntravellers of the ordinary kind, childlike people, businessmen,\nwarriors, women, these people did not seem alien to him as they used\nto: he understood them, he understood and shared their life, which was\nnot guided by thoughts and insight, but solely by urges and wishes, he\nfelt like them. Though he was near perfection and was bearing his final\nwound, it still seemed to him as if those childlike people were his\nbrothers, their vanities, desires for possession, and ridiculous\naspects were no longer ridiculous to him, became understandable, became\nlovable, even became worthy of veneration to him. The blind love of a\nmother for her child, the stupid, blind pride of a conceited father for\nhis only son, the blind, wild desire of a young, vain woman for jewelry\nand admiring glances from men, all of these urges, all of this childish\nstuff, all of these simple, foolish, but immensely strong, strongly\nliving, strongly prevailing urges and desires were now no childish\nnotions for Siddhartha any more, he saw people living for their sake,\nsaw them achieving infinitely much for their sake, travelling,\nconducting wars, suffering infinitely much, bearing infinitely much,\nand he could love them for it, he saw life, that what is alive, the\nindestructible, the Brahman in each of their passions, each of their\nacts. Worthy of love and admiration were these people in their blind\nloyalty, their blind strength and tenacity. They lacked nothing, there\nwas nothing the knowledgeable one, the thinker, had to put him above\nthem except for one little thing, a single, tiny, small thing: the\nconsciousness, the conscious thought of the oneness of all life. And\nSiddhartha even doubted in many an hour, whether this knowledge, this\nthought was to be valued thus highly, whether it might not also perhaps\nbe a childish idea of the thinking people, of the thinking and\nchildlike people. In all other respects, the worldly people were of\nequal rank to the wise men, were often far superior to them, just as\nanimals too can, after all, in some moments, seem to be superior to\nhumans in their tough, unrelenting performance of what is necessary.\n\nSlowly blossomed, slowly ripened in Siddhartha the realisation, the\nknowledge, what wisdom actually was, what the goal of his long search\nwas. It was nothing but a readiness of the soul, an ability, a secret\nart, to think every moment, while living his life, the thought of\noneness, to be able to feel and inhale the oneness. Slowly this\nblossomed in him, was shining back at him from Vasudeva\u2019s old,\nchildlike face: harmony, knowledge of the eternal perfection of the\nworld, smiling, oneness.\n\nBut the wound still burned, longingly and bitterly Siddhartha thought\nof his son, nurtured his love and tenderness in his heart, allowed the\npain to gnaw at him, committed all foolish acts of love. Not by itself,\nthis flame would go out.\n\nAnd one day, when the wound burned violently, Siddhartha ferried across\nthe river, driven by a yearning, got off the boat and was willing to go\nto the city and to look for his son. The river flowed softly and\nquietly, it was the dry season, but its voice sounded strange: it\nlaughed! It laughed clearly. The river laughed, it laughed brightly and\nclearly at the old ferryman. Siddhartha stopped, he bent over the\nwater, in order to hear even better, and he saw his face reflected in\nthe quietly moving waters, and in this reflected face there was\nsomething, which reminded him, something he had forgotten, and as he\nthought about it, he found it: this face resembled another face, which\nhe used to know and love and also fear. It resembled his father\u2019s face,\nthe Brahman. And he remembered how he, a long time ago, as a young man,\nhad forced his father to let him go to the penitents, how he had bid\nhis farewell to him, how he had gone and had never come back. Had his\nfather not also suffered the same pain for him, which he now suffered\nfor his son? Had his father not long since died, alone, without having\nseen his son again? Did he not have to expect the same fate for\nhimself? Was it not a comedy, a strange and stupid matter, this\nrepetition, this running around in a fateful circle?\n\nThe river laughed. Yes, so it was, everything came back, which had not\nbeen suffered and solved up to its end, the same pain was suffered over\nand over again. But Siddhartha went back into the boat and ferried back\nto the hut, thinking of his father, thinking of his son, laughed at by\nthe river, at odds with himself, tending towards despair, and not less\ntending towards laughing along at himself and the entire world.