Sd h rh id a t a b He ma nHe s y r n se

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at Title: Siddhartha Author: Herman Hesse Translator: Gunther Olesch, Anke Dreher, Amy Coulter, Stefan Langer and Semyon Chaichenets Release Date: April 6, 2008 [EBook #2500] Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIDDHARTHA ***

Produced by Michael Pullen, Chandra Yenco, Isaac Jones

An Indian Tale

by Hermann Hesse


FIRST PART To Romain Rolland. my dear friend .

he saw him growing up to become great wise man and priest. Siddhartha. breathing forth from the verses of the Rig-Veda. the forehead surrounded by the glow of the clear-thinking spirit. fiery thoughts. as well did not want to become one of those. But he. the young falcon. together with his friend Govinda. when his father. indestructible. not a greedy merchant with magic spells. and also the love of his friend. his friend. sparkling from the stars of the night. drop by drop. the service of meditation. Govinda knew: he would not become a common Brahman. Govinda. his spearcarrier. when Siddhartha would become a god. the splendid. stupid sheep in the herd of the many. He had started to suspect that his venerable father and his other teachers. Govinda. shade poured into his black eyes. son of a Brahman. from the teachings of the old Brahmans. the beloved.THE SON OF THE BRAHMAN In the shade of the house. the handsome son of the Brahman. his shadow. No. they did not wash off the sin. fuming from the sacrifices. the spirit was not content. Walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden. when playing as a boy. the soul was not calm. in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats. in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up. his transcendent. in the shade of the Sal-wood forest. The ablutions were good. he was a delight for them all. dreams came to him and a restlessness of the soul. and also not a decent. handsome. would not bring him joy for ever and ever. the word of words. a prince among the Brahmans. the sacred offerings. deceitful priest. when the sacred offerings were made. taught him. and he. strong. thirsty for knowledge. they did not relieve the fear in his heart. he found no delight in himself. with the eye of a king. he loved everything Siddhartha did and said and what he loved most was his spirit. not one of those tens of thousands of Brahmans. with his slim hips. his ardent will. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing. one with the universe. his high calling. when his mother sang. not a lazy official in charge of offerings. that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness. he still lacked all joy in his heart. to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling. vacuous speaker. satisfy him. For a long time. The sacrifices and the invocation of . Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men. Siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself. to speak it silently into himself while inhaling. In the mango grove. would not nurse him. feed him. washing his limbs daily in the bath of repentance. Dreams and restless thoughts came into his mind. performing the sacred ablutions. He was a source of joy for everybody. but they were water. when he would join the glorious. his servant. he had started to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother. practising debate with Govinda. Bliss leapt in his mother's breast when she saw him. He already knew how to speak the Om silently. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths of his being. and the vessel was not full. sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation. when she saw him walking. the scholar. not a mean. the son of a Brahman. sacrificing in the dim shade of the mango forest. But more than all the others he was loved by Govinda. with all the concentration of his soul. he loved his walk and the perfect decency of his movements. And in days to come. practising with Govinda the art of reflection. Siddhartha. they did not heal the spirit's thirst. the heart was not satisfied. then Govinda wanted to follow him as his friend. his companion. Joy leapt in his father's heart for his son who was quick to learn. greeting her with perfect respect. his gestures of perfect decency. he who was walking on slender legs. He loved Siddhartha's eye and sweet voice. melting from the beams of the sun. Love touched the hearts of the Brahmans' young daughters when Siddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the luminous forehead. when she saw him sit down and get up. was not a source of joy for himself. flowing from the water of the river. not a vain. He wanted to follow Siddhartha. Siddhartha was thus loved by everyone. that the wise Brahmans had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom. when the wise men talked. everyone's love and joy. being infused into him.

the Atman. the acts of the gods. let's practise meditation. it had to be possessed! Everything else was searching. he who knows such a thing. they had taken care of everything and of more than everything. in its innermost part. they sat down. over and over every day? Was not Atman in him. particularly in the Upanishades of Samaveda. the scholar. not to be looked down upon was the tremendous amount of enlightenment which lay here collected and preserved by innumerable generations of wise Brahmans. the most important thing. who had quenched it completely. He. spoke of this innermost and ultimate thing. myself. come with me under the Banyan tree. strive for a cleansing every day. the self. where else but in one's own self. Govinda rose. where was this self. where.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. nobody knew it. the heavenly world. delicate and noble thoughts lived behind its brow —but even he.— But where were the Brahmans. have to drink from holy sources. but never he had reached it completely. pure as honey collected by bees. the origin of speech. and nobody showed this way. 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. was written there. which everyone had in himself? But where. the eternal thirst. Siddhartha did . of food. who had reached it completely. the heavenly world. there was another way. from the offerings. would meet with his innermost part and would reside in the Atman. Siddhartha right here. in his deep sleep. did he live in blissfulness. quiet and noble were his manners." They went to the Banyan tree. "Govinda. this was his suffering. from the disputes of the Brahmans? Why did he. who else was to be worshipped but Him. After the usual time of the exercise in meditation had passed. it was time to perform the evening's ablution. the solely important thing? Surely. have to wash off sins every day. where did He reside. this was his thirst. where did his eternal heart beat. The evening had come. it was neither thought nor consciousness. and it was written that man in his sleep. they knew infinitely much —but was it valuable to know all of this. pure his life." Siddhartha spoke to his friend. was getting lost. was he not also just a searching man. ready to speak the Om. they knew everything. of inhaling. was a detour. among all of them there was no one. the pristine source in one's own self. Govinda twenty paces away. from the books. into every step of the way. did he have peace. the name of the Brahman is satyam—verily. in its indestructible part. The Brahman is the arrow's target. Marvellous wisdom was in these verses. this ultimate part? It was not flesh and bone. was it right. Often he spoke to himself from a Chandogya-Upanishad the words: "Truly. was it meaningful and the highest occupation to make offerings to the gods? For whom else were offerings to be made. many verses of the holy books. all knowledge of the wisest ones had been collected here in magic words. thus the wisest ones taught. where the priests. Siddhartha repeated murmuring the verse: Om is the bow. His father was to be admired. again and again. not the father. the Brahmans and their holy books. That one should incessantly hit. the arrow is soul. where the wise men or penitents. the most venerable one. the Atman? And where was Atman to be found. No. And among all the wise and wisest men. did not the pristine source spring from his heart? It had to be found. subject to time. Thus were Siddhartha's thoughts. which was worthwhile looking for? Alas. "Govinda. will enter the heavenly world every day. as a thirsty man. it seemed near. the irreproachable one. he knew and whose instructions he had received. While putting himself down. where was it? To reach this place. the pure one. the creation of the world. my dear. chiefly his father. the only one. and not the teachers and wise men. a thirsty man? Did he not. "Your soul is the whole world". of exhaling. mortal? Was it therefore good. who knew so much. never he had quenched the ultimate thirst. wonderful verses. the singular one? Were the gods not creations. into word and deed? Siddhartha knew many venerable Brahmans. wise his words. So. into the life. He called Siddhartha's name. not knowing that one and only thing. the arrangement of the senses. the only one. this innermost part." Often. not the holy sacrificial songs! They knew everything. created like me and you.

read the fear. After another hour. "O Govinda. the father returned to his bed. and left the house. withered men. his soul sent after the Brahman as an arrow. he came back after two hours. ascetics on a pilgrimage. "let's not waste words. Then spoke the father: "Not proper it is for a Brahman to speak harsh and angry words. and stepped behind his father and remained standing there. Tomorrow. the tip of his tongue was protruding a little between the teeth. With anxiety in his heart. and with his. wrapped up in contemplation. three skinny. Pale shimmered his bright robe. the Brahman stood up. there stood Siddhartha. his eyes were rigidly focused towards a very distant target. 'ere the silence was broken. the Brahman stood up again. Through the window of the chamber he looked back inside. since no sleep had come over his eyes. his arms folded. not moving from his spot." Quoth Siddhartha: "With your permission." The Brahman fell silent. the father went back to bed. of destructive service. where his father was sitting on a mat of bast. paced to and fro. thinking Om. my friend. the father left the chamber." he exclaimed. and there he saw Siddhartha standing. and remained silent for so long that the stars in the small window wandered and changed their relative positions. strangers and lank jackals in the realm of humans. he seemed not to breathe. In the evening. silent and motionless sat the father on the mat. moonlight reflecting from his bare shins. now Siddhartha is taking his own way. walked out of the house and saw that the moon had risen. of merciless self-denial. Quoth Siddhartha: "You know what. And he came back after an hour. Govinda realized: Now it is beginning. Once. With worry in his heart. not moving from his spot. almost naked. when he heard these words and read the decision in the motionless face of his friend. May my father not oppose this. "What are you waiting for?" asked the father. scorched by the sun. Thus sat he. He will become a Samana. Siddhartha will go to the Samanas. after the hour of contemplation.not answer. the Brahman rose. After an hour. And he turned pale like a dry banana-skin. at daybreak I will begin the life of the Samanas. and the stars traced their paths in the sky. Silent and motionless stood the son with his arms folded. his arms folded. "O Siddhartha. strangers and enemies to the world. Siddhartha spoke to Govinda: "Early tomorrow morning. with dusty and bloody shoulders. read the submission. My desire is to become a Samana. indignant. I wish not to hear this request for a second time from your mouth. surrounded by loneliness. since no sleep had come over his eyes. Quoth the Brahman: "Is that you. neither old nor young. Speak no more of it." he spoke quietly. my father. he went to his bed and lay down." Siddhartha entered the chamber. his arms folded." Govinda turned pale." Slowly. I came to tell you that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the ascetics. until his father felt that someone was standing behind him. Siddhartha sat there lost in thought. now his fate is beginning to sprout. paced to and fro. Siddhartha stood silently. my own." Indignant. Arrow-fast he read in Govinda's soul. Soon and with the first glance. Samanas had travelled through Siddhartha's town. Behind them blew a hot scent of quiet passion. But indignation is in my heart. Siddhartha? Then say what you came to say. looked through the small . Through the small window of the chamber he looked back inside. unstoppable like the arrow shot from the bow. "will your father permit you to do that?" Siddhartha looked over as if he was just waking up.

then return and let us once again make offerings to the gods together. "Siddhartha. stepped into the room." "I will not fall asleep. saw the young man standing there. But for me it is time to go to the river and to perform the first ablution." he spoke. and evening?" "I will stand and wait. silently. before the day began. In Siddhartha's face he saw no trembling. The Brahman saw that Siddhartha was trembling softly in his knees. he returned. saw Siddhartha standing. he looked into the chamber. until it'll becomes morning. Then his father realized that even now Siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in his home. filled his heart with unrest. who had crouched there. . The Father touched Siddhartha's shoulder." "You will die. "what are you waiting for?" "You know what. in the darkness. "You will become tired. filled it with sadness. Go now and kiss your mother. his eyes were fixed on a distant spot. a shadow rose near the last hut. noon. As he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day the still quiet town. And he came back hour after hour. If you'll find disappointment. bowed to his father. who seemed tall and like a stranger to him." "I will become tired. "You will. in the moon light." He took his hand from the shoulder of his son and went outside. Siddhartha." "Will you always stand that way and wait." said Govinda." said Siddhartha and smiled. Siddhartha wavered to the side. as he tried to walk. then come back and teach me to be blissful. tell her where you are going to." "So will you abandon your plan?" "Siddhartha will do what his father will tell him to do. Siddhartha. Siddhartha. and went to his mother to do as his father had said." The first light of day shone into the room. "go into the forest and be a Samana." "You will fall asleep. and joined the pilgrim—Govinda." he spoke. And in the night's last hour. by the light of the stars. When you'll have found blissfulness in the forest. He put his limbs back under control." "And would you rather die. than obey your father?" "Siddhartha has always obeyed his father. "I have come.window. saw him standing in the same place. that he had already left him." "I will die. filled his heart with anguish. filled his heart with anger. "You have come.

to be open to miracles in unselfish thoughts. sun shone or moon. and Siddhartha's soul slipped inside the body. once every desire and every urge was silent in the heart. turned into a skeleton. Silently. it all lied. got bloated. had died. until nothing burned any more. was water. which is no longer my self. was an animal. practised meditation. Siddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly. was blown across the fields. and stood there. turned round in the cycle. had decayed. priests determining the most suitable day for seeding. The world tasted bitter. where he could escape from the cycle. from festering wounds dripped pus. shaggy beard grew on his chin. felt the pangs of a heron's hunger. to find tranquility with an emptied heard. felt new thirst. was the dead jackal. empty of joy and sorrow. A goal stood before Siddhartha. ate fish. was wood. empty of thirst. it all stank of lies. over freezing hips and legs. when he walked through a city of nicely dressed people. learned to get along with only few breathes. stank. learned to stop breathing. where the end of the causes. empty of wishing. hunger. decayed. He killed his senses. These and other ways he learned to go. from his hair the water was dripping over freezing shoulders. to calm the beat of his heart. A heron flew over the bamboo forest—and Siddhartha accepted the heron into his soul. His glance turned to icy when he encountered women. He fasted for twenty-eight days. was a heron. blood dripped from the burning skin. Siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun directly above. Instructed by the oldest if the Samanas. He ate only once a day. unsown cloak. Silently. was carrion. according to a new Samana rules. whores offering themselves. the skinny Samanas. glowing with thirst. Silently. and Siddhartha stayed rigidly. physicians trying to help the sick. mothers nursing their children—and all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye. and it all was just concealed putrefaction. And Siddhartha's soul returned. until nothing stung any more. lay on the banks. until they were only a few and almost none. he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms. princes hunting. spoke the heron's croak. was dismembered by hyaenas. through voluntarily suffering and overcoming pain. The flesh waned from his thighs and cheeks.WITH THE SAMANAS In the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics. that was his goal. awaited in new thirst like a hunter in the gap. and offered them their companionship and—obedience. a . Siddhartha practised self-denial. was scattered as dust. He fasted for fifteen days. overcame the thirst. until they were quiet. not to be a self any more. it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful. flew over forest and mountains. stayed motionless. lovers loving. They were accepted. felt thirst. long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry. was stone. He went the way of self-denial by means of meditation. and never something cooked. was skinned by vultures. he stood there in the rainy season. Siddhartha learned a lot when he was with the Samanas. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged eyes. Once all of my self was overcome and had died. empty of dreams. the innermost of my being. a single goal: to become empty. Life was torture. leaned to reduce the beats of his heart. until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs any more. he cowered in the thorny bushes. glowing with pain. died a heron's death. Siddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahman in the street. then the ultimate part of me had to awake. until no blood flowed any more. He saw merchants trading. thirst. he killed his memory. was his self again. beginning with the breath. and awoke every time to find his old self again. He learned. turned to dust. He went the way of self-denial by means of pain. A dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank. until they were silent. and the penitent stood there. his mouth twitched with contempt. had tasted the gloomy intoxication of the cycle. it all stank. until he neither felt any pain nor thirst any more. through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions. many ways leading away from the self he learned to go. the great secret. tiredness. where an eternity without suffering began. Dead to himself. He wore nothing more than the loincloth and the earth-coloured. mourners wailing for their dead.

