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siddhartha an indian tale by hermann hesse

first part to romain rolland, my dear friend

the son of the brahman in the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend govinda, son of a brahman. the sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. in the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. for a long time, siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practising debate with govinda, practising with govinda the art of reflection, the service of meditation. he already knew how to speak the om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of the clear-thinking spirit. he already knew to feel atman in the depths of his being, indestructible, one with the universe. joy leapt in his father's heart for his son who was quick to learn, thirsty for knowledge; he saw him growing up to become great wise man and priest, a prince among the brahmans. bliss leapt in his mother's breast when she saw him, when she saw him walking, when she saw him sit down and get up, siddhartha, strong, handsome, he who was walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect respect. love touched the hearts of the brahmans' young daughters when siddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the luminous forehead, with the eye of a king, with his slim hips. but more than all the others he was loved by govinda, his friend, the son of a brahman. he loved siddhartha's eye and sweet voice, he loved his walk and the perfect decency of his movements, he loved everything siddhartha did and said and what he loved most was his spirit, his transcendent, fiery thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling. govinda knew: he would not become a common brahman, not a lazy official in charge of offerings; not a greedy merchant with magic spells; not a vain, vacuous speaker; not a mean, deceitful priest; and also not a decent, stupid sheep in the herd of the many. no, and he, govinda, as well did not want to become one of those, not one of those tens of thousands of brahmans. he wanted to follow siddhartha, the beloved, the splendid. and in days to come, when siddhartha would become a god, when he would join the glorious, then govinda wanted to follow him as his friend, his companion, his servant, his spear-carrier, his shadow.

siddhartha was thus loved by everyone. he was a source of joy for everybody, he was a delight for them all. but he, siddhartha, was not a source of joy for himself, he found no delight in himself. walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden, sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation, washing his limbs daily in the bath of repentance, sacrificing in the dim shade of the mango forest, his gestures of perfect decency, everyone's love and joy, he still lacked all joy in his heart. dreams and restless thoughts came into his mind, flowing from the water of the river, sparkling from the stars of the night, melting from the beams of the sun, dreams came to him and a restlessness of the soul, fuming from the sacrifices, breathing forth from the verses of the rig-veda, being infused into him, drop by drop, from the teachings of the old brahmans. siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself, he had started to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother, and also the love of his friend, govinda, would not bring him joy for ever and ever, would not nurse him, feed him, satisfy him. he had started to suspect that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the wise brahmans had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom, that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness, and the vessel was not full, the spirit was not content, the soul was not calm, the heart was not satisfied. the ablutions were good, but they were water, they did not wash off the sin, they did not heal the spirit's thirst, they did not relieve the fear in his heart. the sacrifices and the invocation of the gods were excellent--but was that all? did the sacrifices give a happy fortune? and what about the gods? was it really prajapati who had created the world? was it not the atman, he, the only one, the singular one? were the gods not creations, created like me and you, subject to time, mortal? was it therefore good, was it right, was it meaningful and the highest occupation to make offerings to the gods? for whom else were offerings to be made, who else was to be worshipped but him, the only one, the atman? and where was atman to be found, where did he reside, where did his eternal heart beat, where else but in one's own self, in its innermost part, in its indestructible part, which everyone had in himself? but where, where was this self, this innermost part, this ultimate part? it was not flesh and bone, it was neither thought nor consciousness, thus the wisest ones taught. so, where, where was it? to reach this place, the self, myself, the atman, there was another way, which was worthwhile looking for? alas, and nobody showed this way, nobody knew it, not the father, and not the teachers and wise men, not the holy sacrificial songs! they knew everything, the brahmans and their holy books, they knew everything, they had taken care of everything and of more than everything, the creation of the world, the origin of speech, of food, of inhaling, of exhaling, the arrangement of the senses, the acts of the gods, they knew infinitely much--but was it valuable to know all of this, not knowing that one and only thing, the most important thing, the solely important thing? surely, many verses of the holy books, particularly in the upanishades of samaveda, spoke of this innermost and ultimate thing, wonderful verses. "your soul is the whole world", was written there, and it was written that man in his sleep, in his deep sleep, would meet with his innermost part and would reside in the atman. marvellous wisdom was in these verses, all knowledge of the wisest ones had been collected here in magic words, pure as honey collected by bees. no, not to be looked

" siddhartha spoke to his friend. strangers and enemies to the world. did he live in blissfulness. delicate and noble thoughts lived behind its brow --but even he. have to drink from holy sources. the pristine source in one's own self. over and over every day? was not atman in him. that one should incessantly hit. did not the pristine source spring from his heart? it had to be found. behind them blew a hot scent . ready to speak the om. while putting himself down. have to wash off sins every day. from the disputes of the brahmans? why did he. neither old nor young. wise his words. scorched by the sun. siddhartha sat there lost in thought. siddhartha did not answer. where the wise men or penitents. thus sat he. wrapped up in contemplation. the eternal thirst. and among all the wise and wisest men. the heavenly world. they sat down. who had quenched it completely. into every step of the way. "govinda. was a detour. the most venerable one. as a thirsty man.down upon was the tremendous amount of enlightenment which lay here collected and preserved by innumerable generations of wise brahmans. surrounded by loneliness. who had succeeded in not just knowing this deepest of all knowledge but also to live it? where was the knowledgeable one who wove his spell to bring his familiarity with the atman out of the sleep into the state of being awake. govinda twenty paces away. his eyes were rigidly focused towards a very distant target. three skinny. the arrow is soul. after the usual time of the exercise in meditation had passed." often. the evening had come. from the offerings. it seemed near. my dear. again and again. who knew so much. was getting lost. let's practise meditation. among all of them there was no one. the heavenly world. into word and deed? siddhartha knew many venerable brahmans. "govinda. from the books. almost naked. strive for a cleansing every day. thus were siddhartha's thoughts. the pure one. who had reached it completely. never he had quenched the ultimate thirst. the tip of his tongue was protruding a little between the teeth. often he spoke to himself from a chandogya-upanishad the words: "truly. ascetics on a pilgrimage. he knew and whose instructions he had received. he who knows such a thing. will enter the heavenly world every day. the scholar. his soul sent after the brahman as an arrow. siddhartha repeated murmuring the verse: om is the bow. he seemed not to breathe. he called siddhartha's name. once. siddhartha right here. it was time to perform the evening's ablution. a thirsty man? did he not. where the priests. the name of the brahman is satyam--verily. come with me under the banyan tree. strangers and lank jackals in the realm of humans. quiet and noble were his manners. govinda rose. was he not also just a searching man. into the life. this was his thirst. the irreproachable one. with dusty and bloody shoulders. this was his suffering. chiefly his father.-but where were the brahmans. pure his life. thinking om. did he have peace. the brahman is the arrow's target." they went to the banyan tree. withered men. but never he had reached it completely. samanas had travelled through siddhartha's town. it had to be possessed! everything else was searching. his father was to be admired.

with anxiety in his heart. my father. the father left the chamber. his arms folded. arrow-fast he read in govinda�s soul." govinda turned pale. and left the house. soon and with the first glance. may my father not oppose this. and there he saw siddhartha standing. and with his. silent and motionless stood the son with his arms folded. then spoke the father: "not proper it is for a brahman to speak harsh and angry words. my desire is to become a samana. he will become a samana. the brahman rose. "o siddhartha. siddhartha? then say what you came to say." slowly. of merciless self-denial. silent and motionless sat the father on the mat. my friend. until his father felt that someone was standing behind him. and remained silent for so long that the stars in the small window wandered and changed their relative positions. 'ere the silence was broken. in the evening. the brahman stood up again. after the hour of contemplation. siddhartha spoke to govinda: "early tomorrow morning. speak no more of it. through the small window of the chamber he looked back inside. siddhartha stood silently. tomorrow. when he heard these words and read the decision in the motionless face of his friend." the brahman fell silent. "o govinda." quoth siddhartha: "with your permission. my own. he went to his bed and lay down. walked out of the house and saw that the moon had risen. at daybreak i will begin the life of the samanas." he spoke quietly. since no sleep had come over his eyes." he exclaimed. after an hour. pale shimmered his bright robe. and the stars traced their paths in the sky. paced to and fro. paced to and fro. read the fear. after another hour. "what are you waiting for?" asked the father. i wish not to hear this request for a second time from your mouth. his arms folded. govinda realized: now it is beginning. now his fate is beginning to sprout. indignant. quoth siddhartha: "you know what. read the submission. siddhartha will go to the samanas. but indignation is in my heart." siddhartha entered the chamber. not moving from his spot. quoth the brahman: "is that you." indignant. and he turned pale like a dry banana-skin. i came to tell you that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the ascetics. and stepped behind his father and remained standing there. now siddhartha is taking his own way. since no sleep had come over his eyes. of destructive service. the father returned to his bed.of quiet passion. "will your father permit you to do that?" siddhartha looked over as if he was just waking up. unstoppable like the arrow shot from the bow. the brahman stood up. through the window of the chamber he looked back . "let's not waste words. where his father was sitting on a mat of bast.

and he came back after an hour. moonlight reflecting from his bare shins." "and would you rather die. stepped into the room. when you'll have found blissfulness in the forest. that he had already left him. filled his heart with anguish." he spoke. in the darkness. silently. and evening?" "i will stand and wait." he spoke. siddhartha. looked through the small window. filled his heart with anger. his eyes were fixed on a distant spot. the father touched siddhartha's shoulder. noon. "go into the forest and be a samana." . siddhartha. he looked into the chamber. by the light of the stars. he returned. in siddhartha's face he saw no trembling. and he came back hour after hour. until it'll becomes morning. saw siddhartha standing. but for me it is time to go to the river and to perform the first ablution. he came back after two hours. saw the young man standing there." "will you always stand that way and wait. "what are you waiting for?" "you know what. filled it with sadness. the father went back to bed. tell her where you are going to." "you will fall asleep. "you will. not moving from his spot. than obey your father?" "siddhartha has always obeyed his father. "siddhartha. in the moon light.inside." "i will become tired. siddhartha." the first light of day shone into the room. "you will become tired. saw him standing in the same place. there stood siddhartha. go now and kiss your mother." "i will die. the brahman saw that siddhartha was trembling softly in his knees. filled his heart with unrest. with worry in his heart. and in the night's last hour. if you'll find disappointment. then return and let us once again make offerings to the gods together. then come back and teach me to be blissful. then his father realized that even now siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in his home. his arms folded." "i will not fall asleep." "so will you abandon your plan?" "siddhartha will do what his father will tell him to do." "you will die. before the day began. who seemed tall and like a stranger to him.

princes hunting. to find tranquility with an emptied heard. glowing with thirst. once every desire and every urge was silent in the heart. empty of thirst. and offered them their companionship and--obedience. over freezing hips and legs. "i have come. then the ultimate part of me had to awake. he saw merchants trading. and the penitent stood there. feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged eyes. they were accepted. siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun directly above. he stood there in the rainy season. his glance turned to icy when he encountered women. the skinny samanas. and joined the pilgrim--govinda. whores offering themselves. he fasted for twenty-eight days. mourners wailing for their dead. the flesh waned from his thighs and cheeks. glowing with pain. he put his limbs back under control. until they were silent. it all stank of lies. it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful. . a shadow rose near the last hut. a single goal: to become empty. the world tasted bitter. he fasted for fifteen days. bowed to his father. he ate only once a day. and went to his mother to do as his father had said. not to be a self any more. the great secret. shaggy beard grew on his chin. silently. blood dripped from the burning skin. and siddhartha stayed rigidly. once all of my self was overcome and had died. empty of joy and sorrow." said siddhartha and smiled. priests determining the most suitable day for seeding. silently. until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs any more. when he walked through a city of nicely dressed people. unsown cloak. the innermost of my being. physicians trying to help the sick. he wore nothing more than the loincloth and the earth-coloured. long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry." said govinda. dead to himself. that was his goal. mothers nursing their children--and all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye. with the samanas in the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics. until they were quiet. a goal stood before siddhartha. silently. his mouth twitched with contempt.he took his hand from the shoulder of his son and went outside. "you have come. siddhartha gave his garments to a poor brahman in the street. empty of wishing. until he neither felt any pain nor thirst any more. life was torture. and never something cooked. he cowered in the thorny bushes. it all lied. as he tried to walk. siddhartha wavered to the side. who had crouched there. stayed motionless. it all stank. and it all was just concealed putrefaction. which is no longer my self. from his hair the water was dripping over freezing shoulders. and stood there. empty of dreams. lovers loving. from festering wounds dripped pus. as he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day the still quiet town. to be open to miracles in unselfish thoughts.

though siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times. was stone. he killed his memory. you've learned every exercise. the return was inevitable. quickly. was dismembered by hyaenas. he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms. "how do you think did we progress? did we reach any goals?" govinda answered: "we have learned. and was once again his self and siddhartha. flew over forest and mountains. and siddhartha's soul slipped inside the body. learned to get along with only few breathes. died a heron's death. to calm the beat of his heart. and siddhartha's soul returned. spoke the heron's croak. was a heron. and awoke every time to find his old self again. sun shone or moon. lay on the banks." siddhartha spoke one day while begging this way. many ways leading away from the self he learned to go. you'll be a great samana. a thousand times he left his self. was carrion.until no blood flowed any more. he learned. until nothing burned any more. one day. beginning with the breath. had died. leaned to reduce the beats of his heart. felt the pangs of a heron's hunger. but though the ways led away from the self. turned round in the cycle. undertook the same efforts. was skinned by vultures. where the end of the causes. inescapable was the hour. govinda. siddhartha practised self-denial. he killed his senses. he went the way of self-denial by means of meditation. a heron flew over the bamboo forest--and siddhartha accepted the heron into his soul. than the service and the exercises required. occasionally the two of them went through the villages. felt new thirst. turned to dust. decayed. stank. awaited in new thirst like a hunter in the gap. he went the way of self-denial by means of pain. you'll be a holy man. was blown across the fields. was wood. learned to stop breathing. siddhartha. overcame the thirst. was the dead jackal. turned into a skeleton. walked the same paths. was an animal. they rarely spoke to one another. siddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly. his shadow. was water. thirst. was his self again. stayed in the animal." quoth siddhartha: "i can't help but feel that it is not like this. these and other ways he learned to go. tiredness. felt thirst. had tasted the gloomy intoxication of the cycle. for hours and days he remained in the non-self. practised meditation. and we'll continue learning. my . instructed by the oldest if the samanas. often the old samanas have admired you. where an eternity without suffering began. until they were only a few and almost none. hunger. through voluntarily suffering and overcoming pain. in the shade or in the rain. through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions. their end nevertheless always led back to the self. stayed in nothingness. to beg for food for themselves and their teachers. "how do you think. was scattered as dust. siddhartha learned a lot when he was with the samanas. when he found himself back in the sunshine or in the moonlight. in the stone. where he could escape from the cycle. had decayed. got bloated. according to a new samana rules. until nothing stung any more. by his side lived govinda. a dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank. and again felt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him. oh siddhartha. ate fish.

siddhartha. staying in the non-self. to deceive others. has not become wiser. we learn feats.friend. we find comfort. not a single one. the same short numbing is what the driver of an ox-cart finds in the inn. has gathered no enlightenment." and once again. he won't and we won't. siddhartha. what i've learned. our venerable teacher?" quoth govinda: "our oldest one might be about sixty years of age. oh govinda. the same escape. it is a short numbing of the senses against the pain and the pointlessness of life." quoth govinda: "you say so. find only a short numbing of the senses in my exercises and meditations and that i am just as far removed from wisdom. oh govinda. then he won't feel the pains of life any more. insensitivity against hunger and pain there among these wretched people?" and siddhartha said quietly. there is still much to learn. in every tavern of that part of a town where the whorehouses are. but he'll return from the delusion. from salvation. and you and me. as a child in the mother's womb. who have thought we were escaping the cycle?" quoth govinda: "we have learned a lot. my friend. to beg for some food in the village for their brothers and teachers. being among the samanas. he'll find the same what siddhartha and govinda find when they escape their bodies through long exercises. i've never been a drunkard. oh govinda. up to this day. then he won't feel his self any more. he'll turn seventy and eighty. and will meditate. will reach the nirvana." and siddhartha spoke with a smile: "i do not know. it is a short escape of the agony of being a self. we have already ascended many a level. but the most important . we are moving up. the circle is a spiral. would you think. when siddhartha left the forest together with govinda. it's true that a drinker numbs his senses. we will grow just as old and will do our exercises. oh govinda. holding your breath. this i know." and siddhartha: "he has lived for sixty years and has not reached the nirvana. i could have learned more quickly and by simpler means. another time. oh govinda. when he falls asleep over his bowl of rice-wine. siddhartha began to speak and said: "what now. this is how it is. might we be on the right path? might we get closer to enlightenment? might we get closer to salvation? or do we perhaps live in a circle-we." quoth govinda: "siddhartha is putting me on. but we will not reach the nirvana. i believe out of all the samanas out there. drinking a few bowls of rice-wine or fermented coconut-milk. this. we find numbness.--has not risen several steps. perhaps not a single one. it's true that he briefly escapes and rests. we are not going around in circles. as if he was talking to himself: "what is meditation? what is leaving one's body? what is fasting? what is holding one's breath? it is fleeing from the self. this i know. and yet you know that siddhartha is no driver of an ox-cart and a samana is no drunkard. finds everything to be unchanged." siddhartha answered: "how old. and will fast. oh friend. among carters and gamblers i could have learned it. then he finds a short numbing of the senses. how could you have learned meditation. but that i. is our oldest samana.

no one will find the path of paths?" but siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness as mockery. a rumour. the buddha. this is atman. and spoke: "if you. he thought. but with a cheerful brow. siddhartha." at this. oh govinda. what of the venerability of the brahmans' caste.thing. a myth reached them after being retold many times: a man had appeared. perhaps. oh siddhartha. i always thirsted for knowledge. it had been just as well. there is. loses himself in the meditation of atman. year after year. if there was no learning?! what. what would then become of all of this what is holy. and on this long path of a samana. a slightly mocking voice: "soon. govinda stopped on the path. so many who are eagerly trying. in the yellow cloak of an ascetic. the path of paths. only would not bother your friend with this kind of talk! truly. yes. if i had asked the hornbill-bird or the chimpanzee. if it was as you say. i have always been full of questions. he has walked along your side for so long. the exalted one. i'm suffering of thirst. oh govinda: that there is nothing to be learned! there is indeed no such thing. it took me a long time and am not finished learning this yet. a man of bliss. we will not find. rose his hands. year after year. without home. unexpressable by words is his blissfulness of his heart. with a quiet. of a purified spirit." "if you only. standing there with his head low. without a wife. oh govinda. what of the holiness of the samanas. but siddhartha remained silent. and i have asked the devote samanas. govinda. and so i'm starting to believe that this knowledge has no worser enemy than the desire to know it. what is venerable on earth?!" and govinda mumbled a verse to himself. and i have asked the holy vedas. . my thirst has remained as strong as ever. teaching. year after year. he thought about the words which govinda had said to him and thought the words through to their end. among so many brahmans. among so many who are searching. this is within me and within you and within every creature. so i believe. and brahmans and princes would bow down before him and would become his students. just one knowledge. siddhartha! how could it be that among so many learned men. a verse from an upanishad: he who ponderingly. than learning. surrounded by disciples. i have asked the brahmans. had been just as smart and just as profitable. gotama by name. what is precious. so many holy men. this is everywhere. as what we refer to as `learning'." spoke govinda. a slightly sad. what would remain of all that which seemed to us to be holy? what remains? what can stand the test? and he shook his head. he was said to wander through the land. your friend will leave the path of the samanas. some news. at one time. "wouldn't speak such terrible words. without possession. oh my friend. when the two young men had lived among the samanas for about three years and had shared their exercises. among so many austere and venerable samanas. and just consider: what would become of the sanctity of prayer. you words stir up fear in my heart. he had overcome the suffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths.