\n\nAlas, the wound was not blossoming yet, his heart was still fighting\nhis fate, cheerfulness and victory were not yet shining from his\nsuffering. Nevertheless, he felt hope, and once he had returned to the\nhut, he felt an undefeatable desire to open up to Vasudeva, to show him\neverything, the master of listening, to say everything.\n\nVasudeva was sitting in the hut and weaving a basket. He no longer used\nthe ferry-boat, his eyes were starting to get weak, and not just his\neyes; his arms and hands as well. Unchanged and flourishing was only\nthe joy and the cheerful benevolence of his face.\n\nSiddhartha sat down next to the old man, slowly he started talking.\nWhat they had never talked about, he now told him of, of his walk to\nthe city, at that time, of the burning wound, of his envy at the sight\nof happy fathers, of his knowledge of the foolishness of such wishes,\nof his futile fight against them. He reported everything, he was able\nto say everything, even the most embarrassing parts, everything could\nbe said, everything shown, everything he could tell. He presented his\nwound, also told how he fled today, how he ferried across the water, a\nchildish run-away, willing to walk to the city, how the river had\nlaughed.\n\nWhile he spoke, spoke for a long time, while Vasudeva was listening\nwith a quiet face, Vasudeva\u2019s listening gave Siddhartha a stronger\nsensation than ever before, he sensed how his pain, his fears flowed\nover to him, how his secret hope flowed over, came back at him from his\ncounterpart. To show his wound to this listener was the same as bathing\nit in the river, until it had cooled and become one with the river.\nWhile he was still speaking, still admitting and confessing, Siddhartha\nfelt more and more that this was no longer Vasudeva, no longer a human\nbeing who was listening to him, that this motionless listener was\nabsorbing his confession into himself like a tree the rain, that this\nmotionless man was the river itself, that he was God himself, that he\nwas the eternal itself. And while Siddhartha stopped thinking of\nhimself and his wound, this realisation of Vasudeva\u2019s changed character\ntook possession of him, and the more he felt it and entered into it,\nthe less wondrous it became, the more he realised that everything was\nin order and natural, that Vasudeva had already been like this for a\nlong time, almost forever, that only he had not quite recognised it,\nyes, that he himself had almost reached the same state. He felt, that\nhe was now seeing old Vasudeva as the people see the gods, and that\nthis could not last; in his heart, he started bidding his farewell to\nVasudeva. Throughout all this, he talked incessantly.\n\nWhen he had finished talking, Vasudeva turned his friendly eyes, which\nhad grown slightly weak, at him, said nothing, let his silent love and\ncheerfulness, understanding and knowledge, shine at him. He took\nSiddhartha\u2019s hand, led him to the seat by the bank, sat down with him,\nsmiled at the river.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve heard it laugh,\u201d he said. \u201cBut you haven\u2019t heard everything.\nLet\u2019s listen, you\u2019ll hear more.\u201d\n\nThey listened. Softly sounded the river, singing in many voices.\nSiddhartha looked into the water, and images appeared to him in the\nmoving water: his father appeared, lonely, mourning for his son; he\nhimself appeared, lonely, he also being tied with the bondage of\nyearning to his distant son; his son appeared, lonely as well, the boy,\ngreedily rushing along the burning course of his young wishes, each one\nheading for his goal, each one obsessed by the goal, each one\nsuffering. The river sang with a voice of suffering, longingly it sang,\nlongingly, it flowed towards its goal, lamentingly its voice sang.\n\n\u201cDo you hear?\u201d Vasudeva\u2019s mute gaze asked. Siddhartha nodded.\n\n\u201cListen better!\u201d Vasudeva whispered.