this. stayed in the animal. oh Govinda. stayed in nothingness. and will fast. would you think. their end nevertheless always led back to the self. Siddhartha. oh Siddhartha. Govinda. it is a short escape of the agony of being a self. you've learned every exercise. 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. has gathered no enlightenment. you'll be a holy man. You'll be a great Samana. How could you have learned meditation. 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. drinking a few bowls of rice-wine or fermented coconut-milk. this I know. The same escape. In every tavern of that part of a town where the whorehouses are." And Siddhartha: "He has lived for sixty years and has not reached the nirvana. walked the same paths. this I know. as a child in the mother's womb. we are moving up. to beg for some food in the village for their brothers and teachers. Quickly. there is still much to learn." Quoth Siddhartha: "I can't help but feel that it is not like this. our venerable teacher?" Quoth Govinda: "Our oldest one might be about sixty years of age. from salvation. oh friend. and again felt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him. who have thought we were escaping the cycle?" Quoth Govinda: "We have learned a lot. and you and me. Occasionally the two of them went through the villages. By his side lived Govinda. when Siddhartha left the forest together with Govinda. This is how it is. and we'll continue learning. finds everything to be unchanged.thousand times he left his self. then he won't feel the pains of life any more. Though Siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times. staying in the non-self. than the service and the exercises required. I could have learned more quickly and by simpler means." Quoth Govinda: "You say so. then he finds a short numbing of the senses. he'll find the same what Siddhartha and Govinda find when they escape their bodies through long exercises. But that I. oh Govinda. Siddhartha. for hours and days he remained in the non-self." Siddhartha spoke one day while begging this way. "how do you think did we progress? Did we reach any goals?" Govinda answered: "We have learned. oh Govinda. insensitivity against hunger and pain there among these wretched people?" And Siddhartha said quietly. in the stone. often the old Samanas have admired you. the circle is a spiral. find only a short numbing of the senses in my exercises and meditations and that I am just as far removed from wisdom. being among the Samanas. we will grow just as old and will do our exercises. when he found himself back in the sunshine or in the moonlight. Siddhartha. I've never been a drunkard. inescapable was the hour. It's true that a drinker numbs his senses. the same short numbing is what the driver of an ox-cart finds in the inn. we have already ascended many a level. and will . his shadow. has not become wiser. What I've learned. among carters and gamblers I could have learned it." Quoth Govinda: "Siddhartha is putting me on. my friend. and yet you know that Siddhartha is no driver of an oxcart and a Samana is no drunkard. undertook the same efforts. "How do you think. Then he won't feel his self any more.—has not risen several steps. holding your breath. We are not going around in circles. up to this day. and was once again his self and Siddhartha." Siddhartha answered: "How old. is our oldest Samana. another time. my friend. When he falls asleep over his bowl of rice-wine. But though the ways led away from the self." And Siddhartha spoke with a smile: "I do not know. it is a short numbing of the senses against the pain and the pointlessness of life. He'll turn seventy and eighty." And once again. One day. it's true that he briefly escapes and rests. in the shade or in the rain. to beg for food for themselves and their teachers. Siddhartha began to speak and said: "What now. the return was inevitable. They rarely spoke to one another. but he'll return from the delusion. oh Govinda.

when the two young men had lived among the Samanas for about three years and had shared their exercises. again and again." spoke Govinda. He thought about the words which Govinda had said to him and thought the words through to their end. 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. teaching. some news. a rumour. just like this this myth ran through the land. This myth." "If you only. oh my friend. Govinda stopped on the path. we learn feats. oh Siddhartha. Oh Govinda. many would believe. and Brahmans and princes would bow down before him and would become his students. surrounded by disciples. we will not find. this is Atman. a slightly sad. he won't and we won't. Siddhartha. Yes. unexpressable by words is his blissfulness of his heart.meditate. But we will not reach the nirvana. he had overcome the suffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths. among so many who are searching. what of the holiness of the Samanas. not a single one. if there was no learning?! What. rose his hands. loses himself in the meditation of Atman. here and there. but with a cheerful brow. the name of Gotama. to seek the wise man. with a quiet. the exalted one. than learning. without a wife. the Brahmans spoke of it and in the forest. But Siddhartha remained silent. and on this long path of a Samana. We find comfort. the path of paths. a verse from an Upanishad: He who ponderingly. oh Govinda. and as such news would go through the land and everyone would talk about it. what of the venerability of the Brahmans' caste. Siddhartha! How could it be that among so many learned men. whose word and breath was enough to heal everyone who had been infected with the pestilence. if it was as you say. a wise man. And just consider: what would become of the sanctity of prayer. I believe out of all the Samanas out there. oh Govinda: that there is nothing to be learned! There is indeed no such thing. But the most important thing. At one time. that fragrant myth of Gotama." At this. so many who are eagerly trying. I have always been full of questions. he has walked along your side for so long. a knowledgeable one. 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. I'm suffering of thirst. what is precious. in the yellow cloak of an ascetic. will reach the nirvana. And so I'm starting to believe that this knowledge has no worser enemy than the desire to know it. in the towns. it had been just as well. the Buddha. without possession. a myth reached them after being retold many times: A man had appeared. He was said to wander through the land. It took me a long time and am not finished learning this yet. just one knowledge. perhaps not a single one. he thought. the helper. among so many Brahmans. without home. with good and with bad talk. of a purified spirit. I always thirsted for knowledge. Govinda. this rumour. to deceive others. you words stir up fear in my heart. year after year. my thirst has remained as strong as ever. a slightly mocking voice: "Soon. a man of bliss. oh Govinda. among so many austere and venerable Samanas. we find numbness. and I have asked the devote Samanas. what is venerable on earth?!" And Govinda mumbled a verse to himself. the Samanas. many would doubt. standing there with his head low. but many would get on their way as soon as possible. if I had asked the hornbill-bird or the chimpanzee. its fragrants rose up. no one will find the path of paths?" But Siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness as mockery. only would not bother your friend with this kind of talk! Truly. the Buddha reached the ears of the young men. so many holy men. had been just as smart and just as profitable. your friend will leave the path of the Samanas. as what we refer to as `learning'. There is. this is within me and within you and within every creature. and spoke: "If you. this legend resounded. Gotama by name. the wise man of the family . the Buddha. so I believe. year after year. with praise and with defamation. Perhaps. what would then become of all of this what is holy. "wouldn't speak such terrible words. this is everywhere. I have asked the Brahmans. year after year. and I have asked the holy Vedas.

Everywhere where the rumour of Buddha was heard. want to take a new path and go there. he remembered his previous lives. where the Buddha spreads his teachings. friend. Siddhartha! But have you not also developed a desire.of Sakya." On this very same day. had overcome the devil. if only we both would too. who has seen the Buddha with his own eyes and has heard him teach. this made my chest ache when I breathed. But tell me. to hear these teachings? And have you not at one time said to me. Mock me if you like. life was hard to bear—and behold. here a messenger seemed to call out. Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the Samanas of his decision. Govinda would stay with the Samanas. I had not known Govinda well enough. he had reached the nirvana and never returned into the cycle. let us await with calm hearts. Govinda was startled and became embarrassed. But behold. and thought to myself: If only I would too. The myth of Buddha sounded sweet. every drop laden with hope. They rarely talked about it. you've spoken well. was without learning. here a source seemed to spring forth. an eagerness. He informed the oldest one with all the courtesy and modesty becoming to a younger one and a student. Siddhartha and me. and also Govinda. the exalted one. 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. which are brought to us by teachers. But let's do it. he had performed miracles. slowly. oh friend. oh Govinda! But this fruit. I was in the village. Siddhartha laughed in his very own manner. He possessed. He had heard that this alleged Buddha used to be an ascetic before and had lived in the forest. when he brought news of him. you've heard from me. that he wanted to leave him. you've remembered correctly. so the believers said. the highest enlightenment. "Today. mild. Verily. I knew little of his heart. but had then turned back to luxury and worldly pleasures. which are becoming a Samana. The scent of magic flowed from these reports. everywhere in the lands of India. my faithful friend. was never again submerged in the murky river of physical forms. But Siddhartha put his mouth close to Govinda's ear and whispered to him: "Now. and in his house. and a Brahman invited me into his house. which is that I have grown distrustful and tired against teachings and learning. I had thought. scorned the offerings. and talked loudly and used crude swearwords. is small. and he had no high opinion of this Gotama. So now you. and that my faith in words. and knew neither exercises nor self-castigation. consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas! Whether he has also other and better things to give us. drop by drop. felt a longing. you would not walk the path of the Samanas for much longer?" At this. live to see the hour when we will hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfected man! Speak. the Sakyamuni. and also Siddhartha. felt hope. have already revealed their best fruit to us?" Quoth Siddhartha: "Let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest. and among the Brahmans' sons of the towns and villages every pilgrim and stranger was welcome. wouldn't we want to go there too and listen to the teachings from the Buddha's mouth?" Quoth Siddhartha: "Always. even before we have heard them. The myth had also reached the Samanas in the forest. Govinda. If you only remembered the other thing as well. had spoken to the gods. But the Samana became angry. But his enemies and disbelievers said. this Gotama was a vain seducer. there was the son of a Brahman from Magadha. because the two young men wanted to leave him." Govinda spoke one day to his friend. I want to show the old man that I've learned something . in which his voice assumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery. every drop laden with doubt." Quoth Govinda: "Your willingness delights my heart. and said: "Well. which we already now received thanks to the Gotama. he would spent his days in luxury. 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. After all. comforting. oh Govinda. full of noble promises." Quoth Govinda: "You're mocking me. the young men listened up. the world was sick. because the oldest one of the Samanas did not like this myth. Many wonderful and unbelievable things were reported of him. "Oh Siddhartha. how should this be possible? How should the Gotama's teachings. my dear.

performed gestures of blessing. went on their way with salutations. without power. whatever he demanded him to do. to do silently. Govinda said: "Oh Siddhartha. his eyes became motionless. his will was paralysed. On the way." "I do not seek to walk on water. Truly. And the young men returned the bows with thanks. returned the wish. it is very hard to cast a spell on an old Samana. the old man made several bows. you would soon have learned to walk on water. what they commanded. subdued him under his own will. he had to carry out. if you had stayed there. The old man became mute. spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey. made him mute." said Siddhartha. he captured the old man's glance with his glances." Positioning himself closely in front of the Samana.from him. It is hard. his arms were hanging down. But Siddhartha's thoughts brought the Samana under their control. he had fallen victim to Siddhartha's spell. you have learned more from the Samanas than I knew. deprived him of his power. with a concentrated soul. And thus. commanded him. took away his free will. "Let old Samanas be content with such feats!" .

the enlightened one. But Siddhartha urged him to walk on. who seemed to be in no way different from the hundreds of other monks. And arriving at Savathi. to hear the teachings from his mouth. an obedient worshipper of the exalted one. who handed them the food: "We would like to know. full of people. With a hidden smile. But his face and his walk. the perfected one.GOTAMA In the town of Savathi. And soon. Near the town was Gotama's favourite place to stay. in the garden of Anathapindika is where the exalted one dwells. Govinda looked at the monk in the yellow robe. oh charitable one. The majority of the monks went out with their alms-dish. the grove of Jetavana. and every house was prepared to fill the alms-dish of Gotama's disciples. Govinda listened and wanted to ask and hear much more. bearing the alms-dish in his hand. his quietly dangling hand and even every finger of his quietly dangling hand expressed peace. food has been offered to them. and talk of those who sought shelter and got it. At sunrise. thus we have reached our destination. in the very first house. where the Buddha dwells. and he instantly recognised him. and to hear the teachings from his mouth. and our path has come to an end! But tell us." This made Govinda happy. you Samanas from the forest. every child knew the name of the exalted Buddha. had given him and his people for a gift. for rather many pilgrims and monks as well from Gotama's community were on their way to the Jetavana. wore the robe and placed his feet just as all of his monks did." Attentively. the shady gardens looked like a city. for there is enough space for the innumerable. On all paths of the marvellous grove. oh mother of the pilgrims. And since they reached it at night. to collect food in town for their lunch. have you seen him with your own eyes?" Quoth the woman: "Many times I have seen him. accustomed to life in the forest. I have seen him. for we are two Samanas from the forest and have come. the most venerable one. Siddhartha saw him. You should know. according to a precise rule. there were constant arrivals. in Jetavana. The two Samanas. calm. "Look here!" Siddhartha said quietly to Govinda. which the two young ascetics had received in their search for Gotama's abode. before the door of which they stopped to beg. his quietly lowered glance. the Buddha walked." Quoth the woman: "Here. The Buddha himself. somewhat resembling a healthy child. They thanked and left and hardly had to ask for directions. And they followed him and observed him. leaving with a filled dish. and full of joy he exclaimed: "Well so. his calm face was neither happy nor sad. presenting his alms-dish in silence at the doors of the houses." Delightedly. He saw him. quiet. in deep contemplation—or in a conversation about spiritual matters. On many days. the silently begging ones. was also in the habit of taking this walk to beg in the morning. as if a god had pointed him out to him. shouts. which the rich merchant Anathapindika. monks walked in yellow robes. they saw with astonishment what a large crowd of believers and curious people had spent the night here. Govinda also realized: This is the one. "This one is the Buddha. the Buddha. bustling like bees. There you pilgrims shall spent the night. it seemed to smile quietly and inwardly. to see him. . you have truly come to the right place. and they accepted the food. modestly and deep in his thoughts. a simple man in a yellow robe. found quickly and without making any noise a place to stay and rested there until the morning. under the trees they sat here and there. The Buddha went on his way. All tales and answers. the exalted one. wearing his yellow cloak. who flock here. the only meal of the day. and Siddhartha asked the woman. do you know him. walking silently. walking through the alleys in silence. had pointed them towards this area.