but behold. whose word and breath was enough to heal everyone who had been infected with the pestilence. but many would get on their way as soon as possible. felt hope. "today. so the believers said. siddhartha and me. they rarely talked about it. but his enemies and disbelievers said. the brahmans spoke of it and in the forest. i had thought. and knew neither exercises nor self-castigation.this myth. had spoken to the gods. the exalted one. "oh siddhartha. if only we both would too. that fragrant myth of gotama. the myth of buddha sounded sweet. the myth had also reached the samanas in the forest. was without learning. and as such news would go through the land and everyone would talk about it. want to take a new path and go there. verily. this rumour. so now you. its fragrants rose up. and also govinda. the scent of magic flowed from these reports. he had heard that this alleged buddha used to be an ascetic before and had lived in the forest. the name of gotama. with good and with bad talk. he had performed miracles. the buddha. it was as if the plague had broken out in a country and news had been spreading around that in one or another place there was a man. there was the son of a brahman from magadha. the world was sick. everywhere where the rumour of buddha was heard. every drop laden with hope. i was in the village. and also siddhartha. i had not known govinda well enough. friend. the helper. a wise man. where the buddha . comforting. again and again. full of noble promises. he remembered his previous lives. oh govinda. and among the brahmans' sons of the towns and villages every pilgrim and stranger was welcome. he would spent his days in luxury. had overcome the devil. to seek the wise man. he possessed. this legend resounded. after all. always i had believed his goal was to live to be sixty and seventy years of age and to keep on practising those feats and exercises. live to see the hour when we will hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfected man! speak. the sakyamuni. mild. and in his house. my faithful friend. everywhere in the lands of india. the highest enlightenment. slowly. drop by drop. because the oldest one of the samanas did not like this myth. wouldn't we want to go there too and listen to the teachings from the buddha's mouth?" quoth siddhartha: "always. many would believe. many would doubt. the young men listened up. was never again submerged in the murky river of physical forms. here and there. when he brought news of him. in the towns. the samanas. the buddha reached the ears of the young men. which are becoming a samana. just like this this myth ran through the land. this gotama was a vain seducer. this made my chest ache when i breathed. here a messenger seemed to call out. a knowledgeable one. govinda would stay with the samanas. life was hard to bear--and behold. every drop laden with doubt. and he had no high opinion of this gotama. scorned the offerings. he had reached the nirvana and never returned into the cycle." govinda spoke one day to his friend. here a source seemed to spring forth. but had then turned back to luxury and worldly pleasures. with praise and with defamation. and thought to myself: if only i would too. who has seen the buddha with his own eyes and has heard him teach. felt a longing. many wonderful and unbelievable things were reported of him. i knew little of his heart. and a brahman invited me into his house. the wise man of the family of sakya.

one with all the courtesy and modesty becoming student. you have learned more from the samanas than i knew. performed gestures of blessing. and that my faith in words. in which his voice assumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery. govinda. whatever he demanded him to do. went on their way with salutations. his eyes became motionless. you would not walk the path of the samanas for much longer?" at this. and said: "well. if you only remembered the other thing as well. if you had stayed there. subdued him under his own will.spreads his teachings. he captured the old man's glance with his glances. an eagerness. govinda was startled and became embarrassed. deprived him of his power. on the way. and the young men returned the bows with thanks. i want to show the old man that i've learned something from him." positioning himself closely in front of the samana. and thus. to hear these teachings? and have you not at one time said to me. you would soon have learned to walk on water. what they commanded. it is very hard to cast a spell on an old samana. without power. is small. but tell me. you've remembered correctly. let us await with calm hearts." on this very same day. his will was paralysed. he had fallen victim to siddhartha's spell. consisted in him calling us away from the samanas! whether he has also other and better things to give us. which are brought to us by teachers. which we already now received thanks to the gotama. but siddhartha's thoughts brought the samana under their control. my dear. he had to carry out. returned the wish. how should this be possible? how should the gotama's teachings. mock me if you like. his arms were hanging down." quoth govinda: "your willingness delights my heart. with a concentrated soul. the old man became mute. made him mute. but let's do it. you've spoken well. i am willing to listen to these teachings--though in my heart i believe that we've already tasted the best fruit of these teachings. it is hard. truly. even before we have heard them. oh govinda! but this fruit. oh friend. govinda said: "oh siddhartha. siddhartha informed the of his decision. but the samana became angry. because to leave him. which is that i have grown distrustful and tired against teachings and learning. siddhartha laughed in his very own manner." "i do not seek to walk on water. spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey." said siddhartha. took away his free will. have already revealed their best fruit to us?" quoth siddhartha: "let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest. content with such feats!" "let old samanas be . and talked loudly and used crude oldest one of the samanas he informed the oldest to a younger one and a the two young men wanted swearwords." quoth govinda: "you're mocking me. to do silently. that he wanted to leave him. commanded him. the old man made several bows. but siddhartha put his mouth close to govinda's ear and whispered to him: "now. you've heard from me. siddhartha! but have you not also developed a desire.

the silently begging ones. and they accepted the food. before the door of which they stopped to beg." this made govinda happy. shouts. which the rich merchant anathapindika. food has been offered to them. and arriving at savathi. and to hear the teachings from his mouth. walking through the alleys in silence. the perfected one. . an obedient worshipper of the exalted one. near the town was gotama's favourite place to stay. the buddha himself. at sunrise. who handed them the food: "we would like to know. had given him and his people for a gift.gotama in the town of savathi. every child knew the name of the exalted buddha. have you seen him with your own eyes?" quoth the woman: "many times i have seen him. thus we have reached our destination. found quickly and without making any noise a place to stay and rested there until the morning. on many days. you should know. in the garden of anathapindika is where the exalted one dwells. leaving with a filled dish. had pointed them towards this area. and talk of those who sought shelter and got it. they saw with astonishment what a large crowd of believers and curious people had spent the night here. you have truly come to the right place. and siddhartha asked the woman. and our path has come to an end! but tell us. they thanked and left and hardly had to ask for directions. the two samanas. there were constant arrivals. wearing his yellow cloak. to see him. the buddha. the grove of jetavana. on all paths of the marvellous grove. who flock here. in the very first house. the most venerable one. the only meal of the day. full of people. in deep contemplation--or in a conversation about spiritual matters. there you pilgrims shall spent the night. was also in the habit of taking this walk to beg in the morning. and since they reached it at night. the shady gardens looked like a city. to hear the teachings from his mouth. where the buddha dwells. accustomed to life in the forest. under the trees they sat here and there. for rather many pilgrims and monks as well from gotama's community were on their way to the jetavana. the exalted one. but siddhartha urged him to walk on. you samanas from the forest." quoth the woman: "here. oh charitable one. for there is enough space for the innumerable. the enlightened one. monks walked in yellow robes. oh mother of the pilgrims. for we are two samanas from the forest and have come. do you know him. all tales and answers. presenting his alms-dish in silence at the doors of the houses. bustling like bees. the majority of the monks went out with their alms-dish. in jetavana. i have seen him. govinda listened and wanted to ask and hear much more. and full of joy he exclaimed: "well so. which the two young ascetics had received in their search for gotama's abode." delightedly. and every house was prepared to fill the alms-dish of gotama's disciples. to collect food in town for their lunch.

his feet. he did not believe that they would teach him anything new. exhaled the fragrant of. but attentively he looked at gotama's head. this man was holy. a simple man in a yellow robe. was of perfect calmness." "this one is the attentively.or third-hand information. govinda looked at the monk in the yellow robe. did not imitate. but in the evening. in an unwhithering light. bearing the alms-dish in his hand. in which there was no searching. did not search. "today. we'll hear the teachings from his mouth. they saw gotama returning--what he ate could not even have satisfied a bird's appetite. but his face and his walk. his shoulders. full of suffering was the world. the buddha walked. they heard the buddha teaching. his quietly lowered glance. but salvation from suffering had been found: salvation was obtained by him who would walk the path of the buddha. calmly and clearly his quiet speech flowed on. and the two samanas recognised him solely by the perfection of his calm. of the way to relieve suffering. walking silently. was full of peace. and he instantly recognised him. his quietly dangling hand and even every finger of his quietly dangling hand expressed peace. of the origin of suffering. he felt little curiosity for the teachings. gotama taught the teachings of suffering. this buddha was truthful down to the gesture of his last finger. yet firm voice the exalted one spoke. taught the . and they followed him and observed him. who seemed to be in no way different from the hundreds of other monks. his quietly dangling hand. glistened of truth. according to a precise rule. they both followed the buddha until they reached the town and then returned in silence. no effort to be seen. and it was also perfected. it seemed to smile quietly and inwardly. "look here!" siddhartha said quietly to govinda.siddhartha saw him. by the quietness of his appearance. with a soft. to collect alms. wore the robe and placed his feet just as all of his monks did. just as govinda had. though these reports only represented second. no desire. never before. buddha. and soon. expressed perfection. with a hidden smile. this man. calm. they heard his voice. the buddha went on his way. heard the contents of this buddha's teachings again and again. an untouchable peace. govinda also realized: this is the one. only light and peace. for they themselves intended to abstain from on this day. but he had. when the heat cooled down and everyone in the camp started to bustle about and gathered around." said govinda. breathed softly in an unwhithering calm. and it seemed to him as if every joint of every finger of this hand was of these teachings. breathed of. his calm face was neither happy nor sad. quiet. never before he had loved a person as much as this one. siddhartha had venerated a person so much. thus gotama walked towards the town. as if a god had pointed him out to him. no imitation. he saw him. modestly and deep in his thoughts. suffering was life. somewhat resembling a healthy child. and they saw him retiring into the shade of the mango-trees. siddhartha did not answer. spoke of.

when he heard govinda's words. always. now you have chosen this path. brightly and quietly his voice hovered over the listeners. my learned friend. oh govinda. to put an end to all suffering. of the repetitions. oh govinda. renounced all friendship. often i have thought: won't govinda for once also take a step by himself. he looked into govinda's face. renounced your birth and possessions. when the buddha--night had already fallen--ended his speech. you've always walked one step behind me. for a long tome. oh my friend. this is what the exalted one wants. then he spoke quietly. now you have taken this step. then govinda. be have both perceived the teachings. and gotama accepted them by speaking: "you have heard the teachings well. thus join us and walk in holiness. not completely understanding it yet. he has taken refuge in it. siddhartha kindly spoke to him: "don't forget. since it could not be any other way. this is what you wanted for yourself. like a light. without me. sought refuge in the teachings. that you are now one of the samanas of the buddha! you have renounced your home and your parents. it has come to you well. the friends continued walking in the grove. and he started to weep. my dear! tell me. i'm repeating it: i wish that you would go this path up to its end. i'll leave you. many a pilgrim stepped forward and asked to accepted into the community." and he asked to accepted into the community of his disciples and was accepted. govinda has heard the teachings. you've been my friend. don't you also want to walk the path of salvation? would you want to hesitate. govinda. when the buddha had retired for the night. i wish that you would go it up to its end." for a long time. patiently he went the usual path of the teachings. now you've turned into a man and are choosing your path for yourself. what fault he would find in these .four main doctrines. it is not my place to scold you. taught the eightfold path. and over and over again. of the examples. do you want to wait any longer?" siddhartha awakened as if he had been asleep. govinda realized that his friend had left him. the shy one. govinda turned to siddhartha and spoke eagerly: "siddhartha." behold. also stepped forward and spoke: "i also take my refuge in the exalted one and his teachings. will take your refuge with the exalted buddha!" siddhartha placed his hand on govinda's shoulder: "you failed to hear my good wish for you. in a voice without mockery: "govinda. this is what the teachings require. tomorrow. like a starry sky. that you also. for a long time. "siddhartha!" he exclaimed lamentingly. repeated his question in an impatient tone: "speak up. i beg you. they lay there and found no sleep. out of his own soul? behold. that you shall find salvation!" in this moment. that you shall find salvation!" govinda. he should tell him why he would not want to seek refuge in gotama's teachings. my honoured friend. renounced your free will. govinda urged his friend. my friend. but you. we have both heard the exalted one. oh govinda. right afterwards.

the young man summoned his courage and the permission to talk to him. a chain which is never and nowhere broken. clear as a crystal. i have admired in your teachings most of all. that the great and the small things are all encompassed by the same forces of time." "as you please. silently the approval. something new. he has taken his refuge with you. everything in your teachings is perfectly clear. but according to your very own teachings. never before. is proven. but with this small gap. oh exalted one. the buddha nodded his approval. how could i find a fault in them?" very early in the morning. a follower of buddha. and when he greeted so full of kindness and asked the venerable one for exalted one nodded his quoth siddhartha: "yesterday." . whether living according to it would be suffering or joy. once he has seen the world through your teachings perfectly connected. then govinda broke loose. never before. to hear your teachings. not depending on gods.teachings. that everything which happens is connected. the entire eternal and uniform law of the world is breaking apart again and becomes void. went through the garden and called all those to him who had as novices taken their refuge in the teachings. "too bold is my speech. and now my friend is going to stay with your people. please forgive me for expressing this objection. something which had not been there before. and which cannot be demonstrated and cannot be proven: these are your teachings of overcoming the world. one of his oldest monks. you are presenting the world as a perfect chain. to dress them up in the yellow robe and to instruct them in the first teachings and duties of their position. possibly this is not essential--but the uniformity of the world. "but i do not want to leave the exalted one without having honestly told him my thoughts. this world of unity is invaded by something alien. together with my friend. not depending on chance. whether it may be good or bad. this has been seen so clearly. without gaps." siddhartha continued. then he happened to meet gotama. oh perfected one. the exalted him with respect and the buddha's glance was calm. but siddhartha walked through the grove." the venerable one spoke politely. but siddhartha turned him away every time and said: "be content. quoth siddhartha: "one thing. with this small breach. of salvation. govinda! very good are the teachings of the exalted one. through a small gap. this unity and necessary sequence of all things is nevertheless broken in one place. embraced once again his childhood friend and left with the novices. this is what shines brightly out of your exalted teachings. i do not wish to discuss. truly. an eternal chain the links of which are causes and effects. oh most venerable one. but i will again start on my pilgrimage. does it please the venerable one to listen to me for one moment longer?" silently. lost in thought. the heart of every brahman has to beat stronger with love. by the same law of causes. this has been presented so irrefutably. i had come from afar. i had been privileged to hear your wondrous teachings. of coming into being and of dying. one.

for then i had replaced my self with the teachings. do you believe that it would be better for them all the abandon the teachings and to return into the life the world and of desires?" "far is such a thought from my mind. there is little to opinions. "i wish. everyone can support them or discard them. this is what gotama teaches. oh exalted one. there is nothing to opinions. in perfect equanimity his inscrutable face was smiling. they may be beautiful or ugly. are no opinion. that you have reached the goal. through thoughts. but often. it teaches many to live righteously. oh venerable one. you have found salvation from death. that you shall reach the goal! but tell me: have you seen the multitude of my samanas. but the teachings. only for myself. "i wish that they shall all stay with the teachings. you've heard from me. oh son of a brahman. to argue about words. and of this hour. my many brothers. quietly. unmoved. but there is one thing which these so clear. who have taken refuge in the teachings? and do you believe. of the thicket of opinions and of arguing about words. you are truly right. but be warned." said the young man. an error. this is what i have thought and realized. oh venerable one. this is why i am continuing my travels--not to seek other. oh stranger. oh exalted one. and the community of the monks!" . the perfected one. i'd fear that it might happen to me that only seemingly. you've found a gap in it. i must refuse. through enlightenment." the venerable one spoke slowly. i have not doubted for a single moment that you are buddha. "i have not spoken to you like this to argue with you." "i wish that you. their goal is salvation from suffering. for myself alone. he alone among hundreds of thousands. on your own path. oh seeker of knowledge. if i merely were one of your disciples. through realizations. better teachings. smart or foolish. when i have heard the teachings. "that your thoughts shall not be in error." the buddha's eyes quietly looked to the ground. through meditation. but let me say this one more thing: i have not doubted in you for a single moment. it has not come to you by means of teachings! and--thus is my thought. but that in truth it would live on and grow.--nobody will obtain salvation by means of teachings! you will not be able to convey and say to anybody.quietly. it has come to you in the course of your own search. my duty to follow you. and good for you that you've thought about it thus deeply. for i know there are none. you should think about this further. my love for you. oh samana. i'll think of this day. oh exalted one. i must chose. in words and through teachings what has happened to you in the hour of enlightenment! the teachings of the enlightened buddha contain much. these so venerable teachings do not contain: they do not contain the mystery of what the exalted one has experienced for himself. with his polite and clear voice: "you've heard the teachings." exclaimed siddhartha. gotama had listened to him. with his kind. the highest goal towards which so many thousands of brahmans and sons of brahmans are on their way. salvation from the self is what we samanas search for. they have a different goal. and their goal is not to explain the world to those who seek knowledge. that they shall reach their goal! it is not my place to judge another person's life. i must decide. now he spoke. to avoid evil. but to depart from all teachings and all teachers and to reach my goal by myself or to die. only deceptively my self would be calm and be redeemed. when my eyes beheld a holy man. would not be angry with me. oh exalted one. nothing else.

thus venerable. that one thing no longer existed in him. thus child-like and mysterious. as a snake is left by its old skin.with half of a smile. like diving into a deep water he let himself sink down to the ground of the sensation. before whom i would have to lower my glance. the most holy one. not before any other. i do not want to lower my glance before any other. he thought. i am deprived by the buddha. "you know how to talk wisely. where govinda stayed behind. he realized that one thing had left him. slowly walking along. he had also left the last teacher who had appeared on his path. i have never before seen a person glance and smile. and by this alone sensations turn into realizations and are not lost. down to the place where the causes lie. were still unable to teach . who have taught you much. the venerable one spoke. well so. who had been my shadow and is now gotama's shadow. sit and walk this way. myself. a single man. then he felt that in this grove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him. but become entities and start to emit like rays of light what is inside of them. only a person who has succeeded in reaching the innermost part of his self would glance and walk this way. thus open. awakening when siddhartha left the grove. which filled him completely. the one who had believed in me and now believes in him. thus free. i wish to be able to glance and smile. truly. he realized that he was no youth any more. he has deprived me of my friend. i am deprived. "you are wise. stayed behind.". he had left him. i also will seek to reach the innermost part of my self. the highest and wisest teacher. even him. he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself: "but what is this. oh samana. was not able to accept his teachings. is the very essence of thinking. he pondered about this sensation. the perfected one. thought siddhartha. my friend. but he has given me siddhartha. i saw a man. as he was slowly walking along. so it seemed to him. thus concealed. slower. and what they. too. siddhartha thought. because to identify the causes. he pondered deeply. what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers. with an unwavering openness and kindness. truly. be aware of too much wisdom!" the buddha turned away. but had turned into a man. sit and walk this way. no teachings will entice me any more. and his glance and half of a smile remained forever etched in siddhartha's memory. gotama looked into the stranger's eyes and bid him to leave with a hardly noticeable gesture. where the buddha. siddhartha pondered. and even more he has given to me. which had accompanied him throughout his youth and used to be a part of him: the wish to have teachers and to listen to teachings. buddha. had to part with him. since this man's teachings have not enticed me.

letter by letter. and right away another thought sprang forth from these. siddhartha. but he will read them. river was river. want to be my student. colourful was the world." he looked around. i was willing to to dissect my self and peel off all of its layers. entered siddhartha for the first time through the eyes. on the path to himself. about siddhartha!" having been pondering while slowly walking along. nor any kind of teachings. was no longer a spell of mara. who seeks unity. the purpose and the essential properties were not somewhere behind the things. no thing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy. there sky. in everything. all of it was beautiful. could only flee from it. coincidence. in siddhartha. but i have lost myself in the process. strange and mysterious was the world! here was blue. nor atharva-veda. i was fleeing from myself! i searched atman. despicable to the deeply thinking brahman. and here siddhartha. here was green. but i. as if he was seeing the world for the first time. blue was blue. wants to discover its meaning. so it was still that very divinity's way and purpose. want to get to know myself. to find the core of all peels in its unknown interior. all of it was mysterious and magical. "when someone reads a" and he found: "it was the self. here blue. who wanted to read the book of the world and the book of my own being. the singular and divine lived hidden. he now stopped as these thoughts caught hold of him. i wanted to free myself from. that siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me. i do not want to kill and dissect myself any longer. scorned the symbols and letters. as this my very own self. which was: "that i know nothing about myself. of me being siddhartha! and there is no thing in this world i know less about than about me. was no longer a pointless and coincidental diversity of mere appearances. i searched brahman. beautiful was the world. called my eyes and my tongue coincidental . neither yoga-veda shall teach me any more. a new thought. the sky and the river flowed. could only deceive it. which i sought to overcome. to be here yellow. i want to learn from myself. it was the self. and in its midst was he. stems from one cause. for the sake of a meaning i had anticipated before i read. life. walked quickly like a man who knows what he has got to do. i want to begin my thoughts and my life with atman and with the suffering of the world. was no longer the veil of maya. the purpose and essence of which i sought to learn. they were in them. the atman. only hide from it. truly. walking swiftly along. the secret of siddhartha. "oh. i called the visible world a deception. and worthless hull. a smile filled his face and a feeling of awakening from long dreams flowed through him from his head down to his toes. there forest." he thought. the awakening one. he will study and love them. "now i would not let siddhartha escape from me again! no longer. and it was not long before he walked again. the forest and the mountains were rigid. this mystery of me being alive. i have. "how deaf and stupid have i been!" he thought. he will not scorn the symbols and letters and call them deceptions. of me being one and being separated and isolated from all others. here was yellow. but i was not able to overcome it. the divine part. and if also in the blue and the river. the ultimate part. all of this. to find a secret behind the ruins. who scorns diversity. taking a deep breath. river and forest. all this yellow and blue. nor the ascetics." siddhartha opened his eyes and looked around. a single cause: i was afraid of myself.