\n\nSiddhartha made an effort to listen better. The image of his father,\nhis own image, the image of his son merged, Kamala\u2019s image also\nappeared and was dispersed, and the image of Govinda, and other images,\nand they merged with each other, turned all into the river, headed all,\nbeing the river, for the goal, longing, desiring, suffering, and the\nriver\u2019s voice sounded full of yearning, full of burning woe, full of\nunsatisfiable desire. For the goal, the river was heading, Siddhartha\nsaw it hurrying, the river, which consisted of him and his loved ones\nand of all people he had ever seen, all of these waves and waters were\nhurrying, suffering, towards goals, many goals, the waterfall, the\nlake, the rapids, the sea, and all goals were reached, and every goal\nwas followed by a new one, and the water turned into vapour and rose to\nthe sky, turned into rain and poured down from the sky, turned into a\nsource, a stream, a river, headed forward once again, flowed on once\nagain. But the longing voice had changed. It still resounded, full of\nsuffering, searching, but other voices joined it, voices of joy and of\nsuffering, good and bad voices, laughing and sad ones, a hundred\nvoices, a thousand voices.\n\nSiddhartha listened. He was now nothing but a listener, completely\nconcentrated on listening, completely empty, he felt, that he had now\nfinished learning to listen. Often before, he had heard all this, these\nmany voices in the river, today it sounded new. Already, he could no\nlonger tell the many voices apart, not the happy ones from the weeping\nones, not the ones of children from those of men, they all belonged\ntogether, the lamentation of yearning and the laughter of the\nknowledgeable one, the scream of rage and the moaning of the dying\nones, everything was one, everything was intertwined and connected,\nentangled a thousand times. And everything together, all voices, all\ngoals, all yearning, all suffering, all pleasure, all that was good and\nevil, all of this together was the world. All of it together was the\nflow of events, was the music of life. And when Siddhartha was\nlistening attentively to this river, this song of a thousand voices,\nwhen he neither listened to the suffering nor the laughter, when he did\nnot tie his soul to any particular voice and submerged his self into\nit, but when he heard them all, perceived the whole, the oneness, then\nthe great song of the thousand voices consisted of a single word, which\nwas Om: the perfection.\n\n\u201cDo you hear,\u201d Vasudeva\u2019s gaze asked again.\n\nBrightly, Vasudeva\u2019s smile was shining, floating radiantly over all the\nwrinkles of his old face, as the Om was floating in the air over all\nthe voices of the river. Brightly his smile was shining, when he looked\nat his friend, and brightly the same smile was now starting to shine on\nSiddhartha\u2019s face as well. His wound blossomed, his suffering was\nshining, his self had flown into the oneness.\n\nIn this hour, Siddhartha stopped fighting his fate, stopped suffering.\nOn his face flourished the cheerfulness of a knowledge, which is no\nlonger opposed by any will, which knows perfection, which is in\nagreement with the flow of events, with the current of life, full of\nsympathy for the pain of others, full of sympathy for the pleasure of\nothers, devoted to the flow, belonging to the oneness.\n\nWhen Vasudeva rose from the seat by the bank, when he looked into\nSiddhartha\u2019s eyes and saw the cheerfulness of the knowledge shining in\nthem, he softly touched his shoulder with his hand, in this careful and\ntender manner, and said: \u201cI\u2019ve been waiting for this hour, my dear. Now\nthat it has come, let me leave. For a long time, I\u2019ve been waiting for\nthis hour; for a long time, I\u2019ve been Vasudeva the ferryman. Now it\u2019s\nenough. Farewell, but, farewell, river, farewell, Siddhartha!\u201d\n\nSiddhartha made a deep bow before him who bid his farewell.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve known it,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cYou\u2019ll go into the forests?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going into the forests, I\u2019m going into the oneness,\u201d spoke\nVasudeva with a bright smile.\n\nWith a bright smile, he left; Siddhartha watched him leaving. With deep\njoy, with deep solemnity he watched him leave, saw his steps full of\npeace, saw his head full of lustre, saw his body full of light.\n\n\n\n\nGOVINDA\n\n\nTogether with other monks, Govinda used to spend the time of rest\nbetween pilgrimages in the pleasure-grove, which the courtesan Kamala\nhad given to the followers of Gotama for a gift. He heard talk of an\nold ferryman, who lived one day\u2019s journey away by the river, and who\nwas regarded as a wise man by many. When Govinda went back on his way,\nhe chose the path to the ferry, eager to see the ferryman. Because,\nthough he had lived his entire life by the rules, though he was also\nlooked upon with veneration by the younger monks on account of his age\nand his modesty, the restlessness and the searching still had not\nperished from his heart.