And Gotama accepted them by speaking: "You have heard the teachings well. now you have taken this step. then Govinda. sought refuge in the teachings. to collect alms. Govinda has heard the teachings. we'll hear the teachings from his mouth. of the examples. this Buddha was truthful down to the gesture of his last finger. when the heat cooled down and everyone in the camp started to bustle about and gathered around.or third-hand information. When the Buddha—night had already fallen—ended his speech. patiently he went the usual path of the teachings. breathed softly in an unwhithering calm. no desire. also stepped forward and spoke: "I also take my refuge in the exalted one and his teachings. Gotama taught the teachings of suffering. spoke of. Suffering was life. for they themselves intended to abstain from on this day. that you shall find salvation!" Govinda. he did not believe that they would teach him anything new. in a voice without mockery: "Govinda. did not search. "Today. I wish that you would go it up to its end. you've always walked one step behind me. since it could not be any other way. that you also. out of his own soul? Behold. repeated his question in an impatient tone: "Speak up. For a long tome. Right afterwards. breathed of. I beg you. by the quietness of his appearance. brightly and quietly his voice hovered over the listeners." and he asked to accepted into the community of his disciples and was accepted. the shy one. it has come to you well. his feet. and it was also perfected. they heard the Buddha teaching. of the way to relieve suffering. of the repetitions. heard the contents of this Buddha's teachings again and again. taught the four main doctrines. Always. did not imitate. now you've turned into a man and are choosing your path for yourself. my honoured friend. we have both perceived the teachings. taught the eightfold path. yet firm voice the exalted one spoke. my dear! Tell me. full of suffering was the world. no effort to be seen. Govinda turned to Siddhartha and spoke eagerly: "Siddhartha. when he heard Govinda's words. and the two Samanas recognised him solely by the perfection of his calm. his quietly dangling hand. do you want to wait any longer?" Siddhartha awakened as if he had been asleep. like a starry sky. This man. But attentively he looked at Gotama's head. was of perfect calmness. he has taken refuge in it. you've been my friend. will take your refuge with the exalted Buddha!" . They saw Gotama returning—what he ate could not even have satisfied a bird's appetite." Behold.expressed perfection. exhaled the fragrant of. Never before. it is not my place to scold you. to put an end to all suffering. in which there was no searching. We have both heard the exalted one. They both followed the Buddha until they reached the town and then returned in silence. But you. Thus join us and walk in holiness. They heard his voice. of the origin of suffering. but salvation from suffering had been found: salvation was obtained by him who would walk the path of the Buddha. Siddhartha had venerated a person so much. not completely understanding it yet. Then he spoke quietly. in an unwhithering light. no imitation. just as Govinda had. he looked into Govinda's face. oh my friend. like a light. Siddhartha did not answer. Calmly and clearly his quiet speech flowed on. his shoulders. only light and peace. an untouchable peace. my learned friend. though these reports only represented second. He felt little curiosity for the teachings. but he had. was full of peace. But in the evening. many a pilgrim stepped forward and asked to accepted into the community. now you have chosen this path. Often I have thought: Won't Govinda for once also take a step by himself. without me. don't you also want to walk the path of salvation? Would you want to hesitate. glistened of truth. my friend. oh Govinda. With a soft." said Govinda. never before he had loved a person as much as this one. and they saw him retiring into the shade of the mangotrees. when the Buddha had retired for the night. This man was holy. and it seemed to him as if every joint of every finger of this hand was of these teachings. Thus Gotama walked towards the town.

renounced your free will. without gaps. went through the garden and called all those to him who had as novices taken their refuge in the teachings. this world of unity is invaded by something alien. Then Govinda broke loose. And over and over again. not depending on gods. to hear your teachings. embraced once again his childhood friend and left with the novices. something which had not been there before. renounced all friendship. But Siddhartha walked through the grove. Govinda realized that his friend had left him. Never before. Whether it may be good or bad. I had come from afar." "As you please. not depending on chance. that the great and the small things are all encompassed by the same forces of time. Everything in your teachings is perfectly clear. what fault he would find in these teachings. oh exalted one. to dress them up in the yellow robe and to instruct them in the first teachings and duties of their position. But I will again start on my pilgrimage. This is what you wanted for yourself. and he started to weep. this is what shines brightly out of your exalted teachings. And now my friend is going to stay with your people. this unity and necessary sequence of all things is nevertheless broken in one place. Quoth Siddhartha: "One thing. Govinda. one of his oldest monks. the exalted one.Siddhartha placed his hand on Govinda's shoulder: "You failed to hear my good wish for you. once he has seen the world through your teachings perfectly connected. and which cannot be demonstrated and cannot be proven: these are your teachings of overcoming the world. a chain which is never and nowhere broken. of coming into being and of dying. Govinda urged his friend. oh most venerable one. whether living according to it would be suffering or joy. the heart of every Brahman has to beat stronger with love. Siddhartha kindly spoke to him: "Don't forget. that you are now one of the Samanas of the Buddha! You have renounced your home and your parents. this has been presented so irrefutably." the venerable one spoke politely. that you shall find salvation!" In this moment. renounced your birth and possessions. I'll leave you. I'm repeating it: I wish that you would go this path up to its end. I have admired in your teachings most of all. Together with my friend. this is what the exalted one wants. lost in thought. Silently the exalted one nodded his approval. they lay there and found no sleep. Tomorrow. "Siddhartha!" he exclaimed lamentingly. oh Govinda. I had been privileged to hear your wondrous teachings. is proven. he has taken his refuge with you. the friends continued walking in the grove. a follower of Buddha. oh perfected one. that everything which happens is connected. possibly this is not essential—but the uniformity of the world. and when he greeted him with respect and the Buddha's glance was so full of kindness and calm. something new. I do not wish to discuss. never before. "but I do not want to leave the exalted one without having honestly told him my thoughts. of . But according to your very own teachings. This is what the teachings require. truly. for a long time. Govinda! Very good are the teachings of the exalted one. But Siddhartha turned him away every time and said: "Be content. Then he happened to meet Gotama. by the same law of causes. Does it please the venerable one to listen to me for one moment longer?" Silently. "Too bold is my speech. Quoth Siddhartha: "Yesterday. oh Govinda. how could I find a fault in them?" Very early in the morning. you are presenting the world as a perfect chain. this has been seen so clearly. an eternal chain the links of which are causes and effects. he should tell him why he would not want to seek refuge in Gotama's teachings. the Buddha nodded his approval." For a long time. through a small gap. the young man summoned his courage and asked the venerable one for the permission to talk to him. clear as a crystal." Siddhartha continued.

salvation. But with this small gap, with this small breach, the entire eternal and uniform law of the world is breaking apart again and becomes void. Please forgive me for expressing this objection." Quietly, Gotama had listened to him, unmoved. Now he spoke, the perfected one, with his kind, with his polite and clear voice: "You've heard the teachings, oh son of a Brahman, and good for you that you've thought about it thus deeply. You've found a gap in it, an error. You should think about this further. But be warned, oh seeker of knowledge, of the thicket of opinions and of arguing about words. There is nothing to opinions, they may be beautiful or ugly, smart or foolish, everyone can support them or discard them. But the teachings, you've heard from me, are no opinion, and their goal is not to explain the world to those who seek knowledge. They have a different goal; their goal is salvation from suffering. This is what Gotama teaches, nothing else." "I wish that you, oh exalted one, would not be angry with me," said the young man. "I have not spoken to you like this to argue with you, to argue about words. You are truly right, there is little to opinions. But let me say this one more thing: I have not doubted in you for a single moment. I have not doubted for a single moment that you are Buddha, that you have reached the goal, the highest goal towards which so many thousands of Brahmans and sons of Brahmans are on their way. You have found salvation from death. It has come to you in the course of your own search, on your own path, through thoughts, through meditation, through realizations, through enlightenment. It has not come to you by means of teachings! And—thus is my thought, oh exalted one,—nobody will obtain salvation by means of teachings! You will not be able to convey and say to anybody, oh venerable one, in words and through teachings what has happened to you in the hour of enlightenment! The teachings of the enlightened Buddha contain much, it teaches many to live righteously, to avoid evil. But there is one thing which these so clear, these so venerable teachings do not contain: they do not contain the mystery of what the exalted one has experienced for himself, he alone among hundreds of thousands. This is what I have thought and realized, when I have heard the teachings. This is why I am continuing my travels—not to seek other, better teachings, for I know there are none, but to depart from all teachings and all teachers and to reach my goal by myself or to die. But often, I'll think of this day, oh exalted one, and of this hour, when my eyes beheld a holy man." The Buddha's eyes quietly looked to the ground; quietly, in perfect equanimity his inscrutable face was smiling. "I wish," the venerable one spoke slowly, "that your thoughts shall not be in error, that you shall reach the goal! But tell me: Have you seen the multitude of my Samanas, my many brothers, who have taken refuge in the teachings? And do you believe, oh stranger, oh Samana, 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," exclaimed Siddhartha. "I wish that they shall all stay with the teachings, that they shall reach their goal! It is not my place to judge another person's life. Only for myself, for myself alone, I must decide, I must chose, I must refuse. Salvation from the self is what we Samanas search for, oh exalted one. If I merely were one of your disciples, oh venerable one, I'd fear that it might happen to me that only seemingly, only deceptively my self would be calm and be redeemed, but that in truth it would live on and grow, for then I had replaced my self with the teachings, my duty to follow you, my love for you, and the community of the monks!" With half of a smile, with an unwavering openness and kindness, Gotama looked into the stranger's eyes and bid him to leave with a hardly noticeable gesture. "You are wise, oh Samana.", the venerable one spoke. "You know how to talk wisely, my friend. Be aware of too much wisdom!" The Buddha turned away, and his glance and half of a smile remained forever etched in Siddhartha's memory. I have never before seen a person glance and smile, sit and walk this way, he thought; truly, I wish to be able to glance and smile, sit and walk this way, too, thus free, thus venerable, thus concealed, thus open, thus child-like and mysterious. Truly, only a person who has succeeded in

reaching the innermost part of his self would glance and walk this way. Well so, I also will seek to reach the innermost part of my self. I saw a man, Siddhartha thought, a single man, before whom I would have to lower my glance. I do not want to lower my glance before any other, not before any other. No teachings will entice me any more, since this man's teachings have not enticed me. I am deprived by the Buddha, thought Siddhartha, I am deprived, and even more he has given to me. He has deprived me of my friend, the one who had believed in me and now believes in him, who had been my shadow and is now Gotama's shadow. But he has given me Siddhartha, myself.