he had been his father's son. now. more a self than before. he felt a cold in his chest. all of this is no longer alongside my path. he was nothing but siddhartha. wore the same robe as he. more firmly concentrated. out of this moment of a cold and despair. had been a brahman. he was also surrounded by a place he belonged to. nobody was thus alone as he was. when he had left in this very morning from the grove jetavana. siddhartha. heading no longer for home. started to proceed swiftly and impatiently. he also awoke to this realization: "but i am no longer the one i was. he inhaled. where did he belong to? with whom would he share his life? whose language would he speak? out of this moment. and for a moment. as if there was a snake lying in front of him on the path. still. no longer to his father. he had also become aware of this: he." in thinking this thoughts. no brahman. would return to his home and his father. he had been without home and had felt nothing. when he stopped as if a snake was lying on his path. i have indeed awakened and have not been born before this very day. because suddenly. and found refuge with them. the grove of that exalted one. he felt: this had been the last tremor of the awakening. when he stood alone like a star in the sky. nothing else was left. i am not a priest any more. no." motionless. even in the deepest meditation. whatever should i do at home and at my father's place? study? make offerings? practise meditation? but all this is over. he felt it. in which he was at home. i am no brahman any more. this is over. he he had every intention. of a high caste. he also belonged to a caste. who would not be regarded as brahmans and lived with them. after years as an ascetic. there was no nobleman who did not belong to the noblemen. i am no ascetic any more. deeply. but now. he had to start his life anew and start again at the very beginning. govinda had become a monk.and worthless forms without substance. spoke their language. for many years. believed in his faith. second part dedicated to wilhelm gundert. shared their life. his heart felt cold. the last struggle of this birth. as a small animal. siddhartha remained standing there. a bird or a rabbit. i have awakened. already on the path towards himself. suddenly. my cousin in japan . siddhartha stopped once again. the awoken one. already awakening. regarded as natural and took for granted. and even the most forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one and alone. spoke his language. would when seeing how alone he was. no ascetic who would not find his refuge in the caste of the samanas. a cleric. he felt cold and shivered. no worker that did not belong to the workers. that he. no longer back. when the world melted away all around him. now. who was indeed like someone who had just woken up or like a new-born baby. but he. only in this moment. and for the time of one moment and breath. siddhartha emerged. and a thousand monks were his brothers. and it was not long until he walked again in long strides.

now. what he now began to experience. herbs. beautiful were the moon and the stars. stars and moon ran through his heart. the farewell from govinda. always the sun and the moon had shone. differently the sun burnt the head. which he had experienced in the hour of his enlightenment--it was nothing but this very thing which he had now gone to experience. he saw trees. every word. thus to walk through the world. which the pike stirred up. he had spoken to the exalted one. did not search for the true essence. stream and river. light and shadow ran through his eyes. he had to experience his self. high in the branches. short the nights. and under the sail was a ship full of treasures. propelling themselves away from it. again he remembered his own words. for the world was transformed. all of this. and he had not seen it. birds sang and bees. in its essence . beautiful and lovely it was. destined to be penetrated and destroyed by thought. at night. what he had said to gotama: his.kamala siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path. but now. his liberated eyes stayed on this side. all of this had always existed. clouds. the forest and the rocks. and heard their savage. a thousand-fold and colourful. greedy song. stars. looking at it thus. it is true that he had already known for a long time that his self was atman. animals. since this essence lay beyond. he saw the stars in the sky in their fixed positions and the crescent of the moon floating like a boat in the blue. thus simply. the teaching he had heard there. flowers. looked upon in distrust. the flower and the butterfly. without searching. did not aim at a world beyond. since it was not the essential existence. he had not been with it. the scent of strength and passion came forcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water. he was part of it. every hour sped swiftly away like a sail on the sea. siddhartha saw a male sheep following a female one and mating with her. had always been there. thus childlike. and with astonishment he became aware of the fact that there he had said things which he had not really known yet at this time. thus open to what is near. the divine buddha. he saw the pike hungrily hunting for its dinner. thus childlike. the young fish jumped in droves out of the water. rainbows. differently the stream and the cistern. he saw the sun rising over the mountains with their forests and setting over the distant beach with its palm-trees. and his heart was enchanted. beautiful was this world. on the other side of. now he was with it. sought to be at home in this world. wiggling and sparkling. siddhartha also remembered everything he had experienced in the garden jetavana. thus without distrust. he saw and became aware of the visible. beautiful was the stream and the banks. on the way. the goat and the gold-beetle. the visible. wind silverishly blew through the rice-field. deceptive veil before his eyes. rocks. treasure and secret was not the teachings. always rivers had roared and bees had buzzed. the glistening dew in the bushes in the morning. in fear. impetuously hunting. but the unexpressable and not teachable. differently the shade of the forest cooled him down. but in former times all of this had been nothing more to siddhartha than a fleeting. thus awoken. the conversation with the exalted one. distant hight mountains which were blue and pale. full of joy. siddhartha saw a group of apes moving through the high canopy of the forest. the pumpkin and the banana tasted. short were the days. in a lake of reeds. the buddha's.

"yes.bearing the same eternal characteristics as brahman. sweetly and strongly tasted the milk from this breast. at that time. he had obeyed the voice." spoke siddhartha. and not the spectacle of the senses. to get him across the river. my benefactor. i love it more than anything. "and i haven't expected any payment from you and no gift which would be the custom for guests to bear. i am a man without a home. except for what the voice commanded him to strive for. which had commanded him to seek rest under this tree. and also no payment for your work. but a woman. not the learned ability to draw conclusions and to develop previous thoughts in to new ones. so it also was not the thought. the ultimate meaning was hidden behind both of them. a dark call of an owl resounded deeply and pleasantly." "i than you." spoke the ferryman. ablutions. of sun and forest. this was necessary. the ferryman. to be ready like this. neither food nor drink. the thoughts as well as the senses. not the rational mind. and as he was pulling him close to his chest and kissed him. both neither had to be scorned nor overestimated. both had to be played with. no. with the body definitely not being the self. only to the voice. of every joyful desire. "i have no gift i could give you for your hospitality. he had really found this self. from both the secret voices of the innermost truth had to be attentively perceived. nothing else was necessary. this world of thought was also still on this side. it tasted of woman and man. often i have looked into its eyes. and always i have learned from it. and nothing could be achieved by killing the random self of the senses. my dear. neither sleep nor dream. it intoxicated him and rendered him unconscious. dwell on nothing. because he had wanted to capture it in the net of thought. sad was how govinda looked like. to obey like this. if the random self of thoughts and learned knowledge was fattened on the other hand. this was good. when the day began. and he had neither preferred self-castigation." said the ferryman. often i have listened to it. both. "this is a beautiful river. you will give me the gift another time. at which siddhartha lay and drank. of animal and flower. not the learned wisdom. "a very beautiful river. and in the forest. in the hour of all hours. nor prayer. much can be learned from a river.--when siddhartha woke up. disembarking on the other side of the river." "i did see it. and a full breast popped out of the woman's dress. not to an external command. the ferryman got him across the river on his bamboo-raft. why had gotama. he embraced govinda. but never." he said to his companion. sat down under the bo-tree. offerings. except where the voice would advise him to do so. siddhartha asked his host. of every fruit. dressed in the yellow robe of an ascetic. a son of a brahman and a samana. he wanted to strive for nothing. sadly he asked: why have you forsaken me? at this. the pale river shimmered through the door of the hut. both had to be listened to. it was not govinda any more. the wide water shimmered reddishly in the light of the morning. wrapped his arms around him. in the night when he slept in the straw hut of a ferryman by the river." . a voice in his own heart. were pretty things. siddhartha had a dream: govinda was standing in front of him. where the enlightenment hit him? he had heard a voice.

children were rolling about in the street. he reached the large happy. and asked how far he still had to go to reach the large city. for he felt the need to be had lived in the forests. while his hands were already prepared to reach out for her. but they all timidly fled from the unknown samana. the traveller came across a small group of servants. carrying baskets. a young woman was kneeling and washing clothes. and in this moment he heard. he called out a blessing to her. all would like to be friends. she lifted her head and looked up to him with a smile. "he is like govinda. samana. city before the evening. while talking. the mistress. as it is the custom among travellers. in the end of the village. he hesitated for a moment." smiling. beautifully her wet mouth was shimmering in her young face. when siddhartha greeted her. the voice if his innermost self. "surely. in their midst. and since in this moment he had to think of his dream again. and this voice said no. when you'll make offerings to the gods. like to obey. and the he had slept that night. the path led through a stream. he came through a village. in a beautifully fenced grove. he saw her face smiling full of lust and her eyes. siddhartha stopped at the entrance to the pleasure-garden and . and whether it was true that the samanas slept alone in the forest at night and were not allowed to have any women with them. siddhartha also felt desire and felt the source of his sexuality moving. for a long time. screamed and wrestled. begging with desire. commemorate me. siddhartha was happy about the friendship and the kindness of the ferryman. in front of the mud cottages. now farewell! let your friendship be my reward. she put her left foot on his right one and made a movement as a woman does who would want to initiate that kind of sexual pleasure with a man. and was among people. though they are the ones who would have a right to receive thanks. both male and female. and by the side of the stream. in which the first roof for a long time he has before the city. then she got up and came to him. sat a woman. "all i meet on my path are like govinda. with contracted pupils. like children are all people. all charms disappeared from the young woman's smiling face. this too. siddhartha felt his blood heating up. had been had over his head. will come back. but since he had never touched a woman before. he no longer saw anything else but the damp glance of a female animal in heat. on red pillows under a colourful canopy. smiling. they parted. he bend slightly down to the woman and kissed with his lips the brown nipple of her breast." at about noon. shuddering with awe."do you think so?" asked siddhartha amusedly. looking up. asked whether he had eaten already. so that he saw the white in her eyes glistening. i have learned from the river: everything is coming back! you too. he petted her cheek. all are submissive. then. she exchanged humorous banter with him. politely. on this day. were playing with pumpkin-seeds and sea-shells. he straw hut of the ferryman. all are thankful." he thought with a smile. carried by four servants in an ornamental sedan-chair. turned away from her and disappeared away from the disappointed woman with light steps into the bamboo-wood. which the textbooks call "climbing a tree". think little.

resting fair hands. breathed in a slight fragrant. then. long and thin. very smart face. he entered the city. with wide golden bracelets over the wrists. with a charming omen. the baskets. he instantly felt drawn into the grove. but he thought about it. which made to tower high on her head. siddhartha saw how beautiful she was. whom he found again praying in a temple of vishnu. made a bow and received the courtesan's greeting. who had been waiting. how rejecting. and only now he became aware of how the servants and maids had looked at him at the entrance. drifted through the flow of the streets. without a word into a pavilion. siddhartha thought. he made friends with barber's assistant." "but didn't you yesterday wear a beard. saw the sedan-chair and saw the lady in it. i will not be able to enter the grove like this. the next person who came along this path he asked about the grove and for the name of the woman. i must not remain like this. how despicable. and his heart rejoiced. he slept this night. when the evening came.watched the parade. siddhartha was standing at the entrance. under black hair. where kamala was lying on a couch. then he went to take his bath in the river. now he had a goal. pursuing his goal. and long hair. who was following him. greeting me?" asked kamala. how distrustful. asked him. smart and watchful dark eyes. tall neck rising from a green and golden garment. he bowed deeply. very delicate. when late in the afternoon. the servant returned. when the sedan-chair came closer. and early in the morning. he looked at the fair. stood still on the squares. and straightening up again. he saw a very fair. he did not know. i am still an ascetic and beggar. she owned a house in the city. charming face. a brightly red mouth. thus i am entering this city. to follow him conducted him. like a freshly cracked fig. and dust in your hair?" . and was told that this was the grove of kamala. and then the servant as well. with a smile. after a while. rested on the stairs of stone by the river. he thought. "it's true that i've already seen and greeted you yesterday. but that servant who walked at the very end of her train he motioned to him and asked him to inform his mistress that a young brahman would wish to talk to her. and that. saw the servants. the maids. a clear. "weren't you already standing out there yesterday. beautiful kamala approached her grove in her sedan-chair. whom he told about stories of vishnu and the lakshmi. read for a moment in the smart eyes with the high arcs above. the famous courtesan. among the boats by the river. whom he had seen working in the shade of an arch in a building. aside from the grove. i am still a samana. and he laughed. and left him alone with her. before the first customers came into his shop. he allowed the city to suck him in. eyebrows which were well tended and painted in a high arch. he had the barber's assistant shave his beard and cut his hair. comb his hair and anoint it with fine oil. the beautiful women nodded for a moment and disappeared into the grove.

but now. "and only to tell me this. oh kamala! you are the first woman whom siddhartha is not addressing with his eyes turned to the ground. you have seen everything. oh samana. was you. siddhartha has come to me?" and asked: "to tell you this and to thank you for being so beautiful. i have marked your words. who is coming from the jackals and doesn't even know yet what women are?" "oh. and he has reached them. i was already learning. you have seen siddhartha. pretty shoes. how the young men are like who come to me. the son of a brahman. they come in fine shoes. you shall know. have combed the hair. i have already taken off my beard. samana from the forest? did you mark my words?" "yes. fine shoes. torn loin-cloth! many young men come to me. oh excellent one: fine clothes. never again i want to turn my eyes to the ground. and shoes. he could . when i'm coming across a beautiful woman. i would like to ask you to be my friend and teacher. who has come to learn how to make love?" "whatever for should i be afraid of a samana. "never before this has happened to me." kamala smiled and played with her fan of peacocks' feathers. with oil in his hair. that a samana from the forest came to me and wanted to learn from me! never before this has happened to me. who has left his home to become a samana. that a samana came to me with long hair and an old. they have perfume in their hair and money in their pouches. kamala exclaimed: "no. for i know nothing yet of that art which you have mastered in the highest degree. kamala. my friend. and the first one i met. even yesterday."you have observed well. i have come to you. "how should i not mark words which are coming from such a mouth! your mouth is like a freshly cracked fig. have oil in my hair. this is. which i have set for myself yesterday: to be your friend and to learn the joys of love from you! you'll see that i'll learn quickly. clothes are what he must have." siddhartha exclaimed. beautiful kamala. and gifts for kamala. even before i had entered the city. and there are also sons of brahmans among them. my dear. aren't you at all afraid of the samana from the forest. there is little which is still missing in me. kamala. do you know it now. the samana. he's strong. i have already learned harder things than what you're supposed to teach me. siddhartha has set harder goals for himself than such trifles. how shouldn't i reach that goal." at this. to say this. pretty clothes. you'll see. kamala laughed aloud. money in my pouch. and lots of money in his pouch. a stupid samana from the forest." quoth siddhartha: "already i am starting to learn from you. it will be a suitable match for yours. without shoes. kamala. i have left that path and came into this city. my mouth is red and fresh as well. and he isn't afraid of anything. without money?" laughing. and now let's get to it: you aren't satisfied with siddhartha as he is. but they come in beautiful clothes. he doesn't satisfy me yet. but without clothes.--but tell me. and if it doesn't displease you. and who has been a samana for three years.

you must do what you've learned and ask for money. he could hurt you. siddhartha. did any samana or brahman ever fear. but yes. who is coming from the jackals of the forest?" "dear kamala. i'm losing nothing when i'm giving you a kiss for them. it would be a pity." "no. but speak. for they are his very own. there is no other way for a poor man to obtain money. than offerings for gods. deeply. i am not afraid of this. many would like to know this. would you like to give me what would be its title?" siddhartha spoke. and smiling kamala thanked. couldn't you still give me one small advice?" "an advice? why not? who wouldn't like to give an advice to a poor. someone might come and grab him and steal his learning. and truly. "beautiful are your verses. more lovely. bowed that man. buying. samana. and shoes in return. i can wait. oh brown samana. in this. but just try to kiss it against kamala's will. beautiful and red is kamala's mouth. no. he could kidnap you. lovely kamala. no. and his depth of thought? no. shoes. clothes. that i'll find these three things most quickly?" "friend. kamala loudly clapped her hands. at the grove's entrance stood the brown samana. thus advise me where i should go to. i can also write poetry. so that the golden bracelets clanged. and his religious devotion. precisely like this it is also with kamala and with the pleasures of love. you have come up with the wrong path. and he would only give away from those whatever he is willing to give and to whomever he is willing to give. i shall not lose a single drop of sweetness from your mouth. thus you should also learn this: love can be obtained by begging. after he had thought about it for a moment. receiving it as a gift. i can fast. ignorant samana." siddhartha bowed with a smile. seeing the lotus's blossom. you are so right! it would be such a great pity. more lovely is offering to pretty kamala. nor you from mine! so it is settled: siddhartha will return." "nothing else?" "nothing. and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from it. kamala. what might you be able to do?" "i can think. like this it is. finding it in the street. but it cannot be stolen.force you. money. thought the young man. if i'll like your poem. these verses: into her shady grove stepped the pretty kamala. which knows how to give so many sweet things! you are learning easily. a kiss for a poem?" "i would like to. "it would be a pity." . once he'll have have what he still lacks: clothes. if a pretty young man like you would want to tackle it in such a wrong manner. beautiful girl.

remember this! tomorrow. for you need a lot of money. "yes. pride flared up in him. and with a deep astonishment siddhartha felt how she taught him. i'll see you again. "hurry and get yourself away." "the way you're able to kiss. "if i was rich. he positioned himself by the door." said siddhartha. breathing deeply. rejected him. if you want to be kamala's friend. he remained standing where he was. a maid came running in and whispered a message into her mistress's ear. siddhartha found himself being dragged away by the maid. bracelets. how she controlled him. i also know magic spells. i would give you pieces of gold for them. being accustomed to the forest." kamala interrupted him. this i am able to do. but what will become of you? aren't you able to do anything else but thinking. "you're able to read? and write?" many people can do this. therefore i do not lack clothes. lured him. brought into a garden-house avoiding the direct path. he thought. well tested sequence of kisses. at the inn." exclaimed kamala. i can do this. fasting. kamala!" stammered siddhartha. he was no samana any more. a well ordered. how wise she was. kamala kissed him. and urgently admonished to get himself out of the grove as soon as possible without being seen. contently." but to the maid she gave the order to give the pious brahman white upper garments. it was no ." exclaimed kamala. "very beautiful are your verses.she beckoned him with her eyes. he was still to receive. but i do not want to speak them any more. which revealed itself before his eyes. he managed to get out of the grove and over the hedge without making a sound. and all beautiful things. perhaps as soon as tomorrow. he did as he had been told. everyone different from the others. without a word he accepted a piece of rice-cake. siddhartha. and how after this first one there was to be a long. where travellers stay. i have read the scriptures--" "stop. nobody may see you in here. "but i do not want to sing them any more. "there's a visitor for me. for a long time." "most people can't. without words he asked for food. but it will be difficult for you to earn thus much money with verses as you need. he returned to the city. carrying the rolled up garments under his arm. without fully understanding what was happening to him. "certainly. he tilted his head so that his face touched hers and placed his mouth on that mouth which was like a freshly cracked fig. led into the bushes. and was in this moment astonished like a child about the cornucopia of knowledge and things worth learning. i also can't do it. you will also still find use for the magic spells." in this moment. suddenly. i will ask no one for food any more. contently. very good. it is very good that you're able to read and write. shoes. being given upper garments as a gift. making poetry?" "i also know the sacrificial songs.