\n\nHe came to the river and asked the old man to ferry him over, and when\nthey got off the boat on the other side, he said to the old man:\n\u201cYou\u2019re very good to us monks and pilgrims, you have already ferried\nmany of us across the river. Aren\u2019t you too, ferryman, a searcher for\nthe right path?\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha, smiling from his old eyes: \u201cDo you call yourself a\nsearcher, oh venerable one, though you are already well on in years and\nare wearing the robe of Gotama\u2019s monks?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s true, I\u2019m old,\u201d spoke Govinda, \u201cbut I haven\u2019t stopped searching.\nNever I\u2019ll stop searching, this seems to be my destiny. You too, so it\nseems to me, have been searching. Would you like to tell me something,\noh honourable one?\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cWhat should I possibly have to tell you, oh\nvenerable one? Perhaps that you\u2019re searching far too much? That in all\nthat searching, you don\u2019t find the time for finding?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow come?\u201d asked Govinda.\n\n\u201cWhen someone is searching,\u201d said Siddhartha, \u201cthen it might easily\nhappen that the only thing his eyes still see is that what he searches\nfor, that he is unable to find anything, to let anything enter his\nmind, because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search,\nbecause he has a goal, because he is obsessed by the goal. Searching\nmeans: having a goal. But finding means: being free, being open, having\nno goal. You, oh venerable one, are perhaps indeed a searcher, because,\nstriving for your goal, there are many things you don\u2019t see, which are\ndirectly in front of your eyes.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t quite understand yet,\u201d asked Govinda, \u201cwhat do you mean by\nthis?\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cA long time ago, oh venerable one, many years ago,\nyou\u2019ve once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by\nthe river, and have sat down with him to guard his sleep. But, oh\nGovinda, you did not recognise the sleeping man.\u201d\n\nAstonished, as if he had been the object of a magic spell, the monk\nlooked into the ferryman\u2019s eyes.\n\n\u201cAre you Siddhartha?\u201d he asked with a timid voice. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t have\nrecognised you this time as well! From my heart, I\u2019m greeting you,\nSiddhartha; from my heart, I\u2019m happy to see you once again! You\u2019ve\nchanged a lot, my friend.\u2014And so you\u2019ve now become a ferryman?\u201d\n\nIn a friendly manner, Siddhartha laughed. \u201cA ferryman, yes. Many\npeople, Govinda, have to change a lot, have to wear many a robe, I am\none of those, my dear. Be welcome, Govinda, and spend the night in my\nhut.\u201d\n\nGovinda stayed the night in the hut and slept on the bed which used to\nbe Vasudeva\u2019s bed. Many questions he posed to the friend of his youth,\nmany things Siddhartha had to tell him from his life.\n\nWhen in the next morning the time had come to start the day\u2019s journey,\nGovinda said, not without hesitation, these words: \u201cBefore I\u2019ll\ncontinue on my path, Siddhartha, permit me to ask one more question. Do\nyou have a teaching? Do you have a faith or a knowledge you follow,\nwhich helps you to live and to do right?\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cYou know, my dear, that I already as a young man, in\nthose days when we lived with the penitents in the forest, started to\ndistrust teachers and teachings and to turn my back to them. I have\nstuck with this. Nevertheless, I have had many teachers since then. A\nbeautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time, and a rich\nmerchant was my teacher, and some gamblers with dice. Once, even a\nfollower of Buddha, travelling on foot, has been my teacher; he sat\nwith me when I had fallen asleep in the forest, on the pilgrimage. I\u2019ve\nalso learned from him, I\u2019m also grateful to him, very grateful. But\nmost of all, I have learned here from this river and from my\npredecessor, the ferryman Vasudeva. He was a very simple person,\nVasudeva, he was no thinker, but he knew what is necessary just as well\nas Gotama, he was a perfect man, a saint.