When Siddhartha left the grove, where the Buddha, the perfected one, stayed behind, where Govinda stayed behind, then he felt that in this grove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him. He pondered about this sensation, which filled him completely, as he was slowly walking along. He pondered deeply, like diving into a deep water he let himself sink down to the ground of the sensation, down to the place where the causes lie, because to identify the causes, so it seemed to him, is the very essence of thinking, and by this alone sensations turn into realizations and are not lost, but become entities and start to emit like rays of light what is inside of them. Slowly walking along, Siddhartha pondered. He realized that he was no youth any more, but had turned into a man. He realized that one thing had left him, as a snake is left by its old skin, that one thing no longer existed in him, 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. He had also left the last teacher who had appeared on his path, even him, the highest and wisest teacher, the most holy one, Buddha, he had left him, had to part with him, was not able to accept his teachings. Slower, he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself: "But what is this, what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers, and what they, who have taught you much, were still unable to teach you?" And he found: "It was the self, the purpose and essence of which I sought to learn. It was the self, I wanted to free myself from, which I sought to overcome. But I was not able to overcome it, could only deceive it, could only flee from it, only hide from it. Truly, no thing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy, as this my very own self, this mystery of me being alive, of me being one and being separated and isolated from all others, of me being Siddhartha! And there is no thing in this world I know less about than about me, about Siddhartha!" Having been pondering while slowly walking along, he now stopped as these thoughts caught hold of him, and right away another thought sprang forth from these, a new thought, which was: "That I know nothing about myself, that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me, stems from one cause, a single cause: I was afraid of myself, I was fleeing from myself! I searched Atman, I searched Brahman, I was willing to to dissect my self and peel off all of its layers, to find the core of all peels in its unknown interior, the Atman, life, the divine part, the ultimate part. But I have lost myself in the process." Siddhartha opened his eyes and looked around, a smile filled his face and a feeling of awakening from long dreams flowed through him from his head down to his toes. And it was not long before he walked again, walked quickly like a man who knows what he has got to do. "Oh," he thought, taking a deep breath, "now I would not let Siddhartha escape from me again! No longer, I want to begin my thoughts and my life with Atman and with the suffering of the world. I do not want to kill and dissect myself any longer, to find a secret behind the ruins. Neither YogaVeda shall teach me any more, nor Atharva-Veda, nor the ascetics, nor any kind of teachings. I want to learn from myself, want to be my student, want to get to know myself, the secret of Siddhartha." He looked around, as if he was seeing the world for the first time. Beautiful was the world, colourful was the world, strange and mysterious was the world! Here was blue, here was yellow, here was green, the sky and the river flowed, the forest and the mountains were rigid, all of it was beautiful, all of it was mysterious and magical, and in its midst was he, Siddhartha, the awakening one, on the path to himself. All of this, all this yellow and blue, river and forest, entered Siddhartha for the first time through the eyes, was no longer a spell of Mara, was no longer the veil of Maya, was no longer a pointless and coincidental diversity of mere appearances, despicable to the deeply thinking Brahman, who scorns diversity, who seeks unity. Blue was blue, river was river, and if also in the blue and the river, in Siddhartha, the singular and divine lived hidden, so it was still that very divinity's way and purpose, to be here yellow, here blue, there sky, there forest, and here Siddhartha. The purpose and the essential properties were not somewhere behind the things, they

after years as an ascetic. shared their life. spoke his language. already on the path towards himself. who was indeed like someone who had just woken up or like a new-born baby. "When someone reads a text. Whatever should I do at home and at my father's place? Study? Make offerings? Practise meditation? But all this is over. had been a Brahman. Siddhartha stopped once again. suddenly. But I. out of this moment of a cold and despair. Nobody was thus alone as he was. and found refuge with them. when he stopped as if a snake was lying on his path. Siddhartha emerged. I am not a priest any more. he was also surrounded by a place he belonged to. "How deaf and stupid have I been!" he thought. he felt cold and shivered. Still. the awoken one. and worthless hull. he had been his father's son. he was nothing but Siddhartha. he had been without home and had felt nothing. more a self than before." Motionless. he also belonged to a caste. would return to his home and his father.were in them. this is over. as a small animal. regarded as natural and took for granted. he will not scorn the symbols and letters and call them deceptions. that he. and even the most forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one and alone. as if there was a snake lying in front of him on the path. no longer to his father. Govinda had become a monk. would when seeing how alone he was. But now. no longer back. I have. in everything. more firmly concentrated. and for a moment. he had to start his life anew and start again at the very beginning. walking swiftly along. but he will read them. of a high caste. scorned the symbols and letters. all of this is no longer alongside my path. nothing else was left. already awakening. For many years. coincidence. no worker that did not belong to the workers. started to proceed swiftly and impatiently. Siddhartha remained standing there. And it was not long until he walked again in long strides. a cleric. called my eyes and my tongue coincidental and worthless forms without substance. I have indeed awakened and have not been born before this very day. I am no ascetic any more. in which he was at home. the grove of that exalted one. who wanted to read the book of the world and the book of my own being. But he. where did he belong to? With whom would he share his life? Whose language would he speak? Out of this moment. spoke their language. I am no Brahman any more. he had also become aware of this: He. letter by letter. . Deeply. heading no longer for home. I called the visible world a deception. no ascetic who would not find his refuge in the caste of the Samanas. he felt it. wore the same robe as he. wants to discover its meaning. a bird or a rabbit. He felt: This had been the last tremor of the awakening. for the sake of a meaning I had anticipated before I read. his heart felt cold. I have awakened. believed in his faith. he felt a cold in his chest. he he had every intention. only in this moment. even in the deepest meditation. Now." In thinking this thoughts. No Brahman. the last struggle of this birth. No. he will study and love them. and for the time of one moment and breath. when the world melted away all around him. when he stood alone like a star in the sky. When he had left in this very morning from the grove Jetavana. and a thousand monks were his brothers. Now. who would not be regarded as Brahmans and lived with them. Because suddenly. Siddhartha. There was no nobleman who did not belong to the noblemen. he also awoke to this realization: "But I am no longer the one I was. he inhaled.

SECOND PART Dedicated to Wilhelm Gundert. my cousin in Japan .

At night. a voice in his own heart. the goat and the gold-beetle. thus childlike. No. the conversation with the exalted one. at that time. the farewell from Govinda. deceptive veil before his eyes. since it was not the essential existence. Both. what he now began to experience. distant hight mountains which were blue and pale. impetuously hunting. Siddhartha saw a male sheep following a female one and mating with her. which had commanded him to seek rest under this tree. and heard their savage. thus to walk through the world. on the other side of. and not the spectacle of the senses. his liberated eyes stayed on this side. except where the voice would advise him to do so. the glistening dew in the bushes in the morning. from both the secret voices of the innermost truth had to be attentively perceived. treasure and secret was not the teachings. because he had wanted to capture it in the net of thought. every hour sped swiftly away like a sail on the sea. He saw the sun rising over the mountains with their forests and setting over the distant beach with its palm-trees. Siddhartha saw a group of apes moving through the high canopy of the forest. he saw the stars in the sky in their fixed positions and the crescent of the moon floating like a boat in the blue. birds sang and bees. 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. he saw and became aware of the visible. if the random self of thoughts and learned knowledge was fattened on the other hand. Beautiful and lovely it was. thus childlike. but the unexpressable and not teachable. Again he remembered his own words. he saw the pike hungrily hunting for its dinner. the scent of strength and passion came forcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water. With the body definitely not being the self. he had really found this self. the teaching he had heard there. which he had experienced in the hour of his enlightenment—it was nothing but this very thing which he had now gone to experience. ablutions. except for what the voice commanded him to strive for. where the enlightenment hit him? He had heard a voice. since this essence lay beyond. and he had not seen it. sought to be at home in this world. He wanted to strive for nothing. propelling themselves away from it. clouds. stream and river. did not search for the true essence. Why had Gotama. in the hour of all hours. had always been there. and his heart was enchanted. the thoughts as well as the senses. In a lake of reeds. It is true that he had already known for a long time that his self was Atman. always rivers had roared and bees had buzzed. the forest and the rocks. in fear. But never. All of this. On the way. the visible. thus open to what is near. Siddhartha also remembered everything he had experienced in the Garden Jetavana. herbs. he was part of it. All of this had always existed. Differently the sun burnt the head. wind silverishly blew through the rice-field. a thousand-fold and colourful. looked upon in distrust. both had to be played with. not the learned ability to draw conclusions and to develop previous thoughts in to new ones. and under the sail was a ship full of treasures. nor . full of joy. Light and shadow ran through his eyes. and he had neither preferred self-castigation. Beautiful was this world. the pumpkin and the banana tasted. and nothing could be achieved by killing the random self of the senses. high in the branches. he had not been with it. wiggling and sparkling. thus awoken. he had to experience his self. in its essence bearing the same eternal characteristics as Brahman. Short were the days. differently the stream and the cistern. this world of thought was also still on this side. the ultimate meaning was hidden behind both of them. thus without distrust. so it also was not the thought. offerings. rocks. the Buddha's. beautiful was the stream and the banks. both neither had to be scorned nor overestimated. without searching. destined to be penetrated and destroyed by thought. he had spoken to the exalted one. but in former times all of this had been nothing more to Siddhartha than a fleeting. stars and moon ran through his heart. dwell on nothing. the young fish jumped in droves out of the water. greedy song. rainbows. What he had said to Gotama: his. short the nights. for the world was transformed. the divine Buddha. thus simply. did not aim at a world beyond. were pretty things. stars. But now. not the rational mind. Now. animals. He saw trees.KAMALA Siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path. Now he was with it. every word. flowers. both had to be listened to. always the sun and the moon had shone. not the learned wisdom. looking at it thus. sat down under the bo-tree. which the pike stirred up. differently the shade of the forest cooled him down. the flower and the butterfly. Beautiful were the moon and the stars.

of every joyful desire. a young woman was kneeling and washing clothes. not to an external command. This too. my benefactor. of animal and flower. sadly he asked: Why have you forsaken me? At this. and in the forest. with contracted pupils. In front of the mud cottages. Commemorate me. the pale river shimmered through the door of the hut. children were rolling about in the street. Siddhartha was happy about the friendship and the kindness of the ferryman. "This is a beautiful river. Siddhartha asked his host. Samana. screamed and wrestled. of sun and forest. "and I haven't expected any payment from you and no gift which would be the custom for guests to bear. asked whether he had eaten already. 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. he embraced Govinda. a son of a Brahman and a Samana. he had obeyed the voice. wrapped his arms around him. "all I meet on my path are like Govinda. To obey like this. disembarking on the other side of the river. she lifted her head and looked up to him with a smile. this was necessary. "I have no gift I could give you for your hospitality. "He is like Govinda. but since he had never ." spoke the ferryman. when you'll make offerings to the gods. All are submissive. sweetly and strongly tasted the milk from this breast. Siddhartha had a dream: Govinda was standing in front of him. were playing with pumpkin-seeds and sea-shells." he said to his companion." Smiling. as it is the custom among travellers. It intoxicated him and rendered him unconscious. at which Siddhartha lay and drank. beautifully her wet mouth was shimmering in her young face. and by the side of the stream. "Surely. and since in this moment he had to think of his dream again. While talking. a dark call of an owl resounded deeply and pleasantly. all would like to be friends. I love it more than anything. will come back. but a woman. I am a man without a home. the wide water shimmered reddishly in the light of the morning. and a full breast popped out of the woman's dress. the ferryman." he thought with a smile. Sad was how Govinda looked like. When the day began. Siddhartha felt his blood heating up. All are thankful. but they all timidly fled from the unknown Samana. often I have looked into its eyes. In the night when he slept in the straw hut of a ferryman by the river. neither food nor drink. he saw her face smiling full of lust and her eyes. he bend slightly down to the woman and kissed with his lips the brown nipple of her breast." "I did see it. this was good. the path led through a stream.—When Siddhartha woke up. Smiling." spoke Siddhartha. so that he saw the white in her eyes glistening. and as he was pulling him close to his chest and kissed him. Now farewell! Let your friendship be my reward. It tasted of woman and man. which the textbooks call "climbing a tree". though they are the ones who would have a right to receive thanks. She exchanged humorous banter with him. Looking up. of every fruit. like to obey. Often I have listened to it. Much can be learned from a river. He called out a blessing to her. and always I have learned from it." "Do you think so?" asked Siddhartha amusedly. only to the voice. When Siddhartha greeted her. I have learned from the river: everything is coming back! You too. In the end of the village. they parted. Then she got up and came to him. 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. Siddhartha also felt desire and felt the source of his sexuality moving." "I than you. Like children are all people." said the ferryman. "Yes. begging with desire. and also no payment for your work. to get him across the river." At about noon. neither sleep nor dream. he came through a village. to be ready like this. nothing else was necessary. my dear. think little. The ferryman got him across the river on his bamboo-raft. dressed in the yellow robe of an ascetic. "a very beautiful river.prayer. and asked how far he still had to go to reach the large city. it was not Govinda any more. You will give me the gift another time.

read for a moment in the smart eyes with the high arcs above. she owned a house in the city. carried by four servants in an ornamental sedan-chair. He bowed deeply. Before the city. he reached the large city before the evening. where Kamala was lying on a couch. he slept this night. and then the servant as well. how rejecting. I am still a Samana. Then. saw the servants. with wide golden bracelets over the wrists. long and thin. resting fair hands. Siddhartha stopped at the entrance to the pleasure-garden and watched the parade. "It's true that I've already seen and greeted you yesterday. with a charming omen. Siddhartha saw how beautiful she was. 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. in which he had slept that night. aside from the grove. all charms disappeared from the young woman's smiling face. on red pillows under a colourful canopy. without a word into a pavilion. who was following him. Politely. very smart face. which made to tower high on her head. and straightening up again. and left him alone with her. and long hair. he did not know. whom he told about stories of Vishnu and the Lakshmi. saw the sedan-chair and saw the lady in it. Under black hair. Then he went to take his bath in the river. drifted through the flow of the streets. In their midst. he had the barber's assistant shave his beard and cut his hair. he petted her cheek. beautiful Kamala approached her grove in her sedan-chair. and early in the morning. the traveller came across a small group of servants. to follow him conducted him. When late in the afternoon. and was happy. eyebrows which were well tended and painted in a high arch. while his hands were already prepared to reach out for her. stood still on the squares. had been the first roof for a long time he has had over his head." "But didn't you yesterday wear a beard. After a while. a clear. smart and watchful dark eyes. who had been waiting. greeting me?" asked Kamala. the maids. he made friends with barber's assistant. when the sedan-chair came closer. On this day. how despicable. For a long time. asked him. turned away from her and disappeared away from the disappointed woman with light steps into the bamboo-wood. Thus I am entering this city. the baskets. breathed in a slight fragrant. and this voice said No. a brightly red mouth. Pursuing his goal. he had lived in the forests. in a beautifully fenced grove. Now he had a goal. before the first customers came into his shop. but he thought about it. Siddhartha was standing at the entrance. I will not be able to enter the grove like this. for he felt the need to be among people. and only now he became aware of how the servants and maids had looked at him at the entrance. the mistress. I must not remain like this. and his heart rejoiced. tall neck rising from a green and golden garment. shuddering with awe. With a smile. very delicate. charming face. he looked at the fair. how distrustful. the beautiful women nodded for a moment and disappeared into the grove. the voice if his innermost self. comb his hair and anoint it with fine oil. sat a woman. And in this moment he heard. he hesitated for a moment. and the straw hut of the ferryman. he entered the city. both male and female. rested on the stairs of stone by the river. Siddhartha thought. He instantly felt drawn into the grove. "Weren't you already standing out there yesterday. like a freshly cracked fig. and dust in your hair?" . the famous courtesan. he no longer saw anything else but the damp glance of a female animal in heat. The next person who came along this path he asked about the grove and for the name of the woman. whom he found again praying in a temple of Vishnu. whom he had seen working in the shade of an arch in a building.touched a woman before. Among the boats by the river. he saw a very fair. and was told that this was the grove of Kamala. And he laughed. I am still an ascetic and beggar. When the evening came. Then. the servant returned. and that. carrying baskets. he allowed the city to suck him in. he thought. made a bow and received the courtesan's greeting.