if he'll like you. everything is easy. "it presents no difficulties. without stirring. "when i came to you into your grove. she sent for bread and fruits and treated him to it. because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. now. "they are expecting you at kamaswami's." "but what if i hadn't been willing?" "you were willing. they won't make a person lose any sleep. it was my resolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman. everything was difficult. the day before yesterday. i knew that you would help me. i had others tell him about you. remained without food. i also knew that i would carry it out." "well yes. he'll entrust you with a lot. this is what siddhartha has learned among the samanas. but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water. this a small. which the likes of you aren't capable of. he is drawn. to wait. but you thought this was of no use." she admitted. kamala.longer becoming to him to beg." she said when they parted. his goal attracts him. he is the richest merchant of the city. near goals. if he'll like you. as soon as yesterday i have kissed kamala. without doing anything. he'll accept you into his service. be smart. he fasts. this is what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected by . "i'm opening one door after another for you. but it is useful for many things. how come? do you have a spell?" siddhartha said: "yesterday. look. i need clothes and money. you'll see that the stupid samanas are learning and able to do many pretty things in the forest. brown samana. or else i won't be satisfied with you. easy like that lessons in kissing. kamaswami is starting to get old and lazy. "but where would you be without me? would you be. be polite towards him. it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. he is very powerful. if kamala wasn't helping you?" what "dear kamala. and ultimately hopeless. he thinks. at your first glance at the entrance of the grove i already knew it. when i was still a samana. from that moment on when i had made this resolution. he lets himself fall. and soon i'll be a merchant and have money and all those things you insist upon. this is how it is when siddhartha has a goal. but don't be too modest! i do not want you to become his servant. "things are working out well. "you've been lucky. you shall become his equal. i was still a shaggy beggar." she called out to him. and when she found out that he had not eaten anything yesterday and today. he gave the rice-cake to a dog and "simple is the life which people lead in this world here." siddhartha thanked her and laughed. you'll see. and to fast." thought siddhartha. i told you i knew how to think. kamala: when you throw a rock into the water." said siddhartha and straightened up to his full height. nothing else. i did the first step. which kamala is giving me. there he turned up the following day. siddhartha does nothing. toilsome. he waits. a resolution." he had already discovered kamala's house in the city long before.

with whom i have lived for a long time. might you have become destitute. she loved the look from "perhaps it is so. he was directed into a rich house. if he is able to wait. a learned man. "as you say. "that you were a brahman. the host and the guest greeted one another. for more than three years. such is . where he awaited the master of the house. kamaswami entered. nothing is effected by daemons." "presumable this is how it is." "so you've lived of the possessions of others. politely. that his glance pleases the women. you should know that i'm coming from the samanas." "but what are you planning to live of. brahman. being without possessions?" "i haven't thought of this yet. with very intelligent. "i have not become destitute and have never been destitute. siddhartha bid his farewell. that always good fortune shall come to me out of your direction!" with the childlike people siddhartha went to kamaswami the merchant. a swiftly. everyone can perform magic. everyone gives. but i am so voluntarily. that my glance shall please you. if he is able to fast. if he is able to think. smoothly moving man with very gray hair. i am without possessions." kamala listened to him. friend. a merchant also lives of "well said. there are no daemons. everyone can reach his goals. "if this is what you mean. everyone takes. but that you seek to be in the service of a merchant." after all. and have never thought about of what i should live. sir. surely. but perhaps it is also like this: that siddhartha is a handsome man. so that you seek to serve?" "no. i have been without possessions. my teacher." said siddhartha. he would give his merchandise in return." she said quietly. his eyes. how could you be anything but destitute? aren't the samanas entirely without possessions?" "i am without possessions. with a greedy mouth.means of the daemons." the merchant began. that therefore good fortune is coming towards him. she loved his voice. cautious eyes. and therefore i am not destitute." "so it seems to be indeed. "i have been told. "i wish that it should be this way." with one kiss." "if you're coming from the samanas. what other people own." said siddhartha. but he wouldn't take anything from another person for nothing. servants led him between precious carpets into a chamber.

the teacher teachings. he would have to accept any kind of service before this day is up. siddhartha got to know many new things." what is it "that's everything?" "i believe. samana." the merchant praised him. and shoes. showed him calculations. but like this. he knows no emergency. kamaswami told him about his trade. "excellent. siddhartha hadn't learned to fast. sir. when a person has nothing to eat. clothes were brought to him. on which a sales-contract had been written down. which he handed to his guest while asking: "can you read this?" siddhartha looked at the scroll. the merchant gives merchandise." said kamaswami. and thinking of . that's everything!" "and what's the use of that? good for?" for example. the fisher fish. i can wait. and what is it now what you've got to give? that you've learned. thinking is better." kamaswami left the room and returned with a scroll. this piece of paper?" "and would you write something for me on he handed him a piece of paper and a pen. for example. sir. and ate neither meat nor did he drink wine. and lived in the dealers house from now on. being patient is better. good. whether it may be with you or wherever." "yes indeed. what you're able to do?" "i can think. this. is what fasting is good for. fasting is the smartest thing he could do. the farmer rice." being smart is "it is excellent how you're able to write. i'm asking you to be my guest and to live in this house. for today. showed him the merchandise and storage-rooms.what is it "it is very good. twice a day. and siddhartha wrote and returned the paper. because hunger would force him to do so. the warrior gives strength. he heard a lot and spoke little." "but if you don't mind me asking: being without possessions. a plentiful meal was served. and began to read out its kamaswami read: "writing is good. a servant prepared a bath for him. but siddhartha only ate once a day. for a long time he can allow hunger to besiege him and can laugh about it. when. and every day. the fasting-." "you're right." siddhartha thanked and accepted. "many a thing we will still have to discuss with one another. he knows no impatience. wait for a moment. i can fast. siddhartha can wait calmly. what would you like to give?" "everyone gives what he has.

he is never upset by a loss. who was. much he learned from her red. him. and in the art of listening and deeply understanding previously unknown people. and that siddhartha surpassed him. here with kamala was the worth and purpose of his present life. kamaswami conducted his business with care and often with passion. the rules of which he tried hard to learn precisely. every touch. but he has that mysterious quality of those people to whom success comes all by itself. at one time. he travelled to a village to buy a large harvest of rice there. he always seems to be merely playing with out business-affairs.kamala's words. smart mouth. as if he did not care about the business. magic. so that with none of them should start feeling fed up or bored and get that evil feeling of having abused or having been abused. but the contents of which did not touch his heart. became her student. him she taught. then. every spot of the body. but let him also be liable for the same amount of the losses. nit with the business of kamaswami. when there is a loss. every look. in calmness and equanimity. gave copper-coins to their . without being just as defeated as they have been victorious. yes even more than an equal." he said to a friend. the merchant passed to duties of writing important letters and contracts on to him and got into the habit of discussing all important affairs with him. wearing pretty clothes. he'll become more zealous. he visited beautiful kamala. the merchant. and soon he brought her gifts as well. but siddhartha looked upon all of this as if it was a game. he laughed and said: "well. siddhartha stayed for several days in that village. when he already took part in his landlords business. but that he acted in a fortunate manner." kamaswami followed the advice. thoroughly starting with the basics. the rice had already been sold to another merchant. there is never any passion in his soul when he conducts our business. which would bring happiness to those who know about it and unleash it." the friend advised the merchant: "give him from the business he conducts for you a third of the profits. her lover. they never rule over him. but when he got there. he was not in kamaswami's house for long. about that school of thought which teaches that pleasure cannot be be taken without giving pleasure. they never fully become a part of him. much he learned from her tender. without one admiring the other. she taught him. he soon saw that siddhartha knew little about rice and wool. "this brahman. that lovers must not part from one another after celebrating love. when he made losses. treated the farmers for a drink. still a boy and had a tendency to plunge blindly and insatiably into lust like into a bottomless pit. whether this may be a good star of his birth. but siddhartha cared little about this. but daily. at the hour appointed by her. every caress. nevertheless. "is no proper merchant and will never be one. regarding love. supple hand. when he made a profit. shipping and trade. he is never afraid of failure. look at this. he was never subservient to the merchant. so this one turned out badly!" it seemed indeed. wonderful hours he spent with the beautiful and smart artist. her friend. forced him to treat him as an equal. fine shoes. or something he has learned among samanas. he accepted it with equanimity. and that every gesture. however small it was. had its secret.

and acts of foolishness used to be as alien and distant to him as the moon. these are your areas of expertise. to convince siddhartha that he should eat his bread." futile were also the merchant's attempts. or whether a shipment of merchandise seemed to have been lost. he was still aware that there was something which separated him from them and this separating factor was him being a samana. look." indeed his soul was not with the trade.children. worries. then speak a word and siddhartha will go on his own path. or a debtor seemed to be unable to pay. nobody knew that i was a merchant. as soon as i had seen that my purchase had been rendered impossible. when." exclaimed kamaswami indignantly. and don't harm yourself by scolding! if the day will come. i have received kindness and trust. so. i've neither harmed myself nor others by annoyance and hastiness. one ought to think! or might you have only travelled for your amusement?" "surely. kamaswami could never convince his partner that it would be useful to utter a few words of worry or anger. you are a merchant after all. for money. however easily he succeeded in talking to all of them. crafts. my friend. all people's bread. which he loved and also despised at the same time. for what else? i have gotten to know people and places. i have found friendship. being annoyed and in a hurry. besides from this." siddhartha laughed. or for whatever purpose it might be. he replied: "would you please not kid me with such jokes! what i've learned from you is how much a basket of fish costs and how much interests may be charged on loaned money. and if i'll ever return there again. siddhartha answered: "stop scolding. i would have travelled back. the business was good enough to provide him with the money for kamala. friendly people will receive me in a friendly and happy manner. that he had wasted time and money. he saw them toiling. i have gotten to know many kinds of people. pleasures. to sleep badly. for little pleasures." "that's all very nice. leave it as it is. and i will praise myself for not showing any hurry and displeasure at that time. whose businesses. had joy. dear friend! nothing was ever achieved by scolding. for being . kamaswami held against him that he had not turned back right away. if a loss has occurred. children have sat on my knees. "surely i have travelled for my amusement. siddhartha's interest and curiosity was only concerned with the people. and becoming gray for the sake of things which seemed to him to entirely unworthy of this price. you ought to be the one seeking to learn from me. joined in the celebration of a wedding. saw them suffering. i've had a few good days. and returned extremely satisfied from his trip. in learning from all of them. whether there was a business-deal going on which was in danger of failing. and it earned him much more than he needed. and time and money would indeed have been lost. but until then. one day. i haven't learned to think from you. in living with all of them. kamaswami held against him that he had learned everything he knew from him. let's be satisfied with one another. siddhartha ate his own bread. if i had been kamaswami. let me bear that loss. or rather they both ate other people's bread. my dear kamaswami. to have wrinkles on the forehead. but like this. my dear. "but in fact. a brahman has become my friend. perhaps to buy an upcoming harvest. i've learned. i am very satisfied with this trip. when you will see: this siddhartha is harming me. he saw mankind going trough life in a childlike or animallike manner. siddhartha never listened to kamaswami's worries and kamaswami had many worries. farmers have shown me their fields.

watched them.slightly honoured. real life still passing him by and not touching him. far away from him. really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator. only as much as he considered indispensable. these people brought his way. and turned away from him. at times he felt. he came back to beautiful kamala. many to appeal to his sympathy. practised the cult of lust. and then. many to get his advice. a few. who are small children with respect to their mind. you are different from most people. received advice. which is blown and is turning around through the air. others have it. he said to her: "you are like me. the source ran somewhere. though being happy and feeling joy at times. had nothing to do with his life any more. and wavers. he was not with them. he did not treat the rich foreign merchant any different than the servant who shaved him and the street-vendor whom he let cheat him out of some small change when buying bananas. once. quiet voice. are like a falling leaf. but others. many to cheat him. with the people around him. consented that he was a little bit right. tried to understand him. kamaswami is just as smart as i. and still has no refuge in himself. he gave advice. he listened curiously and happily. he let them cheat him a bit. no wind reaches them. many to do business with him. nothing else. really to act. welcome was the debtor who sought another loan. most people. and this entire game and the passion with which all people played this game occupied his thoughts just as much as the gods and brahmans used to occupy them. he played with his business-deals. they go on a fixed course. he was open to everything. with his heart. was puzzled by him. and there were many who came to him. he pitied. of him doing lots of things which were only a game. a dying. and inside of you." said siddhartha. for an hour. and tumbles to the ground. she was more similar to him. learned from her. "no. he became aware of the strange life he was leading. he made gifts. welcome was the beggar who told him for one hour the story of his poverty and who was not half as poor as any given samana. with the source of his being." said kamala. kamala. to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home at yourself. as i can also do. found amusement in them. and suffering because of deprivations which a samana would not feel. are like stars. but again and again. he hardly perceived it. there is a peace and refuge. and at several times he suddenly became scared on account of such thoughts and wished that he would also be gifted with the ability to participate in all of this childlike-naive occupations of the daytime with passion and with his heart. which admonished him quietly. really to live. learned the art of love. and yet all could have it. he saw them scolding and insulting each other. ran and ran invisibly. deep in his chest. as a ball-player plays with his balls. of. chatted with her. few people have this. in . when kamaswami came to him. lamented quietly. many to draw some secret out of him. to complain about his worries or to reproach him concerning his business." "not all people are smart. he saw them complaining about pain at which a samana would only smile. you are kamala. "that's not the reason why. she understood him better than govinda used to understand him. in which more than in anything else giving and taking becomes one. gave her advice. towards the next person who would ask for him. welcome was the merchant who offered him linen for sale.

themselves they have their law and their course. among all the learned men and samanas, of which i knew many, there was one of this kind, a perfected one, i'll never be able to forget him. it is that gotama, the exalted one, who is spreading that teachings. thousands of followers are listening to his teachings every day, follow his instructions every hour, but they are all falling leaves, not in themselves they have teachings and a law." kamala looked at him with a smile. "again, you're talking about him," she said, "again, you're having a samana's thoughts." siddhartha said nothing, and they played the game of love, one of the thirty or forty different games kamala knew. her body was flexible like that of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter; he who had learned from her how to make love, was knowledgeable of many forms of lust, many secrets. for a long time, she played with siddhartha, enticed him, rejected him, forced him, embraced him: enjoyed his masterful skills, until he was defeated and rested exhausted by her side. the courtesan bent over him, took a long look at his face, at his eyes, which had grown tired. "you are the best lover," she said thoughtfully, "i ever stronger than others, more supple, more willing. you've well, siddhartha. at some time, when i'll be older, i'd your child. and yet, my dear, you've remained a samana, do not love me, you love nobody. isn't it so?" saw. you're learned my art want to bear and yet you

"it might very well be so," siddhartha said tiredly. "i am like you. you also do not love--how else could you practise love as a craft? perhaps, people of our kind can't love. the childlike people can; that's their secret."

sansara for a long time, siddhartha had lived the life of the world and of lust, though without being a part of it. his senses, which he had killed off in hot years as a samana, had awoken again, he had tasted riches, had tasted lust, had tasted power; nevertheless he had still remained in his heart for a long time a samana; kamala, being smart, had realized this quite right. it was still the art of thinking, of waiting, of fasting, which guided his life; still the people of the world, the childlike people, had remained alien to him as he was alien to them. years passed by; surrounded by the good life, siddhartha hardly felt them fading away. he had become rich, for quite a while he possessed a house of his own and his own servants, and a garden before the city by the river. the people liked him, they came to him, whenever they needed money or advice, but there was nobody close to him, except kamala. that high, bright state of being awake, which he had experienced that one time at the height of his youth, in those days after gotama's sermon, after the separation from govinda, that tense expectation, that proud state of standing alone without teachings and without teachers, that supple willingness to listen to the divine voice in his own heart,

had slowly become a memory, had been fleeting; distant and quiet, the holy source murmured, which used to be near, which used to murmur within himself. nevertheless, many things he had learned from the samanas, he had learned from gotama, he had learned from his father the brahman, had remained within him for a long time afterwards: moderate living, joy of thinking, hours of meditation, secret knowledge of the self, of his eternal entity, which is neither body nor consciousness. many a part of this he still had, but one part after another had been submerged and had gathered dust. just as a potter's wheel, once it has been set in motion, will keep on turning for a long time and only slowly lose its vigour and come to a stop, thus siddhartha's soul had kept on turning the wheel of asceticism, the wheel of thinking, the wheel of differentiation for a long time, still turning, but it turned slowly and hesitantly and was close to coming to a standstill. slowly, like humidity entering the dying stem of a tree, filling it slowly and making it rot, the world and sloth had entered siddhartha's soul, slowly it filled his soul, made it heavy, made it tired, put it to sleep. on the other hand, his senses had become alive, there was much they had learned, much they had experienced. siddhartha had learned to trade, to use his power over people, to enjoy himself with a woman, he had learned to wear beautiful clothes, to give orders to servants, to bathe in perfumed waters. he had learned to eat tenderly and carefully prepared food, even fish, even meat and poultry, spices and sweets, and to drink wine, which causes sloth and forgetfulness. he had learned to play with dice and on a chess-board, to watch dancing girls, to have himself carried about in a sedan-chair, to sleep on a soft bed. but still he had felt different from and superior to the others; always he had watched them with some mockery, some mocking disdain, with the same disdain which a samana constantly feels for the people of the world. when kamaswami was ailing, when he was annoyed, when he felt insulted, when he was vexed by his worries as a merchant, siddhartha had always watched it with mockery. just slowly and imperceptibly, as the harvest seasons and rainy seasons passed by, his mockery had become more tired, his superiority had become more quiet. just slowly, among his growing riches, siddhartha had assumed something of the childlike people's ways for himself, something of their childlikeness and of their fearfulness. and yet, he envied them, envied them just the more, the more similar he became to them. he envied them for the one thing that was missing from him and that they had, the importance they were able to attach to their lives, the amount of passion in their joys and fears, the fearful but sweet happiness of being constantly in love. these people were all of the time in love with themselves, with women, with their children, with honours or money, with plans or hopes. but he did not learn this from them, this out of all things, this joy of a child and this foolishness of a child; he learned from them out of all things the unpleasant ones, which he himself despised. it happened more and more often that, in the morning after having had company the night before, he stayed in bed for a long time, felt unable to think and tired. it happened that he became angry and impatient, when kamaswami bored him with his worries. it happened that he laughed just too loud, when he lost a game of dice. his face was still smarter and more spiritual than others, but it rarely laughed, and assumed, one after another, those features which are so often found in the faces of rich people, those features of discontent, of sickliness, of ill-humour, of sloth, of a lack of love. slowly the disease of the soul, which rich people have, grabbed hold of him.