\u201d\n\nGovinda said: \u201cStill, oh Siddhartha, you love a bit to mock people, as\nit seems to me. I believe in you and know that you haven\u2019t followed a\nteacher. But haven\u2019t you found something by yourself, though you\u2019ve\nfound no teachings, you still found certain thoughts, certain insights,\nwhich are your own and which help you to live? If you would like to\ntell me some of these, you would delight my heart.\u201d\n\nQuoth Siddhartha: \u201cI\u2019ve had thoughts, yes, and insight, again and\nagain. Sometimes, for an hour or for an entire day, I have felt\nknowledge in me, as one would feel life in one\u2019s heart. There have been\nmany thoughts, but it would be hard for me to convey them to you. Look,\nmy dear Govinda, this is one of my thoughts, which I have found: wisdom\ncannot be passed on. Wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to\nsomeone always sounds like foolishness.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you kidding?\u201d asked Govinda.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not kidding. I\u2019m telling you what I\u2019ve found. Knowledge can be\nconveyed, but not wisdom. It can be found, it can be lived, it is\npossible to be carried by it, miracles can be performed with it, but it\ncannot be expressed in words and taught. This was what I, even as a\nyoung man, sometimes suspected, what has driven me away from the\nteachers. I have found a thought, Govinda, which you\u2019ll again regard as\na joke or foolishness, but which is my best thought. It says: The\nopposite of every truth is just as true! That\u2019s like this: any truth\ncan only be expressed and put into words when it is one-sided.\nEverything is one-sided which can be thought with thoughts and said\nwith words, it\u2019s all one-sided, all just one half, all lacks\ncompleteness, roundness, oneness. When the exalted Gotama spoke in his\nteachings of the world, he had to divide it into Sansara and Nirvana,\ninto deception and truth, into suffering and salvation. It cannot be\ndone differently, there is no other way for him who wants to teach. But\nthe world itself, what exists around us and inside of us, is never\none-sided. A person or an act is never entirely Sansara or entirely\nNirvana, a person is never entirely holy or entirely sinful. It does\nreally seem like this, because we are subject to deception, as if time\nwas something real. Time is not real, Govinda, I have experienced this\noften and often again. And if time is not real, then the gap which\nseems to be between the world and the eternity, between suffering and\nblissfulness, between evil and good, is also a deception.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow come?\u201d asked Govinda timidly.\n\n\u201cListen well, my dear, listen well! The sinner, which I am and which\nyou are, is a sinner, but in times to come he will be Brahma again, he\nwill reach the Nirvana, will be Buddha\u2014and now see: these \u2018times to\ncome\u2019 are a deception, are only a parable! The sinner is not on his way\nto become a Buddha, he is not in the process of developing, though our\ncapacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things.\nNo, within the sinner is now and today already the future Buddha, his\nfuture is already all there, you have to worship in him, in you, in\neveryone the Buddha which is coming into being, the possible, the\nhidden Buddha. The world, my friend Govinda, is not imperfect, or on a\nslow path towards perfection: no, it is perfect in every moment, all\nsin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself, all small\nchildren already have the old person in themselves, all infants already\nhave death, all dying people the eternal life. It is not possible for\nany person to see how far another one has already progressed on his\npath; in the robber and dice-gambler, the Buddha is waiting; in the\nBrahman, the robber is waiting. In deep meditation, there is the\npossibility to put time out of existence, to see all life which was,\nis, and will be as if it was simultaneous, and there everything is\ngood, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman. Therefore, I see\nwhatever exists as good, death is to me like life, sin like holiness,\nwisdom like foolishness, everything has to be as it is, everything only\nrequires my consent, only my willingness, my loving agreement, to be\ngood for me, to do nothing but work for my benefit, to be unable to\never harm me. I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I\nneeded sin very much, I needed lust, the desire for possessions,\nvanity, and needed the most shameful despair, in order to learn how to\ngive up all resistance, in order to learn how to love the world, in\norder to stop comparing it to some world I wished, I imagined, some\nkind of perfection I had made up, but to leave it as it is and to love\nit and to enjoy being a part of it.