In this. torn loin-cloth! Many young men come to me. that a Samana from the forest came to me and wanted to learn from me! Never before this has happened to me. pretty shoes. my dear. I have already learned harder things than what you're supposed to teach me. nor you from mine! So it ." Siddhartha bowed with a smile. have combed the hair. pretty clothes. You have seen Siddhartha. receiving it as a gift. have oil in my hair. and lots of money in his pouch. And asked: "And only to tell me this. the Samana. was you. for I know nothing yet of that art which you have mastered in the highest degree. He could hurt you. it would be a pity. you'll see. Did any Samana or Brahman ever fear. who has left his home to become a Samana. and who has been a Samana for three years. they come in fine shoes. buying. Kamala. who is coming from the jackals and doesn't even know yet what women are?" "Oh. Siddhartha has set harder goals for himself than such trifles. And now let's get to it: You aren't satisfied with Siddhartha as he is. but just try to kiss it against Kamala's will. my friend. it will be a suitable match for yours. Samana from the forest? Did you mark my words?" "Yes. without money?" Laughing." At this. I have come to you. "It would be a pity. they have perfume in their hair and money in their pouches. No. oh Kamala! You are the first woman whom Siddhartha is not addressing with his eyes turned to the ground. 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. Even yesterday. I am not afraid of this. the son of a Brahman. and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from it. but it cannot be stolen. Kamala exclaimed: "No. Do you know it now. you have come up with the wrong path. for they are his very own. money in my pouch." Siddhartha exclaimed. thus you should also learn this: love can be obtained by begging. Kamala. Never again I want to turn my eyes to the ground. and gifts for Kamala. and his depth of thought? No. You shall know. how the young men are like who come to me. I have left that path and came into this city. aren't you at all afraid of the Samana from the forest. I have marked your words. but they come in beautiful clothes. if a pretty young man like you would want to tackle it in such a wrong manner. "Never before this has happened to me. oh excellent one: fine clothes. he's strong. And if it doesn't displease you. beautiful girl. but without clothes. and he would only give away from those whatever he is willing to give and to whomever he is willing to give. "How should I not mark words which are coming from such a mouth! Your mouth is like a freshly cracked fig. which knows how to give so many sweet things! You are learning easily. He could kidnap you. Clothes are what he must have. and the first one I met." "No." Kamala smiled and played with her fan of peacocks' feathers. Kamala. To say this. Kamala laughed aloud. a stupid Samana from the forest. and he isn't afraid of anything. Kamala. My mouth is red and fresh as well. fine shoes. someone might come and grab him and steal his learning. Like this it is. even before I had entered the city. he doesn't satisfy me yet. This is. No. oh Samana. Samana. precisely like this it is also with Kamala and with the pleasures of love. He could force you. I shall not lose a single drop of sweetness from your mouth. finding it in the street. and there are also sons of Brahmans among them. without shoes. you are so right! It would be such a great pity. and his religious devotion. you have seen everything. that a Samana came to me with long hair and an old. and he has reached them. Siddhartha.—But tell me. beautiful Kamala. who has come to learn how to make love?" "Whatever for should I be afraid of a Samana." Quoth Siddhartha: "Already I am starting to learn from you. I would like to ask you to be my friend and teacher. How shouldn't I reach that goal. Beautiful and red is Kamala's mouth. when I'm coming across a beautiful woman. Siddhartha has come to me?" "To tell you this and to thank you for being so beautiful. But now. I have already taken off my beard. There is little which is still missing in me. I was already learning. with oil in his hair."You have observed well. and shoes.

so that the golden bracelets clanged. I have read the scriptures—" "Stop. shoes. I also can't do it." exclaimed Kamala. Kamala kissed him. "You're able to read? And write?" "Certainly. he was still to receive. I can fast. who is coming from the jackals of the forest?" "Dear Kamala. You will also still find use for the magic spells. "Beautiful are your verses." exclaimed Kamala. But what will become of you? Aren't you able to do anything else but thinking. a maid came running in and whispered a message into her mistress's ear. There is no other way for a poor man to obtain money. shoes. these verses: Into her shady grove stepped the pretty Kamala. very good. clothes. and was in this moment astonished like a child about the cornucopia of knowledge and things worth learning. this I am able to do." "Most people can't. he remained standing where he was. lovely Kamala. money. Bowed that man. "Very beautiful are your verses. many would like to know this. Breathing deeply. You must do what you've learned and ask for money. Would you like to give me a kiss for a poem?" "I would like to. It is very good that you're able to read and write. oh brown Samana. Kamala loudly clapped her hands. Deeply. if I'll like your poem. "Yes. once he'll have have what he still lacks: clothes. Many people can do this. But it will be difficult for you to earn thus much money with verses as you need. I also know magic spells. thus advise me where I should go to. For a long time. how she controlled him. More lovely. and smiling Kamala thanked. "Hurry and get yourself away. and truly. how wise she was. thought the young man. but I do not want to speak them any more." She beckoned him with her eyes. nobody ." In this moment." said Siddhartha. For you need a lot of money. I can wait. lured him. What might you be able to do?" "I can think. "but I do not want to sing them any more." "Nothing else?" "Nothing. and how after this first one there was to be a long." "The way you're able to kiss. bracelets. I can also write poetry. making poetry?" "I also know the sacrificial songs. than offerings for gods. But speak. Kamala!" stammered Siddhartha. Siddhartha. after he had thought about it for a moment. and all beautiful things. and with a deep astonishment Siddhartha felt how she taught him. that I'll find these three things most quickly?" "Friend. therefore I do not lack clothes. "There's a visitor for me. More lovely is offering to pretty Kamala. he tilted his head so that his face touched hers and placed his mouth on that mouth which was like a freshly cracked fig. which revealed itself before his settled: Siddhartha will return. I'm losing nothing when I'm giving you a kiss for them. couldn't you still give me one small advice?" "An advice? Why not? Who wouldn't like to give an advice to a poor. I can do this. At the grove's entrance stood the brown Samana. and shoes in return. a well ordered. if you want to be Kamala's friend. everyone different from the others." Kamala interrupted him. But yes. I would give you pieces of gold for them. What would be its title?" Siddhartha spoke. ignorant Samana. "if I was rich. seeing the lotus's blossom. fasting. rejected him. well tested sequence of kisses.

and to fast. From that moment on when I had made this resolution." He had already discovered Kamala's house in the city long before. a resolution. he is drawn. carrying the rolled up garments under his arm." she said when they parted. at your first glance at the entrance of the grove I already knew it. she sent for bread and fruits and treated him to it. Suddenly. this a small. "I'm opening one door after another for you. and soon I'll be a merchant and have money and all those things you insist upon. without stirring. remember this! Tomorrow. he is the richest merchant of the city. near goals. if Kamala wasn't helping you?" "Dear Kamala. You'll see that the stupid Samanas are learning and able to do many pretty things in the forest. brought into a garden-house avoiding the direct path. easy like that lessons in kissing. Being accustomed to the forest. he thinks. it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water.may see you in here. He was no Samana any more. I did the first step. he'll entrust you with a lot. he lets himself fall. he fasts. Be smart. they won't make a person lose any sleep. I also knew that I would carry it out. But it is useful for many things. brown Samana. which Kamala is giving me. I knew that you would help me. he returned to the city. or else I won't be satisfied with you. His goal attracts him." "Well yes. Contently. led into the bushes. Now." she called out to him. he'll accept you into his service. Siddhartha does nothing. without doing anything. Look. which the likes of you aren't capable of. Kamala: When you throw a rock into the water." But to the maid she gave the order to give the pious Brahman white upper garments. you shall become his equal. he thought. as soon as yesterday I have kissed Kamala. because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. but you thought this was of no use. "You've been lucky. everything is easy. without words he asked for food. he managed to get out of the grove and over the hedge without making a sound. Everything was difficult. toilsome. Siddhartha found himself being dragged away by the maid. and when she found out that he had not eaten anything yesterday and today. he is very powerful. without a word he accepted a piece of rice-cake. being given upper garments as a gift. when I was still a Samana. but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water. He gave the rice-cake to a dog and remained without food. he did as he had been told. At the inn. Without fully understanding what was happening to him. and urgently admonished to get himself out of the grove as soon as possible without being seen. How come? Do you have a spell?" Siddhartha said: "Yesterday. pride flared up in him. "when I came to you into your grove. "They are expecting you at Kamaswami's. where travellers stay. "Things are working out well. Contently. I had others tell him about you. "But where would you be without me? What would you be. you'll see. "It presents no difficulties. I'll see you again." Siddhartha thanked her and laughed. he waits. Kamaswami is starting to get old and lazy. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow. The day before yesterday. I will ask no one for food any more. there he turned up the following day. I need clothes and money. Kamala." thought Siddhartha." "But what if I hadn't been willing?" "You were willing. to wait. nothing else. and ultimately hopeless. This is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal. he positioned himself by the door. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. I was still a shaggy beggar. Be polite towards him. it was no longer becoming to him to beg. This is what fools call magic and . If he'll like you. "Simple is the life which people lead in this world here. It was my resolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman." she admitted. But don't be too modest! I do not want you to become his servant. I told you I knew how to think." said Siddhartha and straightened up to his full height. If he'll like you.

that his glance pleases the women. if he is able to fast. everyone can reach his goals. she loved the look from his eyes. "Perhaps it is so." Kamala listened to him. that always good fortune shall come to me out of your direction!" ." With one kiss. that therefore good fortune is coming towards him. But perhaps it is also like this: that Siddhartha is a handsome man. Nothing is effected by daemons. friend. Siddhartha bid his farewell. "I wish that it should be this way. "as you say. my teacher. that my glance shall please you. if he is able to wait.of which they think it would be effected by means of the daemons. if he is able to think. there are no daemons. Everyone can perform magic." she said quietly. She loved his voice.

sir. "if this is what you mean. Kamaswami entered. "that you were a Brahman. being without possessions?" "I haven't thought of this yet. When a person has nothing to eat." "But if you don't mind me asking: being without possessions. Samana. But like this. I have been without possessions. the farmer rice." "Well said. for example. sir. Siddhartha hadn't learned to fast. with very intelligent. where he awaited the master of the house." "So you've lived of the possessions of others." "But what are you planning to live of. he was directed into a rich house. smoothly moving man with very gray hair. everyone gives." said Siddhartha. that's everything!" "And what's the use of that? For example." "If you're coming from the Samanas. with a greedy mouth. such is life. "I have been told. sir. so that you seek to serve?" "No. a merchant also lives of what other people own. Everyone takes. The warrior gives strength. After all. the teacher teachings. a learned man." Kamaswami left the room and returned with a scroll." "So it seems to be indeed. But I am so voluntarily." "Yes indeed. with whom I have lived for a long time. Might you have become destitute. what would you like to give?" "Everyone gives what he has." "That's everything?" "I believe." "Presumable this is how it is. a swiftly. But he wouldn't take anything from another person for nothing. cautious eyes. how could you be anything but destitute? Aren't the Samanas entirely without possessions?" "I am without possessions. which he handed to his guest while asking: . I am without possessions.WITH THE CHILDLIKE PEOPLE Siddhartha went to Kamaswami the merchant. servants led him between precious carpets into a chamber. fasting is the smartest thing he could do. Politely. Surely. and therefore I am not destitute. what you're able to do?" "I can think. For more than three years. I can fast. and have never thought about of what I should live. You should know that I'm coming from the Samanas. he knows no impatience. for a long time he can allow hunger to besiege him and can laugh about it. is what fasting is good for. he would have to accept any kind of service before this day is up. whether it may be with you or wherever. the fasting—what is it good for?" "It is very good. the fisher fish." the merchant began. And what is it now what you've got to give? What is it that you've learned. Siddhartha can wait calmly. the host and the guest greeted one another." said Siddhartha. he knows no emergency. he would give his merchandise in return. Brahman. When." "You're right. the merchant gives merchandise. because hunger would force him to do so. "I have not become destitute and have never been destitute. Wait for a moment. This. I can wait. but that you seek to be in the service of a merchant.