like a veil, like a thin mist, tiredness came over siddhartha, slowly, getting a bit denser every day, a bit murkier every month, a bit heavier every year. as a new dress becomes old in time, loses its beautiful colour in time, gets stains, gets wrinkles, gets worn off at the seams, and starts to show threadbare spots here and there, thus siddhartha's new life, which he had started after his separation from govinda, had grown old, lost colour and splendour as the years passed by, was gathering wrinkles and stains, and hidden at bottom, already showing its ugliness here and there, disappointment and disgust were waiting. siddhartha did not notice it. he only noticed that this bright and reliable voice inside of him, which had awoken in him at that time and had ever guided him in his best times, had become silent. he had been captured by the world, by lust, covetousness, sloth, and finally also by that vice which he had used to despise and mock the most as the most foolish one of all vices: greed. property, possessions, and riches also had finally captured him; they were no longer a game and trifles to him, had become a shackle and a burden. on a strange and devious way, siddhartha had gotten into this final and most base of all dependencies, by means of the game of dice. it was since that time, when he had stopped being a samana in his heart, that siddhartha began to play the game for money and precious things, which he at other times only joined with a smile and casually as a custom of the childlike people, with an increasing rage and passion. he was a feared gambler, few dared to take him on, so high and audacious were his stakes. he played the game due to a pain of his heart, losing and wasting his wretched money in the game brought him an angry joy, in no other way he could demonstrate his disdain for wealth, the merchants' false god, more clearly and more mockingly. thus he gambled with high stakes and mercilessly, hating himself, mocking himself, won thousands, threw away thousands, lost money, lost jewelry, lost a house in the country, won again, lost again. that fear, that terrible and petrifying fear, which he felt while he was rolling the dice, while he was worried about losing high stakes, that fear he loved and sought to always renew it, always increase it, always get it to a slightly higher level, for in this feeling alone he still felt something like happiness, something like an intoxication, something like an elevated form of life in the midst of his saturated, lukewarm, dull life. and after each big loss, his mind was set on new riches, pursued the trade more zealously, forced his debtors more strictly to pay, because he wanted to continue gambling, he wanted to continue squandering, continue demonstrating his disdain of wealth. siddhartha lost his calmness when losses occurred, lost his patience when he was not payed on time, lost his kindness towards beggars, lost his disposition for giving away and loaning money to those who petitioned him. he, who gambled away tens of thousands at one roll of the dice and laughed at it, became more strict and more petty in his business, occasionally dreaming at night about money! and whenever he woke up from this ugly spell, whenever he found his face in the mirror at the bedroom's wall to have aged and become more ugly, whenever embarrassment and disgust came over him, he continued fleeing, fleeing into a new game, fleeing into a numbing of his mind brought on by sex, by wine, and from there he fled back into the urge to pile up and obtain possessions. in this pointless cycle he ran, growing tired, growing old, growing ill. then the time came when a dream warned him. he had spend the hours of the evening with kamala, in her beautiful pleasure-garden. they had

being tired and yet excited. and since this arose his attention. still unsaid. dull music. full of a disgust which he felt penetrating his entire body like the lukewarm. who has eaten and drunk far too much. had drunk much wine and gone to bed a long time after midnight. he dreamt. he dreamt: this bird had become mute. it had become so strangely clear to siddhartha. fleeting pleasure. for a long time. with a sigh. just as siddhartha himself. how kind his smile. he had bid his farewell to her. how still and beautiful his mouth. fear of having to die. he was disgusted by himself. she had aroused him. once more. how peaceful his walk had been. a hint of sleep." but after this. she had asked him to tell her about gotama. read a fearful inscription. tiredness and the beginning of withering. of this bird. . by the smell of wine from his mouth. in those moments. vomits it back up again with agonising pain and is nevertheless glad about the relief. the soul full of reluctance. and could not hear enough of him. repulsive taste of the wine. and full of concealed anxiety. his heart full of misery which he thought he could not bear any longer. out in the street. he took it out. which has no happy destination. who was only in his forties. tiredness from walking a long path. had found for a few moments a half unconsciousness. how closely lust was akin to death. and under her eyes and next to the corners of her mouth he had. the just too sweet. he had to tell her about the exalted buddha. and kamala had said thoughtful words. and had for a long time sought to sleep in vain. the just too sweet scent of their hair and breasts. an inscription reminiscent of autumn and old age. biting and in tears. talking. gray hairs among his black ones. then he had lain by her side. fear of the autumn. then. in an immense burst of disgust. there the small bird was dead and lay stiff on the ground. by the flabby tiredness and listlessness of his skin. and kamala's face had been close to him. by his perfumed hair. rare singing bird in a golden cage. perhaps not even conscious anxiety: fear of old age. and his heart hurt. how clear his eyes. of slight grooves. tiredness was written on kamala's beautiful face. he had slightly fallen asleep. these habits and all of this pointless life and himself. and kamala had sighed and had said: "one day. and concealed. but more than by anything else. who at other times always used to sing in the morning. as if. not until the light of the morning and the beginning of the first activities in the street before his city-house. he stepped in front of the cage and looked inside. i'll also follow that buddha. thus this sleepless man wished to free himself of these pleasures. had already noticed. close to weeping and despair. she wanted to squeeze the last sweet drop out of this vain. as clearly as never before. words behind which a sadness and tiredness lay hidden. and had tied him to her in the act of making love with painful fervour. the just too soft smile of the dancing girls. an inscription of small lines. and in the same moment. though this was no longer true.been sitting under the trees. i'll give him my pleasure-garden for a gift and take my refuge in his teachings. he had a dream: kamala owned a small. here and there. never before. as if he had thrown away from himself all value and everything good by throwing out this dead bird. and then threw it away. had acted as if he was superior to them towards the fellow-members of his caste. weighed it for a moment in his hand. like when someone. he felt terribly shocked. perhaps soon. siddhartha had spent the night in his house with dancing girls and wine.

so it seemed to him. something had died. in the midst of the pain felt this very same thing: "go on! go on! you are called upon!" he had heard this voice when he had left his home and had chosen the life of a samana. had been valuable to him--but was she still thus? did he still need her. a dance he would watch. nor their worries. that he could not play it any more. locked the gate. that entire day. and also when he had gone away from him to the uncertain. and in his mind. alone he stood there and empty like a castaway on the shore. when the ever rising. in his years as a boy. nothing which was in some way delicious or worth keeping he had left in his hands. that entire world of the kamaswami-people had only been a game to him. when every obtained knowledge only kindled new thirst in him. only kamala had been dear. he sat under the mango-tree. worthless and pointless was the way he had been going through life. he gathered his thoughts. a game for children. inside of him. was it right. did he have to leave them to become a kamaswami? he still sat there. and again when he had gone away from the samanas to that perfected one. and their goals were not his. thinking of govinda. was it not as foolish game. so he felt. for how long had he not heard this voice any more. when was there ever a time when he had experienced happiness. he caught sight of the stars. came to an end in him. shivers ran over his body. withered in him. for how long had he reached no height any more. without knowing it himself. felt death in his heart and horror in his chest. you are destined for. content with small lustful pleasures and yet never satisfied! for all of these many years. worthless. without a high goal. as an assistant in the offerings. he had tried hard and longed to become a man like those many. he had felt it in his heart: "there is a path in front of you. several times he had experienced such a thing. how even and dull was the manner in which his path had passed through life. twice. felt a true bliss? oh yes. a comedy. he has had a taste of it. he once again went the entire path of his life. that he owned a mango-tree." and again. for many long years. thinking of his father. like those children. in my pleasure-garden. goal of all thinking had ripped him out of and up from the multitude of those seeking the same goal. by and by. then again he had. in the midst of the thirst. a game which was perhaps enjoyable to play once. starting with the first days he could remember. sat down under a mango-tree. without elevation. after all. upward fleeing. when the night had fallen. his life had been much more miserable and poorer than theirs. he had felt it in his heart: "there is a path in front of the one who has distinguished himself in the recitation of the holy verses. he felt encompassed by a deep sadness. and in all this. in the dispute with the learned ones. looking up. sat and sensed how everything died in him. when he wrestled in pain for the purpose of brahman. it was not necessary! the name of this game was sansara. ten times--but for ever and ever over again? then. when he had obtained praise from the brahmans. siddhartha went to the pleasure-garden he owned. with a gloomy mind. he thought: "here i'm sitting under my mango-tree. or she him? did they not play a game without an ending? was it necessary to live for this? no. the gods are awaiting you. that he owned a garden? . as a young man." he smiled a little --was it really necessary. without thirst. when. siddhartha knew that the game was over. nothing which was alive.starting up from this dream." then. thinking of gotama.

the flying bird. by this river he . kamala had no one look for him. was over and done away with. he had been entangled in sansara. she went to the window. and thought of his house in the city. deeply. as he had lived it for many years until now. full of the feeling of been sick of it. and bid his farewell to these things. from this day on. when he had still been a young man and came from the town of gotama. like a sponge sucks up water until it is full. siddhartha left his garden. bring him forgetfulness and sleep. to sleep again. kamaswami had people look for him. he had sucked up disgust and death from all sides into his body. there was nothing left in this world which could have attracted him. was already far from the city. of his chamber and bed. passionately he wished to know nothing about himself anymore. to be dead. she had felt this the last time they had been together. a sin or foolish act he had not committed. left the city. and never came back. and no awakening from that! was there still any kind of filth. to breathe out. a ferryman had conducted him. shook himself. and she was happy. and that he had tasted all of it. she received no more visitors and kept her house locked. to sleep with a woman again? was this cycle not exhausted and brought to a conclusion for him? siddhartha reached the large river in the forest. dead was the singing bird. but after some time. to have rest. that this life. in spite of all the pain of the loss. and knew nothing but that one thing. she was not astonished. to breathe in again and again. bid his farewell to the mango-tree. he had not soiled himself with. he rose. if there only was a lightning-bolt to strike him dead! if there only was a tiger a devour him! if there only was a wine. he felt strong hunger. a man who was at home nowhere. by the river siddhartha walked through the forest. given him comfort. to feel hunger. full of death. dead was the bird in his heart. where she held a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage. a poison which would numb his senses. in the same hour of the night. sucked everything out of it until he was disgusted with it. to eat again. that there was no going back for him. when she received the first news of siddhartha's disappearance. since he had been without food this day. this also died in him. took the bird out and let it fly. for a long time. that she had pulled him so affectionately to her heart for this last time. given him joy. did she not always expect it? was he not a samana. she became aware that she was pregnant from the last time she was together with siddhartha. she gazed after it. of the table with the meals on it. full of misery. that she had felt one more time to be so completely possessed and penetrated by him. thinking that he had fallen into the hands of robbers. when she was told that siddhartha had disappeared.he also put an end to this. the same river over which a long time ago. a dreariness of the soul he had not brought upon himself? was it still at all possible to be alive? was it possible. and full he was. a pilgrim? and most of all. she opened the door of the cage. he smiled tiredly. his farewell to the pleasure-garden. for a long time. he had dreamt of.

embraced the trunk with one arm. except to annihilate himself. that this wish. out of past times of his now weary life. in deep tiredness. he took his arm away from the trunk of the tree and turned a bit. a syllable. placed his head on the root of the tree and fell into a deep sleep. his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness of his actions. flash. siddhartha was deeply shocked. the old word which is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the brahmans.stopped. painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream. then. opened his eyes. mumbling om. which he had forgotten. to throw it away. wherever to. knew about the indestructibility of life. and he . with a slurred voice. by the foot of the coconut-tree. he felt as if ten years had passed. which roughly means "that what is perfect" or "the completion". struck down by tiredness. the smashing to bits of the form he hated! let him be food for fishes. in order to finally drown. all sobering realizations. knew about all that is divine. so much he had lost his way and was forsaken by all knowledge. spoke to himself. this wish of a child. saw the reflection of his face and spit at it. which he. did not know where he was and who had brought him here. for a long time he had not known such a sleep any more. there was nothing left but the deep. it was a word. all desperation had not brought about. a sound stirred up. this weakened and abused soul! let him be food for fishes and crocodiles. this lunatic. let him be chopped to bits by the daemons! with a distorted face. there was nothing left for him. the holy "om". a frightening emptiness was reflected back at him by the water. to put an end to this miserable and shameful life. tiredness and hunger had weakened him. and looked down into the green water. this was brought on by this moment. looked down and found himself to be entirely filled with the wish to let go and to drown in these waters. hesitantly he stood at the bank. to spit out this stale wine. deep was his sleep and without dreams. when the om entered his consciousness: he became aware of himself in his misery and in his error. he had reached the end. this dog siddhartha. without thinking. and in the moment when the sound of "om" touched siddhartha's ear. to which goal? no. this depraved and rotten body. had been able to grow in him: to find rest by annihilating his body! what all agony of these recent times. om! he spoke to himself: om! and again he knew about brahman. answering to the terrible emptiness in his soul. but this was only a moment. so doomed was he. a coconut-tree. he heard the water quietly flowing. with his eyes closed. a hang bent over the bank of the river. this was the great vomiting he had longed for: death. siddhartha collapsed. there were no more goals. that he had been able to seek death. siddhartha leaned against its trunk with his shoulder. saw with astonishment that there were trees and the sky above him. out of remote areas of his soul. except to smash the failure into which he had shaped his life. he stared into the water. which ran and ran under him. yes. and whatever for should he walk on. when he woke up after many hours. before the feet of mockingly laughing gods. so this was how things were with him. he slipped towards death. in order to let himself fall straight down.

and he had not observed him for long when he recognised this monk as govinda. i who wanted to guard your sleep. but when govinda now. he knew himself. let me go to catch up with my brothers. thus rejuvenated! perhaps. he has come to his senses. but now that you're awake. and since i saw that your sleep was very deep. and it seemed to him as if his entire long sleep had been nothing but a long meditative recitation of om. speaking which he had fallen asleep. who had neither hair on his head nor a beard. so it seems. knew the place where he lay. but this siddhartha was nevertheless transformed. may you. faithfulness. knew this self in his chest. always be in good health. infinitely distant. you followers of the exalted one. a monk in a yellow robe with a shaven head. timidness. under a coconut-tree. he only knew that his previous life (in the first moment when he thought about it. therefore. this siddhartha. i have served you. and then. he observed the man. govinda had aged. the perfected. now you may go then. "it is not good to be sleeping in such places. siddhartha saw that govinda did not recognise him. like an early pre-birth of his present self)--that his previous life had been abandoned by him. strangely awake.remembered where he was and how he got here. infinitely meaningless. sir." spoke siddhartha. oh sir. searching. badly. though he did not know him. am a follower of the exalted gotama. previous incarnation. was strangely well rested. i. that. but that by a river. the holy word om on his lips. samana. this past life seemed to him like a very old. and have been on a pilgrimage together with several of us on this path. had drowned and was reborn in a new body? but no. oh sir." . i stayed behind from my group and sat with you. the weird one. i have fallen asleep myself. that then he had fallen asleep and had now woken up and was looking at the world as a new man. a submergence and complete entering into om. samana. but still his face bore the same features. he knew his hand and his feet. he had been thus refreshed. and the past seemed to him as if it had been covered by a veil." said siddhartha. a thinking of om. the buddha." "i'm going." answered govinda. sensing his gaze. "you're friendly. for watching out over my sleep. he too. thus renewed. apparently. the friend of his youth. joyful and curious. full of disgust and wretchedness. i sought to wake you up. sitting in the position of pondering." "i thank you. govinda was happy to find him awake. into the nameless. he had been sitting here for a long time and been waiting for him to wake up. "however did you get here?" "you have been sleeping. tiredness has overwhelmed me. an unknown man. where snakes often are and the animals of the forest have their paths. expressed zeal. he spoke the word om to himself. siddhartha straightened up. infinitely far away. then he saw a person sitting opposite to him. was renewed. opened his eyes and looked at him. when i saw you lying and sleeping in a place where it is dangerous to sleep. sir. but it took him a long while for this. quietly." "i thank you. he had even intended to throw his life away. the sakyamuni. govinda who had taken his refuge with the exalted buddha. "i have been sleeping. what a wonderful sleep had this been! never before by sleep. the eccentric. he had really died.

and so it is: i'm on a pilgrimage. your keen eyes see everything. anything but eternal are our garments and the style of our hair. and i believe in you. and your hair. you've been the guard of my sleep. we always move from one place to another. and i'm wearing my hair like the worldly and lustful people. not eternal. but i haven't said to you that i was a samana. whenever it is not the rainy season. and from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in the grove jetavana. now. you've met a pilgrim just like this. and from the school of the brahmans. for i have been one of them. going nowhere. you're wearing the shoes of a distinguished gentleman." "i believe you. because i have been a rich man. be welcome. you do not look like a pilgrim. oh friend?" "i'm going nowhere. live according to the rules if the teachings passed on to us. and from the offerings." i'm govinda spoke: "you're saying: you're on a pilgrimage. and our hair and bodies themselves. to see you again. remember. oh govinda. not the hair of a samana. i'm recognising you. you've seen this quite right." "and now. you're wearing a rich man's garments. sir. govinda. i'm wearing them. i'm just travelling. is not a pilgrim's hair. what are you now?" . "i know you." "it also gives me joy.govinda made the gesture of a salutation and said: "farewell. oh siddhartha. friend. but. i'm on a pilgrimage. to see you again. it is always like this. we monks are always travelling. my joy is great." "permit me to ask. "but few would go on a pilgrimage in such clothes. my dear: not eternal is the world of appearances." "you're siddhartha." "you're on a pilgrimage. being a pilgrim myself for many years. though i wouldn't have required any guard. few in such shoes." said govinda. my dear govinda. few with such hair. i'm wearing a rich man's clothes. never i have met such a pilgrim." said siddhartha. move on. it is as it is with you. siddhartha. the monk stopped. from your father's hut. such a garment. wearing such shoes." govinda exclaimed loudly. again i thank you for this. i said: i'm on a pilgrimage. today. but you. forgive me. siddhartha smiled. but now. where are you going to. siddhartha. siddhartha. my dear. and from our walk to the samanas. from where do you know my name?" now. you have observed well. accept alms. with the fragrance of perfume. "farewell. and don't comprehend any more how i couldn't recognise you right away. where are you going to?" quoth siddhartha: "with me too." "right so.

and the times were long past when he had been tough against hunger. and as he was saying it." "you've lost your riches?" "i've lost them or they me. now. there is nothing i could bring about. this fearful man. he even felt a great urge to laugh. for the most wretched things. his fate had been strange! things were going downhill with him. for sensual lust. he had boasted of three three things to kamala. his power and strength. now i'm standing here under the sun again just as i have been standing here a little child."i don't know it. so it seemed. now he had really become a childlike person. that he was full of joyful love for everything he saw. he gave him the salutation which one would use on a gentleman and went on his way. govinda. had been able to do three noble and undefeatable feats: fasting--waiting--thinking. this faithful man. no. he loved him still. "things are going downhill with you!" he said to himself. and yet also with a smile. was this very thing that he loved everything. i was a rich man and am no rich man any more. you know it. with doubt in his eyes. that my hair is already half gray. his solid staff. that my strength is fading. nothing is mine. so it seemed to him now. none of them was his any more. thinking was hard on him. with sadness. laborious years of his youth. he had given them up. nor waiting. for by now he had not eaten for two days. since all these most easily perishing things have slipped from me again. now i'm starting again at the beginning and as a child! again. nor thinking. the wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly. after that. siddhartha watched him leave. but he forced himself. to laugh about himself. and how could he not have loved everybody and everything in this moment. yes. in the glorious hour after his wonderful sleep. i have learned nothing. siddhartha watched the leaving monk. he did not really feel like it. filled with om! the enchantment. they somehow happened to slip away from me. i don't know it just like you. with a smiling face. i'm travelling. and now. for the good life. he thought. i don't know. which had been his sickness before. to laugh about this strange. he thought of that time. and it was this very thing. for what fades most quickly. he had learned these three feats. so he remembered. in those days. but he could not feed sad about this. that i'm no longer young. which had happened inside of him in his sleep and by means of the om. the sleep had strengthened him much. . siddhartha thought about his situation. and laughed about it. where is siddhartha the brahman? where is siddhartha the samana? where is siddhartha the rich man? non-eternal things change quickly. and now he was again facing the world void and naked and stupid. foolish world. and what i'll be tomorrow. they had abandoned him. with a smiling face. how wondrous is this! now. these had been his possession. but hunger gave him much pain. nothing else. for riches! his life had indeed been strange. and now." govinda looked at the friend of his youth for a long time. i have no abilities. neither fasting. he had to smile. that he was not able to love anybody or anything. in the busy. he happened to glance at the river. govinda.

i felt the knowledge of the oneness of the world circling in me like my own blood. where i ran away from. he liked this well. through so much vices. in past times. this path has been very good. i had only to do with asceticism. have made myself old and evil! no. to hear om again. insight came towards me in the form of the great buddha's teachings. wonderfully. he had now. worshipped the eternal in the atman. that there is now an end to that hatred against myself. just to become a child again and to be able to start over. soon afterwards. of sloth. listened curiously to his stomach. he asked his heart. wonderfully. in order to be able to experience divine grace. siddhartha. was this not the river in which he had intended to drown himself. was searching for brahman. this i like. a hundred years ago. i had to become a fool. i've had to sink down to the most foolish one of all thoughts. that i am finally free again and am standing like a child under the sky? oh how good is it to have fled. there everything smelled of ointments. and yet. have done something. my eyes smile to it. that i have completely fled. after so many years of foolishness. tortured myself. this i must praise. found joy in himself. good sleep. i followed the penitents. i had to spend many years losing my spirit. my heart says "yes" to it. which i said? or from the fact that i have escaped. suffered of heat and frost. taught my body to become dead. to unlearn thinking again. of wine. piled up money. never again i will. to have become free! how clean and beautiful is the air here. wondrous detours it has taken. always moving on downhill. learned trading with kamaswami. wasted money. in . with thinking and meditation. but i also had to leave buddha and the great knowledge. he felt joy rolling like waves in his chest. of spices. how did i hate this world of the rich. learned to love my stomach. kindly he smiled at the river. let it go as it likes. learned to please my senses. which has done me so good? or from the word om. you have once again had an idea. where else might my path lead me to? it is foolish. learned to hunger. of excess. to that foolish and dreary life! i praise you. but what a path has this been! i had to pass through so much stupidity. this path. isn't it just as if i had turned slowly and on a long detour from a man into a child. i had only to do with gods and offerings. i went and learned the art of love with kamala. i've had to experience despair. to find atman in me again. but it was right so. to the thought of suicide. delude myself into thinking that siddhartha was wise! but this one thing i have done well. of those who revel in fine food. to be able to live again. lived in the forest. where from did you get this happiness? might it come from that long. of the gamblers! how did i hate myself for staying in this terrible world for so long! how did i hate myself. poisoned. i want to to take it. which was rumbling with hunger. through so much disgust and disappointments and woe.and he also saw the river going downhill. through so many errors. it moves in loops. so he thought. from a thinker into a childlike person? and yet. as i boy. but as a young man. to forget the oneness. i had to sin. as a youth. wherever from. and singing and being happy through it all. have heard the bird in your chest singing and have followed it! thus he praised himself. or had he dreamed this? wondrous indeed was my life. perhaps it is going around in a circle. to be able to sleep properly and awake properly again. the bird in my chest has not died. have deprive. as i used to like doing so much. so he felt. how good to breathe! there.