\u2014These, oh Govinda, are some of the\nthoughts which have come into my mind.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha bent down, picked up a stone from the ground, and weighed it\nin his hand.\n\n\u201cThis here,\u201d he said playing with it, \u201cis a stone, and will, after a\ncertain time, perhaps turn into soil, and will turn from soil into a\nplant or animal or human being. In the past, I would have said: This\nstone is just a stone, it is worthless, it belongs to the world of the\nMaya; but because it might be able to become also a human being and a\nspirit in the cycle of transformations, therefore I also grant it\nimportance. Thus, I would perhaps have thought in the past. But today I\nthink: this stone is a stone, it is also animal, it is also god, it is\nalso Buddha, I do not venerate and love it because it could turn into\nthis or that, but rather because it is already and always\neverything\u2014and it is this very fact, that it is a stone, that it\nappears to me now and today as a stone, this is why I love it and see\nworth and purpose in each of its veins and cavities, in the yellow, in\nthe gray, in the hardness, in the sound it makes when I knock at it, in\nthe dryness or wetness of its surface. There are stones which feel like\noil or soap, and others like leaves, others like sand, and every one is\nspecial and prays the Om in its own way, each one is Brahman, but\nsimultaneously and just as much it is a stone, is oily or juicy, and\nthis is the very fact which I like and regard as wonderful and worthy\nof worship.\u2014But let me speak no more of this. The words are not good\nfor the secret meaning, everything always becomes a bit different, as\nsoon as it is put into words, gets distorted a bit, a bit silly\u2014yes,\nand this is also very good, and I like it a lot, I also very much agree\nwith this, that this what is one man\u2019s treasure and wisdom always\nsounds like foolishness to another person.\u201d\n\nGovinda listened silently.\n\n\u201cWhy have you told me this about the stone?\u201d he asked hesitantly after\na pause.\n\n\u201cI did it without any specific intention. Or perhaps what I meant was,\nthat I love this very stone, and the river, and all these things we are\nlooking at and from which we can learn. I can love a stone, Govinda,\nand also a tree or a piece of bark. These are things, and things can be\nloved. But I cannot love words. Therefore, teachings are no good for\nme, they have no hardness, no softness, no colours, no edges, no smell,\nno taste, they have nothing but words. Perhaps it is these which keep\nyou from finding peace, perhaps it is the many words. Because\nsalvation and virtue as well, Sansara and Nirvana as well, are mere\nwords, Govinda. There is no thing which would be Nirvana; there is just\nthe word Nirvana.\u201d\n\nQuoth Govinda: \u201cNot just a word, my friend, is Nirvana. It is a\nthought.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha continued: \u201cA thought, it might be so. I must confess to\nyou, my dear: I don\u2019t differentiate much between thoughts and words. To\nbe honest, I also have no high opinion of thoughts. I have a better\nopinion of things. Here on this ferry-boat, for instance, a man has\nbeen my predecessor and teacher, a holy man, who has for many years\nsimply believed in the river, nothing else. He had noticed that the\nriver spoke to him, he learned from it, it educated and taught him,\nthe river seemed to be a god to him, for many years he did not know\nthat every wind, every cloud, every bird, every beetle was just as\ndivine and knows just as much and can teach just as much as the\nworshipped river. But when this holy man went into the forests, he knew\neverything, knew more than you and me, without teachers, without books,\nonly because he had believed in the river.