Then. wearing pretty clothes. And thinking of Kamala's words. who was. and Siddhartha wrote and returned the paper. the merchant. the rules of which he tried hard to learn precisely. her friend. I'm asking you to be my guest and to live in this house. When he made a profit. Him. became her student. they never fully become a part of him. "Excellent. nit with the business of Kamaswami. shipping and trade. when he already took part in his landlords business. Kamaswami read: "Writing is good. he heard a lot and spoke little. him she taught. and began to read out its contents. Being smart is good. Here with Kamala was the worth and purpose of his present life." Kamaswami followed the advice. still a boy and had a tendency to plunge blindly and insatiably into lust like into a bottomless pit. Siddhartha got to know many new things. her lover. and ate neither meat nor did he drink wine. showed him the merchandise and storagerooms. at the hour appointed by her. "This Brahman. which would bring happiness to those who know about it and unleash it. "is no proper merchant and will never be one. a plentiful meal was served. 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. regarding love. Kamaswami conducted his business with care and often with passion. thinking is better. that lovers must not part from one another after celebrating love. but Siddhartha only ate once a day. in calmness and equanimity. but Siddhartha looked upon all of this as if it was a game. he visited beautiful Kamala. but the contents of which did not touch his heart. and shoes." said Kamaswami. thoroughly starting with the basics. magic. For today." Siddhartha thanked and accepted. Wonderful hours he spent with the beautiful and smart artist. Twice a day. whether this may be a good star of his birth. and soon he brought her gifts as well. But daily. he was never subservient to the merchant. when there is a loss. and in the art of listening and deeply understanding previously unknown people. and that Siddhartha surpassed him. Much he learned from her tender. when he made losses. yes even more than an equal. fine shoes. 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. he accepted it with equanimity. smart mouth. he laughed and said: "Well. He soon saw that Siddhartha knew little about rice and wool. But he has that mysterious quality of those people to whom success comes all by itself. But Siddhartha cared little about this. but that he acted in a fortunate manner." he said to a friend. "Many a thing we will still have to discuss with one another. and that every gesture. "And would you write something for me on this piece of paper?" He handed him a piece of paper and a pen."Can you read this?" Siddhartha looked at the scroll. they never rule over him. about that school of thought which teaches that pleasure cannot be be taken without giving pleasure. forced him to treat him as an equal." The friend advised the merchant: "Give him from the business he conducts for you a third of the profits. had its secret. being patient is better. She taught him. without one admiring the other. every spot of the body. or something he has learned among Samanas. Clothes were brought to him. he is never upset by a loss. every look." the merchant praised him. He always seems to be merely playing with out business-affairs. and every day. however small it was. showed him calculations. every touch. there is never any passion in his soul when he conducts our business. every caress. he is never afraid of failure. on which a sales-contract had been written down. but let him also be liable for the same amount of the losses. he'll become more zealous. without being just as defeated as they have been victorious. Kamaswami told him about his trade. a servant prepared a bath for him. look at this. He was not in Kamaswami's house for long. supple hand. so this one turned out badly!" . Much he learned from her red. and lived in the dealers house from now on." "It is excellent how you're able to write.

let's be satisfied with one another. Nevertheless. 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. whose businesses. I have received kindness and trust. Besides from this. he saw them scolding and insulting each other. I am very satisfied with this trip. if I had been Kamaswami. in living with all of them. you ought to be the one seeking to learn from me. He was open to everything. gave copper-coins to their children. Look. for little pleasures. had joy.It seemed indeed. However easily he succeeded in talking to all of them. Welcome was the merchant who offered him linen for sale. These are your areas of expertise. But like this. I've neither harmed myself nor others by annoyance and hastiness. If a loss has occurred. worries. He saw them toiling. saw them suffering. he listened curiously and happily. for being slightly honoured. Kamaswami held against him that he had learned everything he knew from him. I haven't learned to think from you. for money. 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. to sleep badly. or a debtor seemed to be unable to pay. 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. But until then. leave it as it is. I've learned. Whether there was a business-deal going on which was in danger of failing. these people brought his way. my dear. joined in the celebration of a wedding. When. and acts of foolishness used to be as alien and distant to him as the moon. my dear Kamaswami. that he had wasted time and money. crafts. For what else? I have gotten to know people and places. The business was good enough to provide him with the money for Kamala. children have sat on my knees. Kamaswami held against him that he had not turned back right away. being annoyed and in a hurry. or rather they both ate other people's bread. I would have travelled back. welcome was the debtor who sought another loan. as if he did not care about the business. Siddhartha ate his own bread. pleasures. as soon as I had seen that my purchase had been rendered impossible." Indeed his soul was not with the trade." "That's all very nice. treated the farmers for a drink. and time and money would indeed have been lost. and becoming gray for the sake of things which seemed to him to entirely unworthy of this price. then speak a word and Siddhartha will go on his own path. one ought to think! Or might you have only travelled for your amusement?" "Surely. perhaps to buy an upcoming harvest. when you will see: this Siddhartha is harming me. I have gotten to know many kinds of people. let me bear that loss. "surely I have travelled for my amusement. friendly people will receive me in a friendly and happy manner. and I will praise myself for not showing any hurry and displeasure at that time. dear friend! Nothing was ever achieved by scolding. When Kamaswami came to him. At one time. he was still aware that there was something which separated him from them and this separating factor was him being a Samana. I've had a few good days. the rice had already been sold to another merchant. which he loved and also despised at the same time. Siddhartha stayed for several days in that village. "but in fact. tried to understand him. to complain about his worries or to reproach him concerning his business." exclaimed Kamaswami indignantly. farmers have shown me their fields. He saw mankind going trough life in a childlike or animallike manner. and returned extremely satisfied from his trip. all people's bread. Siddhartha never listened to Kamaswami's worries and Kamaswami had many worries. to have wrinkles on the forehead. he travelled to a village to buy a large harvest of rice there. But when he got there. or for whatever purpose it might be. I have found friendship. to convince Siddhartha that he should eat his bread. and it earned him much more than he needed. Siddhartha's interest and curiosity was only concerned with the people. So. my friend. Siddhartha answered: "Stop scolding. or whether a shipment of merchandise seemed to have been lost. And if I'll ever return there again. you are a merchant after all. nobody knew that I was a merchant. one day. Kamaswami could never convince his partner that it would be useful to utter a few words of worry or anger." Siddhartha laughed." Futile were also the merchant's attempts. was puzzled by him. and don't harm yourself by scolding! If the day will come. and suffering because of deprivations which a Samana would not feel. . a Brahman has become my friend. he saw them complaining about pain at which a Samana would only smile. in learning from all of them.

in which more than in anything else giving and taking becomes one. "I ever saw." . with the people around him. learned the art of love. you love nobody. of him doing lots of things which were only a game. though being happy and feeling joy at times. and wavers. you are different from most people. more willing. and they played the game of love. "that's not the reason why. Thousands of followers are listening to his teachings every day. received advice. And there were many who came to him. which had grown tired. he made gifts. my dear. he let them cheat him a bit. Kamala. but they are all falling leaves. found amusement in them. I'll never be able to forget him. many to cheat him. You also do not love—how else could you practise love as a craft? Perhaps. Few people have this. took a long look at his face." said Siddhartha. quiet voice. Isn't it so?" "It might very well be so. Kamaswami is just as smart as I. people of our kind can't love. "No. rejected him. "You are the best lover. follow his instructions every hour. He gave advice." Kamala looked at him with a smile. enticed him. you're talking about him. she was more similar to him. he became aware of the strange life he was leading. and inside of you. many to appeal to his sympathy. that's their secret. at his eyes. to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home at yourself. You've learned my art well. The childlike people can. and turned away from him. of. who is spreading that teachings. really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator. 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. more supple. with his heart. But again and again. "again. as I can also do. She understood him better than Govinda used to understand him. You're stronger than others.consented that he was a little bit right." said Kamala. many to draw some secret out of him. far away from him. For a long time. one of the thirty or forty different games Kamala knew. really to live. practised the cult of lust. he said to her: "You are like me. embraced him: enjoyed his masterful skills. who are small children with respect to their mind. "I am like you. gave her advice. there is a peace and refuge. many to get his advice. And yet." Siddhartha said tiredly. you've remained a Samana. and tumbles to the ground." she said thoughtfully. with the source of his being. learned from her. nothing else. not in themselves they have teachings and a law. he who had learned from her how to make love. towards the next person who would ask for him. Among all the learned men and Samanas. At times he felt. I'd want to bear your child. a dying. deep in his chest. was knowledgeable of many forms of lust." she said. lamented quietly. he hardly perceived it. and yet you do not love me." "Not all people are smart. he played with his business-deals. And then. many to do business with him. are like a falling leaf. are like stars. many secrets. had nothing to do with his life any more. Most people. which is blown and is turning around through the air. Once. only as much as he considered indispensable. and still has no refuge in himself. 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. ran and ran invisibly. watched them. he pitied. You are Kamala. forced him. Siddhartha. for an hour. chatted with her. no wind reaches them. she played with Siddhartha. really to act. a perfected one. "Again. It is that Gotama. the exalted one. Others have it. you're having a Samana's thoughts. As a ball-player plays with his balls. At some time. and yet all could have it. he was not with them. they go on a fixed course. there was one of this kind. in themselves they have their law and their course. The courtesan bent over him. when I'll be older. real life still passing him by and not touching him. Her body was flexible like that of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter. he came back to beautiful Kamala. until he was defeated and rested exhausted by her side. a few. But others." Siddhartha said nothing. which admonished him quietly. The source ran somewhere. of which I knew many.


he envied them. had realized this quite right. Slowly. Just slowly. had slowly become a memory. the wheel of differentiation for a long time. something of their childlikeness and of their fearfulness. had tasted power. Years passed by. Nevertheless. of his eternal entity. Siddhartha hardly felt them fading away. being smart. He had become rich. and to drink wine. he had learned from Gotama. with the same disdain which a Samana constantly feels for the people of the world. with honours or money. still turning. among his growing riches. the fearful but sweet happiness of being constantly in love. of waiting. in the morning after having had company the night before. many things he had learned from the Samanas. when he was vexed by his worries as a merchant. hours of meditation. nevertheless he had still remained in his heart for a long time a Samana. when he lost a . Siddhartha had always watched it with mockery. still the people of the world. He envied them for the one thing that was missing from him and that they had. It happened that he laughed just too loud. filling it slowly and making it rot. that proud state of standing alone without teachings and without teachers. they came to him. The people liked him. had remained alien to him as he was alien to them. Siddhartha had assumed something of the childlike people's ways for himself. felt unable to think and tired. to watch dancing girls. Many a part of this he still had. to use his power over people. he had tasted riches. It happened more and more often that. envied them just the more. had remained within him for a long time afterwards: moderate living. his senses had become alive. he learned from them out of all things the unpleasant ones. even meat and poultry. secret knowledge of the self. with women. which he had killed off in hot years as a Samana. slowly it filled his soul. which guided his life. of fasting. will keep on turning for a long time and only slowly lose its vigour and come to a stop. These people were all of the time in love with themselves. except Kamala. with their children. after the separation from Govinda. to give orders to servants. but there was nobody close to him. he had learned to wear beautiful clothes. the wheel of thinking. he had learned from his father the Brahman. much they had experienced. had awoken again. joy of thinking.SANSARA For a long time. that supple willingness to listen to the divine voice in his own heart. always he had watched them with some mockery. which used to be near. and a garden before the city by the river. which causes sloth and forgetfulness. once it has been set in motion. On the other hand. when he was annoyed. his mockery had become more tired. had been fleeting. which used to murmur within himself. this joy of a child and this foolishness of a child. Kamala. Just slowly and imperceptibly. Just as a potter's wheel. in those days after Gotama's sermon. bright state of being awake. the world and sloth had entered Siddhartha's soul. had tasted lust. but one part after another had been submerged and had gathered dust. which he had experienced that one time at the height of his youth. the holy source murmured. thus Siddhartha's soul had kept on turning the wheel of asceticism. He had learned to eat tenderly and carefully prepared food. there was much they had learned. the importance they were able to attach to their lives. surrounded by the good life. for quite a while he possessed a house of his own and his own servants. which is neither body nor consciousness. When Kamaswami was ailing. His senses. as the harvest seasons and rainy seasons passed by. even fish. And yet. this out of all things. that tense expectation. But he did not learn this from them. That high. to sleep on a soft bed. like humidity entering the dying stem of a tree. with plans or hopes. Siddhartha had learned to trade. though without being a part of it. to bathe in perfumed waters. when he felt insulted. when Kamaswami bored him with his worries. which he himself despised. He had learned to play with dice and on a chess-board. It was still the art of thinking. made it heavy. made it tired. to have himself carried about in a sedan-chair. It happened that he became angry and impatient. some mocking disdain. the more similar he became to them. whenever they needed money or advice. to enjoy himself with a woman. Siddhartha had lived the life of the world and of lust. spices and sweets. he stayed in bed for a long time. the amount of passion in their joys and fears. put it to sleep. But still he had felt different from and superior to the others. his superiority had become more quiet. distant and quiet. but it turned slowly and hesitantly and was close to coming to a standstill. the childlike people.