that the bird. so full of joy? now siddhartha also got some idea of why he had fought this self in vain as a brahman. to woman and money." he thought. which was back again after every killing. a new siddhartha had woken up from the sleep. if this had not happened: the moment of complete hopelessness and despair. that he had felt this despair. mortal was every physical form. he had died. devoured up to the point of desperation and death. he would also eventually have to die. always the smartest. he had to continue bearing these ugly years. had to become a merchant. he had been. a dice-gambler. frightened. that no teacher would ever have been able to bring about his salvation. was a child. too much knowledge had held him back. that lust for the world and riches do not belong to the good things. he had wrestled with for so many years. so full of trust. "it is good. which had defeated him again and again. so without fear. listened gratefully to a buzzing bee. as a penitent. but today he was young. this was why his face was smiling brightly under his hair which had turned gray. for much longer. i have known it for a long time. a drinker. felt fear? was it not this. his self had retreated. in my heart. always the priest or wise one. that most extreme moment. to much self-castigation. listened to the bird. "to get a taste of everything for oneself. always one step ahead of all others. cheerfully. a piece of suffering. don't just know it in my memory. wasted money. up to bitter despair. good for me. in my stomach. mortal was siddhartha. prohibited joy. something which already for a long time had yearned to die. the new siddhartha. until the priest and samana in him was dead. bearing the disgust. now he saw it and saw that the secret voice had been right. as it sang for joy. this deep disgust. something else from within him had died. and let his soul die of thirst. into this spirituality. i have already learned as a child. and that he had not succumbed to it. the joyful source and voice in him was still alive after all. which today had finally come to its death. had not this bird died in him. while he thought he would kill it by fasting and penance. he could have stayed with kamaswami. but in my eyes. to know this!" for a long time. therefore. for much longer he could have lived in this soft. lose himself to lust and power. he pondered his transformation. therefore. he looked into the rushing river. into this arrogance. this was why he felt joy. and was full of joy. and proud self. and a greedy person. was it not this what he used to intend to kill in his ardent years as a penitent? was this not his self. he had to go out into the world. his small. this was why he laughed. which one needs to know. he would also grow old. by this lovely river? was it not due to this death. and now i know it. the pointlessness of a dreary and wasted life up to the end. here in the forest. a piece of misery. well upholstered hell. the teachings. too many sacrificial rules. it was good. always working the most. there it sat firmly and grew. had he not felt its death? no. filled his stomach. . like this. listened with a smile to his stomach. but i have experienced only now. siddhartha the greedy could also die. until siddhartha the lustful. made money. into being a priest. never before he had like a water so well as this one. completely tasted and spit out. he thought these thoughts.these recent times and days. so much doing and striving for that goal! full of arrogance. always the knowing and spiritual one. too many holy verses. that he was now like a child. when he hang over the rushing waters and was ready to destroy himself.

but out of all secrets of the river. he is the one i want to go to. so rich in secrets. with green ones. my path had led me at that time into a new life. he wanted to listen to it. desperate siddhartha had drowned today. listened to the current. and was nevertheless always there. in it the old. he looked into the rushing water. the river looked at him. the workings of hunger in his body became unbearable. upriver." . thought siddhartha. was always at all times the same and yet new in every moment! great be he who would grasp this. he had also aged very much. which was newly awaking. in this river. this one touched his soul. would also understand many other things. and it told him: love this water! stay near it! learn from it! oh yes.never before he had perceived the voice and the parable of the moving water thus strongly and beautifully. with white ones. stood in the boat." the passenger spoke. he today only saw one. it is the same which i have crossed a long time ago on my way to the childlike people. only felt some idea of it stirring. which was still awaiting him. divine voices. a friendly ferryman had guided me then. with crystal ones. not to leave it very soon. many secrets. up the path by the bank. siddhartha rose. siddhartha recognised him. quiet bubbles of air floating on the reflecting surface. into the transparent green. understand this! he understood and grasped it not. which had now grown old and is dead--my present path. "would you like to ferry me over?" he asked. so it seemed to him. the boat was just ready. and decided for himself. took him into his boat and pushed it off the bank. he who would understand this water and its secrets. tired. incessantly it ran. when he reached the ferry. something he did not know yet. how did it delight him. starting out from his hut. he saw: this water ran and ran. listened to the rumbling hunger in his body. into the crystal lines of its drawing. my present new life. being astonished to see such an elegant man walking along and on foot. how did he love this water. it seemed to him. with sky-blue ones. the ferryman. in a daze he walked on. "it's a beautiful life you have chosen for yourself. all secrets. the ferryman by this river i want to stay. bright pearls he saw rising from the deep. as if the river had something special to tell him. how grateful was he to it! in his heart he heard the voice talking. shall also take its start there! tenderly. "it must be beautiful to live by this water every day and to cruise on it. siddhartha had intended to drown himself. but the new siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing water. with a thousand eyes. the blue of the sky being depicted in it. and the same ferryman who had once transported the young samana across the river. a distant memory. he wanted to learn from it.

and we parted like good friends. afterwards. isn't every work beautiful?" "this may be true. vasudeva listened with great attention. to give me an old loincloth and kept me with you as your assistant. ferryman. most of all i would like you." the ferryman laughed. my name is vasudeva. wouldn't you." this is nothing for people "ah. he worked calmly. sir. "now i recognise you. his eyes fixed in on the front of the boat. and vasudeva pushed the oar with more strength. in that hour of despair. do it today as well. lasted his tale. it was almost the time of the sunset. but isn't every life. it is as you say. sir. he helped him to tie the boat to the stakes. so i hope. the ferryman looked at the stranger. siddhartha sat and watched him. and accept my clothes for it. "at one time. ferryman. "once before." "my name is siddhartha. on that last day of his time as a samana. but i envy you for yours. when they had reached the bank. how once before. he let . be my guest today as well and sleep in my hut." they had reached the middle of the river. this was a long time ago. the man at the oar moved from side to side: "it is beautiful. and you've been ferried across the river by me. for i'll have to learn first how to handle the boat. from me? for you must know. as he had seen it before his eyes today. with brawny arms. vasudeva offered him. which are a nuisance to me. like to accept these clothes." "so be welcome. thus. after this. i have been looked upon today because of my clothes. the ferryman asked him to enter the hut. possibly more than twenty years ago." "you're joking. love for this man had stirred in his heart. and siddhartha ate with eager pleasure. most of all i wouldn't want to continue travelling at all. where you're coming from and why these beautiful clothes are such a nuisance to you. they sat on a log by the bank. you would soon stop enjoying it." siddhartha laughed. and siddhartha told the ferryman about where he originally came from and about his life." he finally said." you will. intent to continue travelling without clothes?" "ah.with a smile. and i was a samana. friend. and tell me. i have no money to pay your fare. gratefully. wearing fine clothes. until late at night. listening carefully. i have been looked upon with distrust. behold. "i'm not joking. once before you have ferried me across this water in your boat for the immaterial reward of a good deed. and also ate with eager pleasure of the mango fruits. you've slept in my hut. offered him bread and water. haven't you've been a samana? i can't think of your name any more. or rather as your trainee. siddhartha." for a long time. when you've last seen me. searching." "and do you. sir. in order to overcome the current. he accepted vasudeva's invitation. and remembered.

quiet. i'm no learned man. his own search. all i'm able to do is to listen and to be godly. i have no special skill in speaking. open. the ferryman listened with twice the attention. and . all distress. as it has become sacred to me. my friend. i have transported many. his own suffering. they have heard its voice. that is very good. you'll learn that other thing from it as well. that it is good to strive downwards. waiting. and i also thank you for this. and of his deep fall. did not add his praise or rebuke. they have listened to it. her bed was next to mine. all joy." "i thank you. they travelled to seek money and business. see. from it you will learn it as well. now. four or five. let's rest now. i have learned nothing else. the learned brahman siddhartha becomes a ferryman: this has also been told to you by the river. "but not from me. to confess to such a listener. what a happy fortune it is. siddhartha. the river has stopped being an obstacle.everything enter his mind. if i was able to say and teach it. awaited not a single one with impatience. with his eyes closed. and to all of them. all that searching. i might be a wise man. that is good." said siddhartha. for a long time. it speaks to you as well. it is your friend as well. to sink. there is space and food for both. the river. vasudeva?" vasudeva rose. the river has taught me to listen. you've already learned this from the water too. "i thank you and accept." quoth siddhartha after a long pause: "what other thing. oh friend. a few. birthplace and childhood. without him having spoken a word. thousands. was just listening. and a long silence had occurred. but in the end of siddhartha's tale. siddhartha. and i did not meet a single one who knew it as well as you did. but when siddhartha fell silent. the speaker sensed how vasudeva let his words enter his mind. to seek depth. and it is my task to ferry people across the river. all that learning. and on pilgrimages. i will also learn in this respect from you. then vasudeva said: "it is as i thought. everything can be learned from it. see. but for some among thousands. and the ferryman's job was to get them quickly across that obstacle. you'll learn it." he said. i also have no special skill in thinking. vasudeva. stay with me. the rich and elegant siddhartha is becoming an oarsman's servant." siddhartha stayed with the ferryman and learned to operate the boat. how he did not lose a single one. and the river has become sacred to them." spoke vasudeva. he knew how to listen. siddhartha felt. entirely and completely absorbed by it." "you will learn it. and for weddings. "it is late. i have lived alone. the river has spoken to you. but like this i am only a ferryman. and how he had felt such a love for the river after his slumber. i used to have a wife. but she has died a long time ago. or perhaps you know it already. to burry in his heart his own life. when he spoke of the tree by the river. i can't tell you that other thing. you shall live with me. this was among the ferryman's virtues one of the greatest: like only a few. and the river was obstructing their path. of the holy om. for listening to me so well! these people are rare who know how to listen. "let's go to sleep. it knows everything. my river has been nothing but an obstacle on their travels.

not the shadow of the past. and once again." siddhartha spoke with ecstasy. as soon as time would have been put out of existence by one's thoughts? in ecstatic delight. isn't it: that the river is everywhere at once. and of a bird of the night. silently he nodded. and was joyful because of everything he learned. plucked the fruit off the banana-trees. in a friendly manner. and of a woman giving birth. in the mountains. everything has existence and is present. siddhartha. nothing will be. "yes. and the days and months passed quickly." "and do you know. vasudeva's face was smiling. and this had been the very thing which . brushed his hand over siddhartha's shoulder. with a waiting. in the sea. he worked with vasudeva in the rice-field. without an opinion. was not everything hard. he bent over to siddhartha and spoke the holy om into his ear. not the shadow of the future?" "this it is. then said siddhartha: "isn't it so. and of a sighing man. turned back to his work. and of a bull. without a wish. "what word it speaks. "and when i had learned it. at the waterfall. "it is this what you mean. vasudeva was no friend of words. he lived side by side with vasudeva. nothing was. and it was also a river. not by something real. oh friend. but more than vasudeva could teach him. at the source and at the mouth." said siddhartha. he learned from it. this enlightenment had delighted him. and his death and his return to brahma was no future. was not all suffering time. everything hostile in the world gone and overcome as soon as one had overcome time.when there was nothing to do at the ferry. he was taught by the river. without judgement. when the river had just increased its flow in the rainy season and made a powerful noise. and the boy siddhartha was only separated from the man siddhartha and from the old man siddhartha by a shadow. siddhartha succeeded in persuading him to speak." vasudeva nodded. and of a warrior. everything is." he spoke. few and at length thought about words. at the ferry. "did you. deeply. he learned from it to listen. siddhartha's previous births were no past. he had spoken. without passion. and learned to mend the boat. and that there is only the present time for it. rarely. were not all forms of tormenting oneself and being afraid time. also. at the rapids. "did you too learn that secret from the river: that there is no time?" vasudeva's face was filled with a bright smile. but vasudeva smiled at him brightly and nodded in confirmation. "all voices of the creatures are in its voice. incessantly. very many voices? hasn't it the voice of a king. the river has many voices. i looked at my life. to pay close attention with a quiet heart. oh. when you succeed in hearing all of its ten thousand voices at once?" happily. everywhere at once. and to weave baskets. and occasionally they exchanged some words." so he asked him at one time. he learned to build an oar. most of all. gathered wood. and a thousand other voices more?" "so it is." siddhartha continued. opened soul.

to where the great buddha was awaiting his death. the voice of what exists. just as alike to an old man's. or holy men living by that ferry. who seemed to be mute and to have become a bit strange and gaga. they had been. of one of their travellers. for the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon die his last human death. said to him. with a smile. who were asking to be ferried across the river. looked at each other.siddhartha had also been hearing. the curious people asked many questions. almost just as throughly glowing with bliss. the buddha. and nobody counted them. many travellers. or sorcerers. which many of the travellers felt. both delighted about the same answer to the same question. then. whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken hundreds of thousands. seeing the two ferrymen. became almost just as bright. they sat in the evening together by the bank on the log. it was not long. and as people are flocking from everywhere and from all sides. just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles. until a new flock of monks came along on their pilgrimage. when they are going to war or to the coronation of a king. he thought of him. when the river had been saying something good to them. and time after time. of their childhood. in order to become one with the salvation. told about pains. both thinking precisely the same thing. of death. the exalted one. and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men. where the huge event was to take place and the great perfected one of an era was to become one with the glory. and the curious people laughed and were discussing how foolishly and gullibly the common people were spreading such empty rumours. when listening to the river. started to tell the story of his life. for a long time he knew that there was nothing standing between gotama and him any more. said nothing and both listened to the water. it happened occasionally that a traveller. his smile became more similar to the ferryman's. kindly. he remembered them. thought they were brothers. and another one. the great teacher. and it happened from time to time that both. but they got no answers. thought of the same things. of what is eternally taking shape. confessed evil things. whose voice he had also once heard. whose holy face he had also once seen with respect. and remembered with a smile those words which he had once. asked for comfort and advice. and the monks as well as most of the other travellers and people walking through the land spoke of nothing else than of gotama and his impending death. often. but the voice of life. and that they both in the same moment. it also happened that curious people came. the years passed by. though he was . saw his path to perfection before his eyes. of a conversation from the day before yesterday. just as alike to a child's. so it seemed to him. like being drawn on by a magic spell. after having looked at the face of one of the ferrymen. which was no water to them. monks came by on a pilgrimage. at one time. often. there was something about this ferry and the two ferrymen which was transmitted to others. proud and precocious words. they only found two friendly little old men. thus they flocked. the face and fate of whom had occupied their thoughts. as a young man. and by them the ferrymen were told that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher. siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man. who had been told that there were two wise men. and are gathering like ants in droves. followers of gotama. it happened occasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with them to listen to the river.

who used to love her so much. and was not able to go any further. but suddenly. but he who had found. she had to feed him. with a smile. he was accustomed to having his way against her. in simple clothes. kamala also went to him. the boy looked at her in fear and saw her face having grown pale from horror. paralysed . who was holy and about to die. desired to go back home. closed her eyes a bit. became disobedient and started whining. kamala's wound was washed. who used to be the most beautiful of the courtesans. he did not comprehend why he had to to go on this exhausting and sad pilgrimage with his mother. when little siddhartha once again forced his mother to rest. carried her into the boat. when so many went on a pilgrimage to the dying buddha. they now both ran along the path. to an unknown place. together with siddhartha the boy. took the woman on his arms. on one of these days. until the sound reached vasudeva's ears. a small. so what if he died. and the heart stirred in his chest. whose face had been such a warning reminder to him. quickly. there kamala collapsed. she had gone on her way due to the news of the near death of gotama. but the boy had soon grown tired. how did this concern the boy? the pilgrims were getting close to vasudeva's ferry. her consciousness returned. and from under her dress. she was made to drink a healing potion. she had retired from her previous life. to a stranger. and got near to the ferry. don't worry. had given her garden to the monks of gotama as a gift. every goal. like a warning to remember something he had forgotten." said siddhartha. she was travelling by the river. hurriedly. had to comfort him. with her little son. desired to rest. only interrupting it to kiss and hug his mother. realized her situation. there was nothing standing between him and all the other thousand any more who lived in that what is eternal. and while the boy was chewing a banana. though she lay unconscious in the ferryman's arms. desired to eat. and now he knew that it was his own son. "he's with you. but the boy started crying miserably. and soon they all reached the hut. kamala herself. and rested. he could approve of any teachings. he came walking. then he saw kamala. black snake fled. a long time ago. whom he instantly recognised. kamala looked into his eyes. by which kamala had been bitten. no. it seemed like a dream to her. she lay on siddhartha's bed in the hut and bent over her stood siddhartha. the boy ran along. remembered the bite. there was no teaching a truly searching person. she uttered a wailing scream. kamala often had to take a rest with him. someone who truly wanted to find. were siddhartha stood by the stove and was just lighting the fire. he looked up and first saw the boy's face. and she also joined his loud screams for help. her son. she. was among the friends and benefactors of the pilgrims. every path. in order to reach people. but had already turned black and her body was swollen. she spoke with a heavy tongue. who stood at the ferry. which wondrously reminded him of something. who breathed what is divine. had also become tired. she crouched down on the ground. had to scold him. on foot. just slowly she. she looked at her friend's face.still unable to accept his teachings. had taken her refuge in the teachings. called timidly for the boy. could accept.

and he saw the life fading from her eyes. without speaking. looking at him. but you are like the young samana. "i'm seeing it. my dear. siddhartha's eyes read the suffering on her mouth. by what do i still recognise that you're siddhartha? it's you. the boy wept. quietly. pain distorted her face. with dusty feet. he observed her mouth. his mind becoming one with her suffering. alas. as if she had seen the other one. you're like him. when he had been a little boy himself. siddhartha gave him a look." her eyes became confused and fell shut. in the eyes. he started to speak. let him weep. kamala returned to consciousness. i too will find peace. i have also grown old. tired mouth. siddhartha placed him on vasudeva's bed. her gaze sought his eyes. he read it. to me into the garden. in order to see the face of the perfected one. just as good. you are much more like him. a brahman prayer came to his mind. "you've become old. and at the sight of the child's face." she said. the boy became calm. "you've become gray. for a long time. to breathe his peace. the words came flowing to him. but the tongue no longer obeyed her will. "she'll die. vasudeva stood by the stove and cooked rice. and it's not you. for a long time." siddhartha said nothing. she thought about her pilgrimage to gotama. and she thought that she had now found him in his place. with those lips. "i'm seeing it. and that it was good. which he returned with a smile. once again. with a singing voice." siddhartha said quietly. slowly. when the final shiver ran through her limbs. siddhartha took him on his knees. her old. over his friendly face ran the light of the stove's fire. she looked at him. and with that singsong. siddhartha. which he had learned a long time ago. . vasudeva the poison. from his past and childhood. they've become completely different. kamala felt it. quietly his eyes looked at hers. i recognised you. who at one time came without clothes." "you have found it. than you were like him at that time when you had left me and kamaswami. "you have achieved it?" she asked. she wanted to tell this to him. kamala never stopped looking into his eyes." siddhartha spoke in a whisper. which wanted to take. kamala. attentively. was only now and then uttering a sob and fell asleep." "did you recognise him as well? kamala pointed to her boy and said: he is your son." she said. waiting. petted his hair. old--could you still recognise me?" siddhartha smiled: "instantly. my dear. his finger closed her eyelids. on her pale cheeks. he sat and looked at her peacefully dead face. "you have found peace?" he smiled and placed his hand on hers. she said: "now i see that your eyes have changed as well. when the final pain filled her eyes and made them grow dim.