\u201d\n\nGovinda said: \u201cBut is that what you call \u2018things\u2019, actually something\nreal, something which has existence? Isn\u2019t it just a deception of the\nMaya, just an image and illusion? Your stone, your tree, your river\u2014are\nthey actually a reality?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis too,\u201d spoke Siddhartha, \u201cI do not care very much about. Let the\nthings be illusions or not, after all I would then also be an illusion,\nand thus they are always like me. This is what makes them so dear and\nworthy of veneration for me: they are like me. Therefore, I can love\nthem. And this is now a teaching you will laugh about: love, oh\nGovinda, seems to me to be the most important thing of all. To\nthoroughly understand the world, to explain it, to despise it, may be\nthe thing great thinkers do. But I\u2019m only interested in being able to\nlove the world, not to despise it, not to hate it and me, to be able to\nlook upon it and me and all beings with love and admiration and great\nrespect.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis I understand,\u201d spoke Govinda. \u201cBut this very thing was discovered\nby the exalted one to be a deception. He commands benevolence,\nclemency, sympathy, tolerance, but not love; he forbade us to tie our\nheart in love to earthly things.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know it,\u201d said Siddhartha; his smile shone golden. \u201cI know it,\nGovinda. And behold, with this we are right in the middle of the\nthicket of opinions, in the dispute about words. For I cannot deny, my\nwords of love are in a contradiction, a seeming contradiction with\nGotama\u2019s words. For this very reason, I distrust in words so much, for\nI know, this contradiction is a deception. I know that I am in\nagreement with Gotama. How should he not know love, he, who has\ndiscovered all elements of human existence in their transitoriness, in\ntheir meaninglessness, and yet loved people thus much, to use a long,\nlaborious life only to help them, to teach them! Even with him, even\nwith your great teacher, I prefer the thing over the words, place more\nimportance on his acts and life than on his speeches, more on the\ngestures of his hand than his opinions. Not in his speech, not in his\nthoughts, I see his greatness, only in his actions, in his life.\u201d\n\nFor a long time, the two old men said nothing. Then spoke Govinda,\nwhile bowing for a farewell: \u201cI thank you, Siddhartha, for telling me\nsome of your thoughts. They are partially strange thoughts, not all\nhave been instantly understandable to me. This being as it may, I thank\nyou, and I wish you to have calm days.\u201d\n\n(But secretly he thought to himself: This Siddhartha is a bizarre\nperson, he expresses bizarre thoughts, his teachings sound foolish. So\ndifferently sound the exalted one\u2019s pure teachings, clearer, purer,\nmore comprehensible, nothing strange, foolish, or silly is contained in\nthem. But different from his thoughts seemed to me Siddhartha\u2019s hands\nand feet, his eyes, his forehead, his breath, his smile, his greeting,\nhis walk. Never again, after our exalted Gotama has become one with the\nNirvana, never since then have I met a person of whom I felt: this is a\nholy man! Only him, this Siddhartha, I have found to be like this. May\nhis teachings be strange, may his words sound foolish; out of his gaze\nand his hand, his skin and his hair, out of every part of him shines a\npurity, shines a calmness, shines a cheerfulness and mildness and\nholiness, which I have seen in no other person since the final death of\nour exalted teacher.)\n\nAs Govinda thought like this, and there was a conflict in his heart, he\nonce again bowed to Siddhartha, drawn by love. Deeply he bowed to him\nwho was calmly sitting.\n\n\u201cSiddhartha,\u201d he spoke, \u201cwe have become old men. It is unlikely for one\nof us to see the other again in this incarnation. I see, beloved, that\nyou have found peace. I confess that I haven\u2019t found it. Tell me, oh\nhonourable one, one more word, give me something on my way which I can\ngrasp, which I can understand! Give me something to be with me on my\npath. It is often hard, my path, often dark, Siddhartha.\u201d\n\nSiddhartha said nothing and looked at him with the ever unchanged,\nquiet smile. Govinda stared at his face, with fear, with yearning,\nsuffering, and the eternal search was visible in his look, eternal\nnot-finding.\n\nSiddhartha saw it and smiled.