As a new dress becomes old in time. of sickliness. how clear his eyes. he had to tell her about the exalted Buddha. sloth. covetousness. In this pointless cycle he ran. I'll give him my pleasure-garden for a gift and take my refuge in his teachings. so high and audacious were his stakes. tiredness came over Siddhartha. growing old. that fear he loved and sought to always renew it. threw away thousands. and starts to show threadbare spots here and there. more clearly and more mockingly. and assumed. His face was still smarter and more spiritual than others. which he felt while he was rolling the dice. his mind was set on new riches. Slowly the disease of the soul. always increase it. losing and wasting his wretched money in the game brought him an angry joy. He only noticed that this bright and reliable voice inside of him. On a strange and devious way. something like an intoxication. possessions. how peaceful his walk had been. 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. for in this feeling alone he still felt something like happiness. and Kamala's face . Then he had lain by her side. when he had stopped being a Samana in his heart. Property. and Kamala had sighed and had said: "One day. gets wrinkles. by wine. continue demonstrating his disdain of wealth. which rich people have. in no other way he could demonstrate his disdain for wealth. became more strict and more petty in his business. Like a veil. Siddhartha did not notice it. as if. And after each big loss. forced his debtors more strictly to pay. something like an elevated form of life in the midst of his saturated. talking. and Kamala had said thoughtful words. growing ill. they were no longer a game and trifles to him. growing tired. how still and beautiful his mouth. lost his patience when he was not payed on time. lukewarm. that Siddhartha began to play the game for money and precious things. and hidden at bottom. He had spend the hours of the evening with Kamala. because he wanted to continue gambling. mocking himself. she had aroused him. won thousands. the merchants' false god. while he was worried about losing high stakes. with an increasing rage and passion. had grown old. He was a feared gambler. He had been captured by the world. words behind which a sadness and tiredness lay hidden. getting a bit denser every day. Siddhartha had gotten into this final and most base of all dependencies. whenever embarrassment and disgust came over him. that terrible and petrifying fear. fleeing into a new game. was gathering wrinkles and stains. always get it to a slightly higher level. how closely lust was akin to death. For a long time. perhaps soon. gets stains. She had asked him to tell her about Gotama. by means of the game of dice. already showing its ugliness here and there. how kind his smile. grabbed hold of him. he continued fleeing. pursued the trade more zealously. gets worn off at the seams. He. They had been sitting under the trees. whenever he found his face in the mirror at the bedroom's wall to have aged and become more ugly. slowly. and riches also had finally captured him. loses its beautiful colour in time. It was since that time. of sloth. fleeting pleasure. lost money. in her beautiful pleasure-garden. which he had started after his separation from Govinda. lost colour and splendour as the years passed by. lost his disposition for giving away and loaning money to those who petitioned him. lost his kindness towards beggars. disappointment and disgust were waiting. those features of discontent. he wanted to continue squandering. like a thin mist. He played the game due to a pain of his heart. which had awoken in him at that time and had ever guided him in his best times. occasionally dreaming at night about money! And whenever he woke up from this ugly spell. who gambled away tens of thousands at one roll of the dice and laughed at it. by lust. lost a house in the country. had become a shackle and a burden. fleeing into a numbing of his mind brought on by sex. and from there he fled back into the urge to pile up and obtain possessions. biting and in tears. she wanted to squeeze the last sweet drop out of this vain. had become silent. those features which are so often found in the faces of rich people. once more. of ill-humour. won again. hating himself. and could not hear enough of him. Siddhartha lost his calmness when losses occurred. a bit murkier every month. That fear. I'll also follow that Buddha. but it rarely laughed. dull of dice. few dared to take him on. Never before. Thus he gambled with high stakes and mercilessly. of a lack of love. lost again. it had become so strangely clear to Siddhartha. a bit heavier every year. lost jewelry. and had tied him to her in the act of making love with painful fervour. Then the time came when a dream warned him. one after another. thus Siddhartha's new life." But after this. which he at other times only joined with a smile and casually as a custom of the childlike people.

an inscription reminiscent of autumn and old age. and in the same moment. and in his mind. the gods are awaiting you." And again. had found for a few moments a half unconsciousness. Like when someone. just as Siddhartha himself. which has no happy destination. content with small lustful pleasures and yet never satisfied! For all of these many years. rare singing bird in a golden cage. he stepped in front of the cage and looked inside. vomits it back up again with agonising pain and is nevertheless glad about the relief. out in the street. in the midst of the thirst. he had felt it in his heart: "There is a path in front of you. He took it out. But more than by anything else. in the dispute with the learned ones. of slight grooves. his life had been much more miserable and poorer than theirs. and under her eyes and next to the corners of her mouth he had. Starting up from this dream. he dreamt. nothing which was alive. his heart full of misery which he thought he could not bear any longer. by his perfumed hair. worthless and pointless was the way he had been going through life. In his years as a boy. perhaps not even conscious anxiety: fear of old age. he was disgusted by himself. With a gloomy mind. the just too soft smile of the dancing girls. he had a dream: Kamala owned a small. and again when he had gone away from the Samanas to that perfected one. when he wrestled in pain for the purpose of Brahman. who at other times always used to sing in the morning. he once again went the entire path of his life. several times he had experienced such a thing. without elevation. gray hairs among his black ones. sat and sensed how everything died in him. when he had obtained praise from the Brahmans. starting with the first days he could remember. came to an end in him. and his heart hurt. 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. and since this arose his attention. and then threw it away. Alone he stood there and empty like a castaway on the shore. as if he had thrown away from himself all value and everything good by throwing out this dead bird. there the small bird was dead and lay stiff on the ground. Not until the light of the morning and the beginning of the first activities in the street before his city-house. the soul full of reluctance. how even and dull was the manner in which his path had passed through life. for many long years. dull music. Of this bird. the just too sweet. tiredness and the beginning of withering. an inscription of small lines. as an assistant in the offerings. he had slightly fallen asleep. When was there ever a time when he had experienced happiness. he gathered his thoughts. these habits and all of this pointless life and himself. as clearly as never before. he had bid his farewell to her. being tired and yet excited. He dreamt: this bird had become mute. in an immense burst of disgust. here and there. who has eaten and drunk far too much. felt death in his heart and horror in his chest. nothing which was in some way delicious or worth keeping he had left in his hands. without knowing it himself. he felt encompassed by a deep sadness. In those moments. weighed it for a moment in his hand. he has had a taste of it. read a fearful inscription. though this was no longer true. and full of concealed anxiety. had drunk much wine and gone to bed a long time after midnight. without a high goal. without thirst. fear of having to die. when the ever rising. and concealed. Then. who was only in his forties. Worthless. upward fleeing. Siddhartha went to the pleasure-garden he owned. By and by. and had for a long time sought to sleep in vain. 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. the just too sweet scent of their hair and breasts." Then. full of a disgust which he felt penetrating his entire body like the lukewarm. With a sigh.had been close to him. locked the gate. then again he had. and in all this. you are destined for. close to weeping and despair. had already noticed. a hint of sleep. he had tried hard and longed to become a man like those many. as a young man. For how long had he not heard this voice any more. so it seemed to him. had acted as if he was superior to them towards the fellow-members of his caste. felt a true bliss? Oh yes. still unsaid. when every obtained knowledge only kindled new thirst in him. and also when he had gone away from him to the uncertain. Siddhartha had spent the night in his house with dancing girls and wine. Tiredness was written on Kamala's beautiful face. by the smell of wine from his mouth. sat down under a mango-tree. withered in him. goal of all thinking had ripped him out of and up from the multitude of those seeking the same goal. fear of the autumn. for how long had he reached no height any more. by the flabby tiredness and listlessness of his skin. thus this sleepless man wished to free himself of these pleasures. repulsive taste of the wine. and their . tiredness from walking a long path. like those children. he felt terribly shocked.

and she was happy. she had felt this the last time they had been together. in spite of all the pain of the loss. looking up. that he owned a garden? He also put an end to this. a pilgrim? And most of all. But after some time. Kamaswami had people look for him. in my pleasure-garden. he felt strong hunger. thinking that he had fallen into the hands of robbers. was it right. When she was told that Siddhartha had disappeared. bid his farewell to the mango-tree. He smiled tiredly. so he felt. Only Kamala had been dear. the flying bird. thinking of his father. thinking of Govinda. took the bird out and let it fly. shook himself. where she held a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage. . nor their worries. she was not astonished. he caught sight of the stars. that she had pulled him so affectionately to her heart for this last time. twice. he sat under the mango-tree. something had died. or she him? Did they not play a game without an ending? Was it necessary to live for this? No. of the table with the meals on it. he thought: "Here I'm sitting under my mango-tree. a comedy. left the city. Did he have to leave them to become a Kamaswami? He still sat there. when the night had fallen. and bid his farewell to these things. ten times—but for ever and ever over again? Then. When. When she received the first news of Siddhartha's disappearance. his farewell to the pleasure-garden. that she had felt one more time to be so completely possessed and penetrated by him. Siddhartha left his garden. had been valuable to him—but was she still thus? Did he still need her. That entire day." He smiled a little —was it really necessary. Shivers ran over his body. and thought of his house in the city. after all. that he owned a mango-tree. she received no more visitors and kept her house locked. For a long time. From this day on. a game which was perhaps enjoyable to play once. a man who was at home nowhere. For a long time. this also died in him. and never came back. She opened the door of the cage. In the same hour of the night. Did she not always expect it? Was he not a Samana. that entire world of the Kamaswami-people had only been a game to him. was it not as foolish game. inside of him. Since he had been without food this day. of his chamber and bed.goals were not his. thinking of Gotama. it was not necessary! The name of this game was Sansara. she went to the window. that he could not play it any more. Kamala had no one look for him. Siddhartha knew that the game was over. a dance he would watch. she gazed after it. a game for children. she became aware that she was pregnant from the last time she was together with Siddhartha. He rose.

that he had been able to seek death. which ran and ran under him. This was the great vomiting he had longed for: death. a sin or foolish act he had not committed. so doomed was he. wherever to. the smashing to bits of the form he hated! Let him be food for fishes. with a slurred voice. bring him forgetfulness and sleep. and no awakening from that! Was there still any kind of filth. to put an end to this miserable and shameful life. full of misery. A hang bent over the bank of the river. to have rest. he had dreamt of. to throw it away. and that he had tasted all of it. the same river over which a long time ago. he had reached the end. answering to the terrible emptiness in his soul. before the feet of mockingly laughing gods. let him be chopped to bits by the daemons! With a distorted face. that this wish. he had not soiled himself with. to sleep again. there was nothing left but the deep. without thinking. out of past times of his now weary life. was already far from the city. this lunatic. was over and done away with. knew about the . this weakened and abused soul! Let him be food for fishes and crocodiles. he took his arm away from the trunk of the tree and turned a bit. full of death. Passionately he wished to know nothing about himself anymore. to spit out this stale wine. sucked everything out of it until he was disgusted with it. And in the moment when the sound of "Om" touched Siddhartha's ear.BY THE RIVER Siddhartha walked through the forest. so much he had lost his way and was forsaken by all knowledge. embraced the trunk with one arm. a poison which would numb his senses. when the Om entered his consciousness: he became aware of himself in his misery and in his error. to breathe in again and again. By this river he stopped. So this was how things were with him. With his eyes closed. he stared into the water. to feel hunger. the holy "Om". And full he was. that there was no going back for him. A frightening emptiness was reflected back at him by the water. had been able to grow in him: to find rest by annihilating his body! What all agony of these recent times. There was nothing left for him. there was nothing left in this world which could have attracted him. and knew nothing but that one thing. Siddhartha leaned against its trunk with his shoulder. all sobering realizations. he slipped towards death. spoke to himself. this was brought on by this moment. there were no more goals. except to annihilate himself. Dead was the singing bird. all desperation had not brought about. this depraved and rotten body. like a sponge sucks up water until it is full. which he. Yes. In deep tiredness. a dreariness of the soul he had not brought upon himself? Was it still at all possible to be alive? Was it possible. his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness of his actions. he had sucked up disgust and death from all sides into his body. as he had lived it for many years until now. looked down and found himself to be entirely filled with the wish to let go and to drown in these waters. the old word which is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the Brahmans. full of the feeling of been sick of it. to which goal? No. 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. which roughly means "that what is perfect" or "the completion". Tiredness and hunger had weakened him. Deeply. except to smash the failure into which he had shaped his life. a sound stirred up. Dead was the bird in his heart. to be dead. in order to let himself fall straight down. Siddhartha was deeply shocked. to breathe out. given him joy. in order to finally drown. a coconut-tree. saw the reflection of his face and spit at it. that this life. and looked down into the green water. Then. hesitantly he stood at the bank. he had been entangled in Sansara. out of remote areas of his soul. given him comfort. a syllable. It was a word. a ferryman had conducted him. Om! he spoke to himself: Om! and again he knew about Brahman. to eat again. painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream. 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. and whatever for should he walk on. this wish of a child. when he had still been a young man and came from the town of Gotama. this dog Siddhartha.