the boy had attended his mother's funeral. in this hour. in the spring of his years. did not open his heart." as well. filled himself with this sight. the two old men prepared beds of straw for themselves. when he rose. but now. who greeted him as his son and welcomed him at his place in vasudeva's hut. even before the sun could be seen. read in the pale face. they built the funeral pile. "you haven't slept. i was listening to the river." "you've experienced suffering. just as white. deeply he felt. the feeling of eternity. he sat for many days by the hill of the dead. i sat here. he rose. and that he . the eternity of every moment. did not want to eat. who have been rich and happy. he sat. that he could not love him like a father. there is much to be on which my wife had died a long funeral pile on the same hill on funeral pile.which had become thin. but i see: no sadness has entered your heart. completely filled every aspect of his being. he had listened to siddhartha. deeply it has filled me with the healing thought. but occasionally. gave no open look. but siddhartha went outside and sat this night before the hut. touched and encircled by all times of his life at the same time. slowly. and saw at the same time his face and hers being young. for a long time. "no. siddhartha. the indestructibility of every life. siddhartha spared him and let him do as he pleased. let us also build kamala's which i had then built my wife's while the boy was still asleep." "your son shall be welcome to me get to work. he honoured his mourning. let's done. and he remembered. my son has been given to me. a lot it has told me. kamala has died on the same bed. just as quenched out. where their goat stood. a mother's boy. but siddhartha did not eat. with red lips. the son timid and weeping. my dear. have become even richer and happier now. more deeply than ever before. vasudeva came out of the stable and walked over to his friend. siddhartha understood that his son did not know him. and the feeling of this both being present and at the same time real. time ago. early in the morning. with fiery eyes. vasudeva. in the tired wrinkles. he also saw and understood that the eleven-year-old was a pampered boy. compare this mouth with a freshly cracked fig. surrounded by the past. stepped to the door of the hut and listened. met his fate with resistance and denial. whether the boy was sleeping. that he used to. vasudeva had prepared rice for him. how should i be sad? i. with the thought of oneness. listening to the river. saw his own face lying in the same manner. siddhartha. pale. gloomy and shy. in the stable. and vasudeva lay himself down to sleep." "no." he said.

since young siddhartha was in the hut. to perhaps reciprocate it. his pain will be. my dear! see. being disgusted and fed up with it. when siddhartha the younger had once again tormented his father very much with spite and an unsteadiness in his wishes and had broken both of his rice-bowls. did not want to do any work. your son is not in the place where he can prosper. he has not. i'm seeking to win his heart. and the boy remained a stranger and in a gloomy disposition. did not pay his respect to the old men. he too is called upon. siddhartha looked into his friendly face. he had called himself. is worrying you. it laughs at you and me. you too should listen to it!" troubled. but he loved him. and he is also worrying me. what path to take. in order to be with his son. vasudeva took in the evening his friend aside and talked to him. but suffering and worry. for a long time. his heart is proud and hard." he said. did the work in the hut and the field. people like this have to suffer a lot. then siddhartha began to understand that his son had not brought him happiness and peace. he had to leave all this behind. "from a friendly heart. vasudeva had again taken on the job of the ferryman all by himself. always picked the best piece of the meal for him. "pardon me. "give me some more time. he hoped to win him over. your son. accustomed to finer food. my dear. one day. vasudeva waited.had grown up in the habits of rich people." vasudeva's smile flourished more warmly. siddhartha understood that the mourning. burden themselves with much sin. like you. you and me. after all. youth wants to join youth. for long months. i'm talking to you. water wants to join water. to a different nest. against his will. pampered child could not suddenly and willingly be content with a life among strangers and in poverty. by friendly patience. i asked the river. he did many a chore for him. he also is called upon. when the boy had come to him. i'm seeing that you are tormenting yourself. accustomed to giving orders to servants. watching. that young bird is accustomed to a different life. oh friend. err a lot. with love and with friendly patience i intent to capture it. what pain to endure? not a small one. slowly. he too is of the eternal life. in the many wrinkles of which there was incessant cheerfulness. tell me. "how could i part with him?" he said quietly. what actions to perform. but the river laughs. stole from vasudeva's fruit-trees. for long months. he did not force him. siddhartha waited for his son to understand him. ran away from riches and the city. one day. "oh yes. do much injustice. the river shall also talk to him. to a soft bed. the old men had split the work. since time had passed on in the meantime. it laughs at me. know what he is called upon to do. and he preferred the suffering and worries of love over happiness and joy without the boy. and is shaking with laughter at out foolishness. you too should ask the river. i'm fighting for him. ashamed. i'm seeing that you're in grief. since he displayed a proud and stubbornly disobedient heart. waited and said nothing. rich and happy. but do we. and siddhartha. my dear: you're not taking control of your son's upbringing? you don't force him? you don't beat him? you don't punish him?" . to accept his love. many times i have asked it.

" siddhartha spoke sadly. won't he perhaps get entirely lost in sansara?" brightly. the ferryman's smile lit up. give him to them. his teachers warnings. prayer. he had not already thought and known for himself. went troubled into the hut. he touched siddhartha's arm and said: "ask the river about it." never before. had he ever loved any person thus. don't beat him. anybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path? that perhaps your little son would be spared. which you once told me here on this very spot? who has kept the samana siddhartha safe from sansara. and among girls. very good. i praise you. won't he repeat all of his father's mistakes. but so that he shall be among other boys. his own knowledge. stronger than the knowledge was his love for the boy. his fear to lose him. from burdening himself with guilt. my dear. vasudeva had told him nothing. from greed. to live in a hut with two old banana-eaters. but aren't you mistaken in thinking that you wouldn't force him. who had no tender heart anyhow. isn't he punished by all this?" troubled. vasudeva. from sin. vasudeva had spoken so many words. but this was a knowledge he could not act upon. how shall i put him. and when there aren't any around any more. don't give him orders. his own search able to keep him safe? which father."no. thus . and in the world which is his own. water stronger than rocks. bring him into his mother's house. there'll still be servants around. bring him to a teacher. do you think should i do?" quietly. from foolishness? were his father's religious devotion. could not sleep for a long time. because you know that "soft" is stronger than "hard". whose hearts are old and quiet and beats in a different pace than his? isn't forced. but look. have you entirely forgotten that story. you would not be able to take the slightest part of his destiny upon yourself. that story containing so many lessons. softly. have you never thought of this?" "you're seeing into my heart. wouldn't punish him? don't you shackle him with your love? don't you make him feel inferior every day. siddhartha looked to the ground. from drinking the bitter drink for himself. kindly. my friend! hear it laugh about it! would you actually believe that you had committed your foolish acts in order to spare your son from committing them too? and could you in any way protect your son from sansara? how could you? by means of teachings. because you would like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment? but even if you would die ten times for him. "often. you don't force him. he asked: "what quoth vasudeva: "bring him into the city. not for the teachings' sake. to whom even rice is a delicacy. and don't you make it even harder on him with your kindness and patience? don't you force him. whose thoughts can't be his. that story about siddhartha." "i knew it. i don't do anything of this. from soiling himself with life. stronger was his tenderness. i have thought of this. because you love him. the arrogant and pampered boy. love stronger than force. into this world? won't he become exuberant. thus blindly. from finding his path for himself? would you think. had he ever lost his heart so much to something. admonition? my dear. which teacher had been able to protect him from living his life for himself. siddhartha thanked him. a brahman's son. won't he lose himself to pleasure and power.

"i'm not your servant. this pleasure also had to be atoned for. through all this. but the boy did not leave the hut. siddhartha. as it had seemed to him at that time. they were both masters of patience. let him humiliate himself every day by giving in to his moods. kind. thumped on the ground with his feet. this pain also had to be endured. was nevertheless renewed in one respect. and he openly turned against his father. this father. soft man. patient. i do know. dark waters. and screamed in a powerful outburst his hatred and contempt into his father's face. once in his lifetime. lost to a love. to commit foolish acts for the love of another person. who kept him prisoner here in this miserable hut of his. was a passion. this father had nothing which would have delighted him and nothing which he would have feared. vasudeva also said nothing and waited. and was nevertheless in bliss. had once said to him. it was not worthless. since his son was here. but now. came from the essence of his own being. and yet thus happily? siddhartha could not heed his friend's advice. in stubborn disobedience and rage he stayed where he was. a good. that it was sansara. had also become completely a childlike person. enriched by one thing. having become a fool on account of love. let him court for his affection. suffered from it. in the days of their youth. now he too felt. he was bored by this father. he was a good man. nevertheless. this blind love for his son. clenched his fists. thus unsuccessfully. he let the boy give him orders. this very thing was the hated trick of this old sneak. he let him disregard him. every viciousness with kindness. he was bored by him. loving another person. it was necessary. never he had been able to do this. he could not give up the boy. you want me to become like . all these there no attributes which could win the boy over. now he. the son let him commit his foolish acts. a day came. if he had been abused by him. and for him to answer every naughtiness with a smile. something very human. "you cannot love. he felt at the same time. and nevertheless he had also sensed an accusation in that line. much more the boy would have liked it if he had been threatened by him. these foolish acts also had to be committed. he said nothing and waited. when what young siddhartha had on his mind came bursting forth. the great distinction which set him apart from the childlike people. this strongest and strangest of all passions. a murky source. the latter had given him a task. perhaps a very devout man. daily. perhaps a saint. when the boy's face reminded him very much of kamala. late. and this was. the silent war of patience. that you constantly want to punish me and put me down with your religious devotion and your indulgence. he had never been able to lose or devote himself completely to another person. he began the mute struggle of friendliness. that you won't hit me. siddhartha suddenly had to think of a line which kamala a long time ago. you don't dare. knowing. friendly. "get the brushwood for yourself!" he shouted foaming at the mouth. suffering for the sake of another person. while comparing the childlike people with falling leaves. indeed. at one time. he had told him to gather brushwood. i do know. suffered miserably.sufferingly. and he had agreed with her and had compared himself with a star. to forget himself." she had said to him. every insult with friendliness. he did sense very well that this love.

he's taking his course. as he continued thinking. just to perhaps see him one more time. the boat had also disappeared. you're not my father. the boy had made yesterday. don't forget just to satisfy his desire. nevertheless. that he knew deep inside that he had neither perished nor was in any danger in the forest. which the boy has taken away. listen up." "we will build a raft. he also found that he." said siddhartha. he already held the axe in his hands and began to make a raft of bamboo. then they crossed over. so he thought. he's doing what you've failed to do yourself. when siddhartha had already been walking through the forest for a long time. he's looking for the path to the city. or. i see you suffering. we must build a raft. he had disappeared. to look for the run-away. the boy had ran away. the boy was far ahead and had already reached the city. the boy would have thrown away or broken the oar in order to get even and in order to keep them from following him. alas. but him. siddhartha. but you're suffering a pain at which one would like to laugh. my friend. i rather want to become a highway-robber and murderer. vasudeva. he'll perish. he is no child any more. siddhartha saw it lying by the opposite bank. in which the ferrymen kept those copper and silver coins which they received as a fare. but siddhartha bid his farewell. woven out of bast of two colours. and go to hell. just to make you suffer. as if he wanted to say: "don't you see what your son is trying to tell you? don't you see that he doesn't want to be followed?" but he did not say this in words. he would conceal himself from him. there was no oar left in the boat. the pursuer. just as soft. he knows how to get around." "it might have been possible that the oar of our boat but siddhartha knew what his friend was thinking. and he is right. but the next morning." siddhartha did not answer. vasudeva pointed to the bottom of the boat and looked at his friend with a smile. and vasudeva helped him to tied the canes together with ropes of grass. pulled the raft upriver on the opposite bank. on his part. "a child can't go through the forest all alone. just as devout. the thought occurred to him that his search was useless. "why did you take the axe along?" asked siddhartha. vasudeva did not stop him. he thought. who had been shivering with grief since those ranting speeches. "i must follow him. was not worried for his son. he started making a new oar. and if you've ten times been my mother's fornicator!" rage and grief boiled over in him. what had also disappeared was a small basket. he's taking care of himself. drifted far off their course." said vasudeva. he ran without stopping. if he should still be on his way. you shall let run along. foamed at the father in a hundred savage and evil words. and in fact. than to become like you! i hate you. at which you'll soon laugh for yourself. vasudeva said: got lost. just as wise! but i. no longer to save him. then the boy ran away and only returned late at night. "to get our boat back. and he ran up to just outside of . either. to get over the water.

saw no images any more. now he saw the bananas lying in front of him. listening. near the city. breathed sansara. at this hour. made him sad. felt once again the wish to annihilate himself. for a long time. saw young siddhartha in their place. sadly. that he could not help his son. in the dust of the road. ate the other one himself. listening to the story of his life. neither one spoke about him running away. this he had learned by the river. he sat lost in thought and waited. he reached a wide road. listening attentively. neither one spoke about the wound. listened to his heart. which used to belong to kamala. no goal. for a long time. and when he looked into vasudeva's friendly face. in the hut. who had followed him. like a wound. again he saw himself standing there. there was now emptiness. and regained his senses. the orgies. then he smiled too. the monks in the garden saw him. was once again healed by the holy om. instead of the desired goal. the past rose up in his soul. he stopped. he saw kamaswami. was once again old and tired. felt once again disgust. he saw himself being served food and drink by kamala. and he sat and listened. saw the servants. when. after having been standing by the gate of the garden for a long time. gave one to the ferryman. saw kamala's song-bird in the cage. beating tiredly and sadly. returned home to the ferry. waited for a voice. looked at the monks. lived through all this once again. this tender. the old man did not see him. saw no joy any more. seeing images. and when after a . clearly. seeing monks in yellow robes walking among the beautiful trees. that this wound did not blossom yet. he silently went back into the forest with vasudeva. siddhartha lay down on his bed. into the small wrinkles. and when he felt the wound burning. he stood there. he recognised this touch. and dust was gathering on his gray hair. the musicians. receiving his first kiss from her. he felt the love for the run-away in his heart. beginning proudly and full of desire his worldly life. which were as if they were filled with nothing but his smile. he sat down. he rose and greeted vasudeva. for a long time. felt something dying in his heart. where he had seen her for the first time in her sedan-chair. naked samana. let himself fall.the city. neither one talked about what had happened today. bashful touch. he stood there. having patience. experienced emptiness. fell into emptiness. this one thing: waiting. after this. from this petrified state. that it had to become a blossom and had to shine. picked them up. he was awoken by a hand touching his shoulder. young. siddhartha stood there and looked through the open gate into the garden. the hair full of dust. the gamblers with the dice. by the entrance of the beautiful pleasure-garden. deeply. filled himself with om. saw young kamala walking among the high trees. siddhartha realised that his desire was foolish. that he was not allowed to cling him. and since he crouched for many hours. he silently spoke the om. instantly. neither one mentioned the boy's name. many an hour he crouched. which had made him go up to this place. pondering. did not shine yet. which had drawn him here following the runaway son. into the happy eyes. and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it. without seeing a path. looking proudly and disdainfully back on his brahmanism. one of them came to him and placed two bananas in front of him. a bearded.

in some moments. after all. these people did not seem alien to him as they used to: he understood them. the blind love of a mother for her child. unrelenting performance of what is necessary. became lovable. he already found him asleep. saw them achieving infinitely much for their sake. differently than before. their blind strength and tenacity. he understood and shared their life. but instead warmer. their vanities. the conscious thought of the oneness of all life. but immensely strong. vain woman for jewelry and admiring glances from men. om for a long time. childlike people. though he was near perfection and was bearing his final wound. each of their acts. bearing infinitely much. desires for possession. was shining back at him from vasudeva's old. he saw life. suffering infinitely much. the thought of oneness. to be able to feel and inhale the oneness. wild desire of a young. foolish. even became worthy of veneration to him. the brahman in each of their passions. small thing: the consciousness. of the thinking and childlike people. whether this knowledge. the thinker. and siddhartha even doubted in many an hour. all of these simple. worthy of love and admiration were these people in their blind loyalty. had to put him above them except for one little thing." thus simply. he felt like them. strongly prevailing urges and desires were now no childish notions for siddhartha any more. while living his life. what wisdom actually was. knowledge of the eternal perfection of the world. childlike face: harmony. which was not guided by thoughts and insight. there was nothing the knowledgeable one. blind pride of a conceited father for his only son. in all other respects. without thinking: "so many. and he could love them for it. the wound continued to burn. even thieves and robbers have children and love them. it was nothing but a readiness of the soul. the knowledge. he saw people living for their sake. slowly this blossomed in him. a secret art. just as animals too can. that what is alive. and are being loved by them. it still seemed to him as if those childlike people were his brothers. businessmen. less smart. less proud. he now looked upon people. all of this childish stuff. conducting wars. strongly living. what the goal of his long search was. thus similar to the childlike people he had become. a single. the stupid. all of these urges.while vasudeva came to him. when he ferried travellers of the ordinary kind. all except for me. warriors. more involved. more curious. tiny. the blind. an ability. slowly ripened in siddhartha the realisation. seem to be superior to humans in their tough. thus without reason he now thought. became understandable. so many thousands possess this sweetest of good fortunes--why don't i? even bad people. the worldly people were of equal rank to the wise men. many a traveller siddhartha had to ferry across the river who was accompanied by a son or a daughter. but solely by urges and wishes. to offer him a bowl of coconut-milk. and he saw none of them without envying him. the indestructible. this thought was to be valued thus highly. they lacked nothing. women. to think every moment. were often far superior to them. whether it might not also perhaps be a childish idea of the thinking people. travelling. slowly blossomed. . and ridiculous aspects were no longer ridiculous to him.

but the wound still burned. committed all foolish acts of love. but siddhartha want back into the boat and ferried back to the hut. thinking of his father. he found it: this face resembled another face. which he used to know and love and also fear. and he remembered how he. the river laughed. he was able to say everything. laughed at by the river. what they had never talked about. he presented his wound. not by itself. oneness. of his envy at the sight of happy fathers. how he had bed his farewell to him. a strange and stupid matter. . yes. his eyes were starting to get weak. he bent over the water. and he saw his face reflected in the quietly moving waters. and one day. in order to hear even better. this flame would go out. and in this reflected face there was something. how he ferried across the water. he no longer used the ferry-boat. without having seen his son again? did he not have to expect the same fate for himself? was it not a comedy. and once he had returned to the hut. thinking of his son. nurtured his love and tenderness in his heart. even the most embarrassing parts. the wound was not blossoming yet. longingly and bitterly siddhartha thought of his son. allowed the pain to gnaw at him. it laughed brightly and clearly at the old ferryman. he felt an undefeatable desire to open up to vasudeva. how he had gone and had never come back. everything came back. a childish run-away. to say everything. cheerfulness and victory were not yet shining from his suffering. at that time. siddhartha ferried across the river. when the wound burned violently. this repetition. something he had forgotten. he felt hope. it should read "�ber" instead of "aber". everything could be said. also told how he fled today. unchanged and flourishing was only the joy and the cheerful benevolence of his face. and as he thought about it. he now told him of. had his father not also suffered the same pain for him. tending towards despair. siddhartha sat down next to the old man. which he now suffered for his son? had his father not long since died. of his knowledge of the foolishness of such wishes. but its voice sounded strange: it laughed! it laughed clearly.} alas. as a young man. his arms and hands as well. the brahman. his heart was still fighting his fate. {i think. of his walk to the city. and not just his eyes. this running around in a fateful circle? the river laughed. vasudeva was sitting in the hut and weaving a basket. at odds with himself. how the river had laughed. alone. the river flowed softly and quietly. driven by a yearning. he reported everything. of the burning wound. everything shown. which reminded him. it was the dry season. slowly he started talking. the same pain was suffered over and over again. so it was. and not less tending towards laughing along at {???} himself and the entire world. of his futile fight against them.smiling. nevertheless. to show him everything. siddhartha stopped. it resembled his father's face. had forced his father to let him go to the penitents. got off the boat and was willing to go to the city and to look for his son. willing to walk to the city. a long time ago. everything he could tell. the master of listening. which had not been suffered and solved up to its end.