\n\n\u201cBend down to me!\u201d he whispered quietly in Govinda\u2019s ear. \u201cBend down to\nme! Like this, even closer! Very close! Kiss my forehead, Govinda!\u201d\n\nBut while Govinda with astonishment, and yet drawn by great love and\nexpectation, obeyed his words, bent down closely to him and touched his\nforehead with his lips, something miraculous happened to him. While his\nthoughts were still dwelling on Siddhartha\u2019s wondrous words, while he\nwas still struggling in vain and with reluctance to think away time, to\nimagine Nirvana and Sansara as one, while even a certain contempt for\nthe words of his friend was fighting in him against an immense love and\nveneration, this happened to him:\n\nHe no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha, instead he saw\nother faces, many, a long sequence, a flowing river of faces, of\nhundreds, of thousands, which all came and disappeared, and yet all\nseemed to be there simultaneously, which all constantly changed and\nrenewed themselves, and which were still all Siddhartha. He saw the\nface of a fish, a carp, with an infinitely painfully opened mouth, the\nface of a dying fish, with fading eyes\u2014he saw the face of a new-born\nchild, red and full of wrinkles, distorted from crying\u2014he saw the face\nof a murderer, he saw him plunging a knife into the body of another\nperson\u2014he saw, in the same second, this criminal in bondage, kneeling\nand his head being chopped off by the executioner with one blow of his\nsword\u2014he saw the bodies of men and women, naked in positions and cramps\nof frenzied love\u2014he saw corpses stretched out, motionless, cold, void\u2014he\nsaw the heads of animals, of boars, of crocodiles, of elephants, of\nbulls, of birds\u2014he saw gods, saw Krishna, saw Agni\u2014he saw all of these\nfigures and faces in a thousand relationships with one another, each\none helping the other, loving it, hating it, destroying it, giving\nre-birth to it, each one was a will to die, a passionately painful\nconfession of transitoriness, and yet none of them died, each one only\ntransformed, was always reborn, received evermore a new face, without\nany time having passed between the one and the other face\u2014and all of\nthese figures and faces rested, flowed, generated themselves, floated\nalong and merged with each other, and they were all constantly covered\nby something thin, without individuality of its own, but yet existing,\nlike a thin glass or ice, like a transparent skin, a shell or mold or\nmask of water, and this mask was smiling, and this mask was\nSiddhartha\u2019s smiling face, which he, Govinda, in this very same moment\ntouched with his lips. And, Govinda saw it like this, this smile of the\nmask, this smile of oneness above the flowing forms, this smile of\nsimultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths, this smile of\nSiddhartha was precisely the same, was precisely of the same kind as\nthe quiet, delicate, impenetrable, perhaps benevolent, perhaps mocking,\nwise, thousand-fold smile of Gotama, the Buddha, as he had seen it\nhimself with great respect a hundred times. Like this, Govinda knew,\nthe perfected ones are smiling.\n\nNot knowing any more whether time existed, whether the vision had\nlasted a second or a hundred years, not knowing any more whether there\nexisted a Siddhartha, a Gotama, a me and a you, feeling in his\ninnermost self as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow, the injury\nof which tasted sweet, being enchanted and dissolved in his innermost\nself, Govinda still stood for a little while bent over Siddhartha\u2019s\nquiet face, which he had just kissed, which had just been the scene of\nall manifestations, all transformations, all existence. The face was\nunchanged, after under its surface the depth of the thousand-foldness\nhad closed up again, he smiled silently, smiled quietly and softly,\nperhaps very benevolently, perhaps very mockingly, precisely as he used\nto smile, the exalted one.\n\nDeeply, Govinda bowed; tears he knew nothing of, ran down his old face;\nlike a fire burned the feeling of the most intimate love, the humblest\nveneration in his heart. Deeply, he bowed, touching the ground, before\nhim who was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of\neverything he had ever loved in his life, what had ever been valuable\nand holy to him in his life.","title":"Siddhartha","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":39157}