led him to the seat by the bank. yes. lonely. let his silent love and cheerfulness. the more he realised that everything was in order and natural. turned into rain and poured down from the sky. that he himself had almost reached the same state. and the more he felt it and entered into it. and images appeared to him in the moving water: his father appeared. thorough all this. sat down with him. that he was god himself. for the goal. the river was heading. the waterfall. the image of his son merged. and all goals were reached. and while siddhartha stopped thinking of himself and his wound. kamala's image also appeared and was dispersed. at him. the less wondrous it became. the river. while he was still speaking. he himself appeared. he sensed how his pain." "but you haven't heard everything. said nothing. the boy. headed all. each one heading for his goal. the lake. towards goals. longing. turned into a siddhartha nodded. and that this could not last. that this motionless man was the river itself. each one obsessed by the goal. let's listen. . and the river's voice sounded full of yearning. suffering. he started bidding his farewell to vasudeva. greedily rushing along the burning course of his young wishes. to show his wound to this listener was the same as bathing it in the river. and the water turned into vapour and rose to the sky. the image of his father. almost forever. smiled at the river. lonely as well. in his heart. mourning for his son. his own image. being the river. you'll hear more. the rapids. all of these waves and waters were hurrying. vasudeva's listening gave siddhartha a stronger sensation than ever before. still admitting and confessing. turned all into the river. that this motionless listener was absorbing his confession into himself like a tree the rain. siddhartha saw it hurrying. he took siddhartha's hand. which had grown slightly weak. he talked incessantly. his fears flowed over to him. longingly it sang. this realisation of vasudeva's changed character took possession of him. it flowed towards its goal. "listen better!" vasudeva whispered. siddhartha felt more and more that this was no longer vasudeva. his son appeared. vasudeva turned his friendly eyes. spoke for a long time. each one suffering. siddhartha made an effort to listen better. that he was now seeing old vasudeva as the people see the gods. that he was the eternal itself. full of burning woe. that only he had not quite recognised it. for the goal. the sea. until it had cooled and become one with the river. softly sounded the river. which consisted of him and his loved ones and of all people. and every goal was followed by a new one." he said. "you've heard it laugh. how his secret hope flowed over. desiring. shine at him. came back at him from his counterpart. he had ever seen. lamentingly its voice sang. that vasudeva had already been like this for a long time. suffering. full of unsatisfiable desire. understanding and knowledge. he felt. the river sang with a voice of suffering. who was listening to him. they listened. singing in many voices. lonely. siddhartha looked into the water. no longer a human being. and other images. longingly.while he spoke. he also being tied with the bondage of yearning to his distant son. many goals. and the image of govinda. when he had finished talking. "do you hear?" vasudeva's mute gaze asked. while vasudeva was listening with a quiet face. and they merged with each other.

a river. all that was good and evil. now that it has come. but other voices joined it. all suffering. all voices. he had heard all this. headed forward once again. laughing and sad ones. i'm going into the oneness. siddhartha!" siddhartha made a deep bow before him who bid his farewell. his wound blossomed. brightly his smile was shining. full of suffering. he could no longer tell the many voices apart. let me leave. everything was intertwined and connected." vasudeva's gaze asked again. as the om was floating in the air over all the voices of the river. "i've known it. entangled a thousand times. it still resounded. which was om: the perfection. devoted to the flow. everything was one. completely concentrated on listening. river. but when he heard them all. all pleasure. which is in agreement with the flow of events. and everything together. but the longing voice had changed. farewell. and said: "i've been waiting for this hour. which knows perfection. the scream of rage and the moaning of the dying ones. when he did not tie his soul to any particular voice and submerged his self into it. perceived the whole. a thousand voices. belonging to the oneness. all of it together was the flow of events. with the current of life. searching. farewell. this song of a thousand voices. with a bright smile. a hundred voices. i've been waiting for this hour. that he had now finished learning to listen. completely empty. all goals." spoke vasudeva with a bright smile. his suffering was shining. when he looked into siddhartha's eyes and saw the cheerfulness of the knowledge shining in them. my dear." he said quietly. with deep . not the ones of children from those of men. in this careful and tender manner. in this hour. siddhartha watched him leaving. on his face flourished the cheerfulness of a knowledge. hut.source. all yearning. when vasudeva rose from the seat by the bank. "do you hear. then the great song of the thousand voices consisted of a single word. full of sympathy for the pain of others. he was now nothing but a listener. for a long time. floating radiantly over all the wrinkles of his old face. his self had flown into the oneness. farewell. "you'll go into the forests?" "i'm going into the forests. which is no longer opposed by any will. vasudeva's smile was shining. they all belonged together. already. for a long time. a stream. when he neither listened to the suffering nor the laughter. when he looked at his friend. he softly touched his shoulder with his hand. i've been vasudeva the ferryman. siddhartha stopped fighting his fate. not the happy ones from the weeping ones. brightly. full of sympathy for the pleasure of others. good and bad voices. and when siddhartha was listening attentively to this river. often before. now it's enough. the lamentation of yearning and the laughter of the knowledgeable one. flowed on once again. these many voices in the river. he left. the oneness. stopped suffering. today it sounded new. voices of joy and of suffering. was the music of life. he felt. siddhartha listened. all of this together was the world. and brightly the same smile was now starting to shine on siddhartha's face as well.

and have sat down with him to guard his sleep. so it seems to me. he said to the old man: "you're very good to us monks and pilgrims. because he has a goal." . many years ago. he came to the river and asked the old man to ferry him over. aren't you too. oh govinda. "but i haven't stopped searching. you. oh venerable one. when govinda went back on his way. oh venerable one. you've once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by the river. the restlessness and the searching still had not perished from his heart. because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search. striving for your goal." "i don't quite understand yet. are perhaps indeed a searcher. he chose the path to the ferry. to let anything enter his mind. but. this seems to be my destiny. oh honourable one?" quoth siddhartha: "what should i possibly have to tell you." spoke govinda. though he was also looked upon with veneration by the younger monks on account of his age and his modesty. never i'll stop searching. saw his body full of light. because. i'm old. a searcher for the right path?" quoth siddhartha. have been searching. being open. oh venerable one. and when they got off the boat on the other side. who lived one day's journey away by the river. saw his head full of lustre. and who was regarded as a wise man by many. govinda used to spend the time of rest between pilgrimages in the pleasure-grove." asked govinda. having no goal. but finding means: being free. oh venerable one? perhaps that you're searching far too much? that in all that searching. you have already ferried many of us across the river. that he is unable to find anything. though he had lived his entire life by the rules. with deep solemnity he watched him leave. you don't find the time for finding?" "how come?" asked govinda. "then it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes still see is that what he searches for. there are many things you don't see. he heard talk of an old ferryman. smiling from his old eyes: "do you call yourself a searcher. saw his steps full of peace. because he is obsessed by the would you like to tell me something. which the courtesan kamala had given to the followers of gotama for a gift. you did not recognise the sleeping man. because. "when someone is searching." said siddhartha. govinda together with other monks. you too. though you are already of an old in years and are wearing the robe of gotama's monks?" "it's true. ferryman. searching means: having a goal. eager to see the ferryman. which are directly in front of your eyes. "what do you mean by this?" quoth siddhartha: "a long time ago.

but not wisdom. it can be lived. though you've found no teachings. i believe in you and know that you haven't followed a teacher. or a knowledge. in those days when we lived with the penitents in the forest. "a ferryman. govinda. you would delight my heart. and spend the night in my hut.astonished. this was what i. and insight. i'm happy to see you once again! you've changed a lot. it can be found. which helps you to live and to do right?" quoth siddhartha: "you know. siddhartha. "i wouldn't have recognised you this time as well! from my heart. as it seems to me. "i'm not kidding. which are your own and which help you to live? if you would like to tell me some of these. i'm greeting you. once. for an hour or for an entire day. you love a bit to mock people. you still found certain thoughts. a saint. i'm also grateful to him. siddhartha. be welcome. but most of all. have to wear many a robe. i have learned here from this river and from my predecessor. but it would be hard for me to convey them to you. siddhartha laughed. it is possible to be carried by it. on the pilgrimage. many people. look. not without hesitation. which i have found: wisdom cannot be passed on. these words: "before i'll continue on my path. a beautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time. as if he had been the object of a magic spell.--and so you've now become a ferryman?" in a friendly manner. the ferryman vasudeva. that i already as a young man. permit me to ask one more question. this is one of my thoughts. wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to someone always sounds like foolishness. and some gamblers with dice. but haven't you found something by yourself. the monk looked into the ferryman's eyes. he was a perfect man. "are you siddhartha?" he asked with a timid voice. govinda said. from my heart." govinda said: "still. again and again. even as a . my dear. my dear. very grateful. even a follower of buddha. yes. started to distrust teachers and teachings and to turn my back to them. as one would feel life in one's heart. but it cannot be expressed in words and taught. i'm telling you what i've found. govinda. you follow. has been my teacher. miracles can be performed with it. my dear govinda. i am one of those. do you have a teaching? do you have a faith." govinda stayed the night in the hut and slept on the bed which used to be vasudeva's bed. when in the next morning the time had come to start the day's journey." "are you kidding?" asked govinda. sometimes. yes. many questions he posed to the friend of his youth. i have felt knowledge in me. but he knew what is necessary just as well as gotama. nevertheless. he was no thinker. have to change a lot. vasudeva. there have been many thoughts. oh siddhartha. knowledge can be conveyed. and a rich merchant was my teacher. travelling on foot. he sat with me when i had fallen asleep in the forest. i've also learned from him. he was a very simple person. my friend. i have had many teachers since then." quoth siddhartha: "i've had thoughts. many things siddhartha had to tell him from his life. certain insights. i have stuck with this.

will be buddha--and now see: these "times to come" are a deception. a person is never entirely holy or entirely sinful. . picked up a stone from the ground. in the robber and dice-gambler. i imagined. all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself. his future is already all there. are some of the thoughts which have come into my mind. everything has to be as it is. is not imperfect. i have experienced on my body and on my soul that i needed sin very much. to be good for me. there is no other way for him who wants to teach. though our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things. but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy being a part of it. between evil and good. everything is perfect. but in times to come he will be brahma again. the buddha is waiting. oh govinda." "how come?" asked govinda timidly. or on a slow path towards perfection: no. vanity. my friend govinda. it says: the opposite of every truth is just as true! that's like this: any truth can only be expressed and put into words when it is one-sided. it's all one-sided. my loving agreement. i have found a thought. there is the possibility to put time out of existence. in the brahman. oneness. my dear. all infants already have death. and if time is not real." siddhartha bent down. he is not in the process of developing. all lacks completeness. is never one-sided. what exists around us and inside of us. it does really seem like this. i see whatever exists as good. govinda. is also a deception. all just one half. to do nothing but work for my benefit. but which is my best thought. wisdom like foolishness. only my willingness. sin like holiness. some kind of perfection i had made up. as if time was something real. is. i needed lust. listen well! the sinner. all small children already have the old person in themselves. in you. a person or an act is never entirely sansara or entirely nirvana. everything is one-sided which can be thought with thoughts and said with words. and weighed it in his hand. everything only requires my consent. therefore. which i am and which you are. in everyone the buddha which is coming into being. in order to learn how to give up all resistance. he will reach the nirvana. death is to me like life. you have to worship in him. time is not real. because we are subject to deception. he had to divide it into sansara and nirvana. it is not possible for any person to see how far another one has already progressed on his path. the possible.young man. sometimes suspected. it cannot be done differently. the hidden buddha. it is perfect in every moment. what has driven me away from the teachers. within the sinner is now and today already the future buddha. is a sinner. roundness.--these. govinda. but the world itself. no. in deep meditation. the robber is waiting. to see all life which was. into deception and truth. the world. are only a parable! the sinner is not on his way to become a buddha. to be unable to ever harm me. into suffering and salvation. and will be as if it was simultaneous. all dying people the eternal life. then the gap which seems to be between the world and the eternity. i have experienced this often and often again. everything is brahman. between suffering and blissfulness. and there everything is good. in order to learn how to love the world. the desire for possessions. which you'll again regard as a joke or foolishness. when the exalted gotama spoke in his teachings of the world. in order to stop comparing it to some world i wished. and needed the most shameful despair. "listen well.

gets distorted a bit. and all these things we are looking at and from which we can learn. a man has been my predecessor and teacher. or perhaps what i meant was. therefore i also grant it importance. this is why i love it and see worth and purpose in each of its veins and cavities. it is also buddha. perhaps it are these which keep you from finding peace. and i like it a lot. he had noticed that the river's spoke to him. it might be so. i would have said: this stone is just a stone. this are things. every cloud. every beetle was just as divine and knows just as much and can teach just as much as the worshipped river. here on this ferry-boat." govinda listened silently. govinda. who has for many years simply believed in the river. and will turn from soil into a plant or animal or human being. in the past. it is also animal. but because it might be able to become also a human being and a spirit in the cycle of transformations. and others like leaves. perhaps turn into soil. they have no hardness. i have a better opinion of things. because salvation and virtue as well. in the hardness. i must confess to you. and this is also very good. and every one is special and prays the om in its own way. in the sound it makes when i knock at it. he learned from it. thus. everything always becomes a bit different. teachings are no good for me. is oily or juicy. that love this very stone. the river seemed to be a god to him. but simultaneously and just as much it is a stone. therefore. each one is brahman. "why have you told me this about the stone?" he asked hesitantly after a pause. it is worthless. for instance. that it appears to me now and today as a stone.--but let me speak no more of this. nothing else. my friend. no smell. i also have no high opinion of thoughts. "is a stone. and things can be loved. i do not venerate and love it because it could turn into this or that. i also very much agree with this. i can love a stone. a holy man." quoth govinda: thought. as soon as it is put into words."this here. and this is this very fact which i like and regard as wonderful and worthy of worship. and will. without books. it educated and taught him. that this what is one man's treasure and wisdom always sounds like foolishness to another person. but rather because it is already and always everything-and it is this very fact. perhaps it are the many words. it is also god. there is no thing which would be nirvana. but today i think: this stone is a stone. no taste. others like sand. the words are not good for the secret meaning. sansara and nirvana as well. no edges. after a certain time. govinda. and the river. are mere words. it belongs to the world of the maja. but when this holy man went into the forests. "i did it without any specific intention." "not just a word. only because he . no colours. there is just the word nirvana." he said playing with it. to be honest. it is a siddhartha continued: "a thought. for many years he did not know that every wind. a bit silly--yes. and also a tree or a piece of bark. there are stones which feel like oil or soap. no softness. they have nothing but words. i would perhaps have thought in the past. my dear: i don't differentiate much between thoughts and words. knew more than you and me. he knew everything. is nirvana. in the dryness or wetness of its surface. but i cannot love words. that it is a stone. without teachers. in the yellow. in the gray. every bird.

not all have been instantly understandable to me. then spoke govinda. i see his greatness. let the things be illusions or not. he forbade us to tie our heart in love to earthly things. or silly is contained in them. after all i would then also be an illusion. i can love them. even with your great teacher. never again. which i have seen in no other person since the final death of . with this we are right in the middle of the thicket of opinions. this siddhartha. to be able to look upon it and me and all beings with love and admiration and great respect. but i'm only interested in being able to love the world. i have found to be like this. how should he not know love. this contradiction is a deception. his skin and his hair. not to hate it and me. in their meaninglessness. more on the gestures of his hand than his opinions. to explain it. foolish. only in his actions. he expresses bizarre thoughts. but different from his thoughts seemed to me siddhartha's hands and feet. not in his speech. his eyes." for a long time. clearer. and behold. and thus they are always like me. i thank you. in his life. his smile shone golden. this is what makes them so dear and worthy of veneration for me: they are like me. to use a long. actually something real. i prefer the thing over the words. for this very reason. out of his gaze and his hand. "i know it. for telling me some of your thoughts. out of every part of him shines a purity. while bowing for a farewell: "i thank you. he. his walk. his breath. the two old men said nothing. and i wish you to have calm days. laborious life only to help them. may be the thing great thinkers do. to thoroughly understand the world." (but secretly he thought to himself: this siddhartha is a bizarre person. to despise it. just an image and illusion? your stone." "i know it." spoke siddhartha. siddhartha. never since then have i met a person of whom i felt: this is a holy man! only him. shines a cheerfulness and mildness and holiness. nothing strange. "i do not care very much about. his greeting. seems to me to be the most important thing of all. not in his thoughts. and yet loved people thus much. so differently sound the exalted one's pure teachings. may his teachings be strange. a seeming contradiction with gotama's words. his teachings sound foolish. he commands benevolence. who has discovered all elements of human existence in their transitoriness. shines a calmness. but not love. after our exalted gotama has become one with the nirvana." govinda said: "but is that what you call `things'. not to despise it. your river-are they actually a reality?" "this too. more comprehensible. "but this very thing was discovered by the exalted one to be a deception. govinda. for i know. i know that i am in agreement with gotama. for i cannot deny. purer. may his words sound foolish. your tree. they are partially strange thoughts. oh govinda.had believed in the river. therefore. tolerance. i distrust in words so much. clemency. to teach them! even with him." "this i understand." spoke govinda." said siddhartha. my words of love are in a contradiction. sympathy. something which has existence? isn't it just a deception of the maja. place more importance on his acts and life than on his speeches. his smile. his forehead. and this is now a teaching you will laugh about: love. this being as it may. in the dispute about words.

even closer! very close! kiss my forehead. of crocodiles. in the same second. while he was still struggling in vain and with reluctance to think away time. i see. with yearning. and which were still all siddhartha. of elephants. "siddhartha. "bent down to me!" he whispered quietly in govinda's ear. red and full of wrinkles. obeyed his words. eternal not-finding. he saw the face of a fish. which all constantly changed and renewed themselves. like a transparent skin. loving it. void-he saw the heads of animals. a shell or mold or mask of water. this happened to him: he no longer saw the face of his friend siddhartha. quiet smile. deeply he bowed to him who was calmly sitting. it it often hard. tell me. hating it. it is unlikely for one of us to see the other again in this incarnation. with an infinitely painfully opened mouth. without any time having passed between the one and the other face--and all of these figures and faces rested. and there was a conflict in his heart. which i can understand! give me something to be with me on my path.) as govinda thought like this. with fear. each one only transformed. giving re-birth to it. a passionately painful confession of transitoriness. and this mask was siddhartha's smiling . a flowing river of faces. often dark. destroying it. each one helping the other. saw agni--he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships with one another. and the eternal search was visible in his look. he once again bowed to siddhartha. each one was a will to die. of birds--he saw gods. i confess that i haven't found it. of boars. a carp. give me something on my way which i can grasp. naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love--he saw corpses stretched out. of hundreds. was always re-born. and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously." siddhartha said nothing and looked at him with the ever unchanged. siddhartha. oh honourable one. cold. saw krishna. and they were all constantly covered by something thin. and yet drawn by great love and expectation. of bulls. received evermore a new face. something miraculous happened to him. govinda!" but while govinda with astonishment. siddhartha saw it and smiled. "we have become old men. of thousands." he spoke. the face of a dying fish. distorted from crying--he saw the face of a murderer. beloved. and yet none of them died. but yet existing.our exalted teacher. drawn by love. my path. he saw him plunging a knife into the body of another person--he saw. flowed. suffering. like a thin glass or ice. floated along and merged with each other. kneeling and his head being chopped off by the executioner with one blow of his sword--he saw the bodies of men and women. without individuality of its own. many. while his thoughts were still dwelling on siddhartha's wondrous words. that you have found peace. while even a certain contempt for the words of his friend was fighting in him against an immense love and veneration. generated themselves. one more word. bent down closely to him and touched his forehead with his lips. with fading eyes--he saw the face of a new-born child. and this mask was smiling. to imagine nirvana and sansara as one. a long sequence. motionless. "bend down to me! like this. govinda stared at his face. this criminal in bondage. which all came and disappeared. instead he saw other faces.

the buddha. after under its surface the depth of the thousandfoldness had closed up again.txt or siddh10. as he had seen it himself with great respect a hundred times. the exalted one. not knowing any more whether time existed. govinda bowed. wise. smiled quietly and softly. leaving time for better editing. siddhartha *** this file should be named siddh10. delicate. deeply. we usually do not keep ebooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. perhaps benevolent. he smiled silently. not knowing any more whether there existed a siddhartha. ran down his old face. this smile of oneness above the flowing forms. in this very same moment touched with his lips. thousand-fold smile of gotama.txt project gutenberg ebooks are often created from several printed editions. whether the vision had lasted a second or a hundred years. we are now trying to release all our ebooks one year in advance of the official release dates. what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life. the official release date of all project gutenberg ebooks is at midnight. comment and editing by those who wish to do . which he. central time. this smile of the mask. a gotama. this smile of siddhartha was precisely the corrected editions of our ebooks get a new number. the face was or http://promo. perhaps mocking. was precisely of the same kind as the quiet. please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections. perhaps very benevolently. most people start at our web sites at: http://gutenberg. please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. whose smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in his life.txt versions based on separate sources get new letter. *** end of the project gutenberg ebook. being enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self. like this. impenetrable. thus. of the last day of the stated month.face. govinda knew. all existence. a me and a you. feeling in his innermost self as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow. the humblest veneration in his heart. which had just been the scene of all manifestations. touching the ground. and. like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love. tears he knew nothing of. even years after the official publication date. precisely as he used to smile. siddh10a. which he had just kissed. deeply. the injury of which tasted sweet. all transformations. perhaps very mockingly. this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths. govinda. siddh11. he bowed. govinda still stood for a little while bent over siddhartha's quiet face. all of which are confirmed as public domain in the us unless a copyright notice is included. govinda saw it like this. before him who was sitting motionlessly. a preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion. the perfected ones are smiling.

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