Govinda had aged. Now you may go then. and since I saw that your sleep was very deep. Badly. "However did you get here?" "You have been sleeping. oh sir. May you. let me go to catch up with my brothers. the perfected. knew about all that is divine. By the foot of the coconut-tree. and he remembered where he was and how he got here. expressed zeal. saw with astonishment that there were trees and the sky above him. flash. this past life seemed to him like a very old. And then." spoke Siddhartha. under a coconut-tree. who had neither hair on his head nor a beard. the friend of his youth." "I thank you. "It is not good to be sleeping in such places. he knew himself. infinitely meaningless. the Sakyamuni. . but this Siddhartha was nevertheless transformed. so it seems. an unknown man. that then he had fallen asleep and had now woken up and was looking at the world as a new man. sensing his gaze." "Farewell. joyful and curious. I have fallen asleep myself. had drowned and was reborn in a new body? But no. when I saw you lying and sleeping in a place where it is dangerous to sleep. and it seemed to him as if his entire long sleep had been nothing but a long meditative recitation of Om. When he woke up after many hours. Samana. for watching out over my sleep. I stayed behind from my group and sat with you. infinitely far away. am a follower of the exalted Gotama. then he saw a person sitting opposite to him." "I'm going. was renewed. he had even intended to throw his life away. speaking which he had fallen asleep. Therefore. Samana. infinitely distant. a thinking of Om. Siddhartha saw that Govinda did not recognise him. He observed the man." answered Govinda. always be in good health. I. strangely awake. knew the place where he lay. Govinda was happy to find him awake. where snakes often are and the animals of the forest have their paths. searching. he felt as if ten years had passed. full of disgust and wretchedness. he heard the water quietly flowing. He only knew that his previous life (in the first moment when he thought about it. and he had not observed him for long when he recognised this monk as Govinda. sir. faithfulness.indestructibility of life. Deep was his sleep and without dreams. that. Siddhartha straightened up. What a wonderful sleep had this been! Never before by sleep. tiredness has overwhelmed me. he has come to his senses. he had really died. Govinda. opened his eyes and looked at him. placed his head on the root of the tree and fell into a deep sleep. struck down by tiredness. But this was only a moment." said Siddhartha. Siddhartha collapsed. he had been thus refreshed. though he did not know him. But it took him a long while for this. mumbling Om. he spoke the word Om to himself. the eccentric. and the past seemed to him as if it had been covered by a veil." said Siddhartha. timidness. like an early pre-birth of his present self)—that his previous life had been abandoned by him. the holy word Om on his lips. sir. thus rejuvenated! Perhaps. "You're friendly. a monk in a yellow robe with a shaven head. previous incarnation. thus renewed. you followers of the exalted one. knew this self in his chest. Govinda who had taken his refuge with the exalted Buddha. but that by a river. he had been sitting here for a long time and been waiting for him to wake up. "I have been sleeping." Govinda made the gesture of a salutation and said: "Farewell. the Buddha. oh sir. I sought to wake you up. this Siddhartha. But now that you're awake. I have served you. sitting in the position of pondering. But when Govinda now. which he had forgotten. Quietly. the weird one. opened his eyes. into the nameless." "I thank you. for a long time he had not known such a sleep any more. but still his face bore the same features. and have been on a pilgrimage together with several of us on this path. apparently. he too. he knew his hand and his feet. did not know where he was and who had brought him here. was strangely well rested. a submergence and complete entering into Om. I who wanted to guard your sleep.

Govinda. my joy is great. You're wearing a rich man's garments. was this very thing that he loved everything. I was a rich man and am no rich man any more. "I know you. Be welcome. We monks are always travelling. "Now." Govinda spoke: "You're saying: you're on a pilgrimage. And how could he not have loved everybody and everything in this moment. he gave him the salutation which one would use on a gentleman and went on his way. Siddhartha watched him leave. that he was full of . "But few would go on a pilgrimage in such clothes." "Right so. oh Govinda. such a garment. But you. Siddhartha. "Permit me to ask. what are you now?" "I don't know it. And so it is: I'm on a pilgrimage. anything but eternal are our garments and the style of our hair. move on. It is always like this. You've been the guard of my sleep. and what I'll be tomorrow. I'm wearing a rich man's clothes. I'm wearing them. few with such hair. you've met a pilgrim just like this. though I wouldn't have required any guard. this fearful man. But. because I have been a rich man. I'm recognising you." "And now." Govinda looked at the friend of his youth for a long time." "You're Siddhartha. he loved him still. to see you again. But I haven't said to you that I was a Samana. sir. whenever it is not the rainy season. I'm travelling. I'm going nowhere. oh Siddhartha. you're wearing the shoes of a distinguished gentleman. After that. wearing such shoes. in the glorious hour after his wonderful sleep. not eternal." Govinda exclaimed loudly. Never I have met such a pilgrim. live according to the rules if the teachings passed on to us. Where are you going to. oh friend?" "I'm going nowhere. Siddhartha. and don't comprehend any more how I couldn't recognise you right away. Siddhartha. and from the offerings. and I believe in you. With a smiling face. filled with Om! The enchantment. I don't know it just like you. you do not look like a pilgrim. and I'm wearing my hair like the worldly and lustful people. Where is Siddhartha the Brahman? Where is Siddhartha the Samana? Where is Siddhartha the rich man? Non-eternal things change quickly. and your hair. your keen eyes see everything. I'm just travelling. not the hair of a Samana. with the fragrance of perfume." said Govinda. from where do you know my name?" Now. for I have been one of them. my dear Govinda. which had happened inside of him in his sleep and by means of the Om. They somehow happened to slip away from me. Govinda. from your father's hut. where are you going to?" Quoth Siddhartha: "With me too." "You've lost your riches?" "I've lost them or they me. But now. Remember. my dear. I don't know. I said: I'm on a pilgrimage. today. friend. The wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly. is not a pilgrim's hair. my dear: Not eternal is the world of appearances." "It also gives me joy. this faithful man. you have observed well. to see you again.The monk stopped. it is as it is with you. and from the school of the Brahmans. you've seen this quite right. and our hair and bodies themselves. with doubt in his eyes. and from our walk to the Samanas." "You're on a pilgrimage. you know it. and from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in the grove Jetavana. Siddhartha smiled. accept alms. few in such shoes. being a pilgrim myself for many years. forgive me. again I thank you for this. I'm on a pilgrimage." "I believe you. we always move from one place to another.

Now. that my hair is already half gray. I have no abilities. he had given them up. piled up money. to unlearn thinking again. learned to love my stomach. lived in the forest. from a thinker into a childlike person? And yet. to laugh about this strange. Wonderfully. Siddhartha watched the leaving monk. Wherever from. to be able to live again. I had only to do with asceticism. As I boy. so it seemed. he did not really feel like it. he had learned these three feats. in the busy. but he forced himself. good sleep. nor thinking. For the most wretched things. through so much disgust and disappointments and woe. through so much vices. nor waiting. to hear Om again. kindly he smiled at the river. he had to smile. And now. Where else might my path lead me to? It is foolish. Siddhartha thought about his situation. to forget the oneness. that I am finally free again and am standing . wasted money. for riches! His life had indeed been strange. I had to become a fool. I want to to take it. none of them was his any more. worshipped the eternal in the Atman. and yet. his solid staff. nothing is mine. my eyes smile to it. learned to hunger. now he had really become a childlike person. Isn't it just as if I had turned slowly and on a long detour from a man into a child. to find Atman in me again. But as a young man. that I'm no longer young.joyful love for everything he saw. no. he thought of that time. that my strength is fading. But what a path has this been! I had to pass through so much stupidity. But I also had to leave Buddha and the great knowledge. which I said? Or from the fact that I have escaped. his power and strength. there is nothing I could bring about. And now. the bird in my chest has not died. which has done me so good? Or from the word Om. And it was this very thing. soon afterwards. just to become a child again and to be able to start over. I went and learned the art of love with Kamala. in past times. and the times were long past when he had been tough against hunger. so it seemed to him now. I felt the knowledge of the oneness of the world circling in me like my own blood. he felt joy rolling like waves in his chest. it moves in loops. learned trading with Kamaswami. which had been his sickness before. But he could not feed sad about this. Yes. and laughed about it. was searching for Brahman. insight came towards me in the form of the great Buddha's teachings. he happened to glance at the river. now I'm starting again at the beginning and as a child! Again. for the good life. learned to please my senses. to be able to sleep properly and awake properly again. I've had to experience despair. had been able to do three noble and undefeatable feats: fasting—waiting—thinking. so he thought. Wonderfully. How wondrous is this! Now. neither fasting. since all these most easily perishing things have slipped from me again. that he was not able to love anybody or anything. perhaps it is going around in a circle. in order to be able to experience divine grace. I had to spend many years losing my spirit. The sleep had strengthened him much. to laugh about himself. or had he dreamed this? Wondrous indeed was my life. With sadness. for what fades most quickly. my heart says "Yes" to it. and yet also with a smile. they had abandoned him. Let it go as it likes. now I'm standing here under the sun again just as I have been standing here a little child. I followed the penitents. I've had to sink down to the most foolish one of all thoughts. this path has been very good. for sensual lust. taught my body to become dead. he had boasted of three three things to Kamala. I had to sin. "Things are going downhill with you!" he said to himself. I have learned nothing. He liked this well. to the thought of suicide. with thinking and meditation. suffered of heat and frost. and as he was saying it. he thought. But it was right so. where from did you get this happiness? Might it come from that long. but hunger gave him much pain. he asked his heart. for by now he had not eaten for two days. he even felt a great urge to laugh. wondrous detours it has taken. and now he was again facing the world void and naked and stupid. so he remembered. With a smiling face. I had only to do with gods and offerings. Was this not the river in which he had intended to drown himself. his fate had been strange! Things were going downhill with him. and singing and being happy through it all. and he also saw the river going downhill. nothing else. As a youth. These had been his possession. a hundred years ago. this path. laborious years of his youth. through so many errors. foolish world. Thinking was hard on him. In those days. always moving on downhill. that I have completely fled.

He had died. until Siddhartha the lustful. that most extreme moment. have heard the bird in your chest singing and have followed it! Thus he praised himself. so full of trust. in these recent times and days. Therefore. while he thought he would kill it by fasting and penance. That he had felt this despair. of wine. which one needs to know. this was why he felt joy. Had not this bird died in him. "to get a taste of everything for oneself. It seemed to him. his small. never before he had perceived the voice and the parable of the moving water thus strongly and beautifully. so much doing and striving for that goal! Full of arrogance. completely tasted and spit out. into this spirituality. filled his stomach. frightened. Good for me. Too much knowledge had held him back. listened gratefully to a buzzing bee. tortured myself. prohibited joy. poisoned. the new Siddhartha. so without fear. and proud self. always one step ahead of all others. a piece of a child under the sky? Oh how good is it to have fled. devoured up to the point of desperation and death. he had to go out into the world. delude myself into thinking that Siddhartha was wise! But this one thing I have done well. never again I will. had to become a merchant. He would also grow old. Was it not this what he used to intend to kill in his ardent years as a penitent? Was this not his self. until the priest and Samana in him was dead. it was good. Cheerfully. For much longer. well upholstered hell. after so many years of foolishness. so full of joy? Now Siddhartha also got some idea of why he had fought this self in vain as a Brahman. the pointlessness of a dreary and wasted life up to the end. this I like. found joy in himself. of the gamblers! How did I hate myself for staying in this terrible world for so long! How did I hate myself. always the knowing and spiritual one. but in my eyes. how good to breathe! There. I have already learned as a child. Therefore. which had defeated him again and again. of excess. that there is now an end to that hatred against myself. wasted money. up to bitter despair. he would also eventually have to die. when he hang over the rushing waters and was ready to destroy himself. into this arrogance. mortal was Siddhartha. to know this!" For a long time. something he did . where I ran away from. That lust for the world and riches do not belong to the good things. to much self-castigation. and was full of joy. was a child. that the bird. a drinker. bearing the disgust. something which already for a long time had yearned to die. to have become free! How clean and beautiful is the air here. of sloth. and that he had not succumbed to it. this deep disgust. too many sacrificial rules. Into being a priest. this was why his face was smiling brightly under his hair which had turned gray. never before he had like a water so well as this one. listened to the bird. "It is good. so he felt. And now I know it. as if the river had something special to tell him. Now he saw it and saw that the secret voice had been right. and let his soul die of thirst. a piece of misery. listened curiously to his stomach. the teachings. if this had not happened: the moment of complete hopelessness and despair. made money. felt fear? Was it not this. listened with a smile to his stomach. something else from within him had died. to that foolish and dreary life! I praise you. which was rumbling with hunger. as I used to like doing so much. which was back again after every killing. his self had retreated. that no teacher would ever have been able to bring about his salvation. as it sang for joy. a new Siddhartha had woken up from the sleep. have done something. which today had finally come to its death. had he not felt its death? No. don't just know it in my memory. Siddhartha the greedy could also die. He thought these thoughts. lose himself to lust and power. in my stomach. How did I hate this world of the rich. a dicegambler. he had to continue bearing these ugly years. He had now. always working the most. too many holy verses. as a penitent. Siddhartha. of spices. there everything smelled of ointments. he could have stayed with Kamaswami. have deprive. but I have experienced only now. this was why he laughed. he looked into the rushing river. that he was now like a child. in my heart." he thought. by this lovely river? Was it not due to this death. of those who revel in fine food. he pondered his transformation. here in the forest. and a greedy person. But today he was young. have made myself old and evil! No. there it sat firmly and grew. he had been. always the smartest. you have once again had an idea. the joyful source and voice in him was still alive after all. this I must praise. for much longer he could have lived in this soft. to woman and money. mortal was every physical form. I have known it for a long time. always the priest or wise one. Like this. he had wrestled with for so many years.

not know yet. . desperate Siddhartha had drowned today. tired. Siddhartha had intended to drown himself. But the new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing water. in it the old. In this river. not to leave it very soon. and decided for himself. which was still awaiting him.


. 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. into the transparent green. Bright pearls he saw rising from the deep.THE FERRYMAN By this river I want to stay. sir. you would soon stop enjoying it. "Once before. would also understand many other things. my present new life. stood in the boat. starting out from his hut. being astonished to see such an elegant man walking along and on foot. "It's a beautiful life you have chosen for yourself. he today only saw one. the ferryman looked at the stranger. was always at all times the same and yet new in every moment! Great be he who would grasp this. ferryman. Siddhartha rose. for I'll have to learn first how to handle the boat. once before you have ferried me across this water in your boat for the immaterial reward of a good deed." "You're joking. all secrets. most of all I wouldn't want to continue travelling at all. with sky-blue ones." "And do you. ferryman. incessantly it ran. and the same ferryman who had once transported the young Samana across the river. Behold. or rather as your trainee. But I envy you for yours. "It must be beautiful to live by this water every day and to cruise on it. a distant memory. I have no money to pay your fare. When he reached the ferry. friend. which was newly awaking. isn't every work beautiful?" "This may be true. this one touched his soul. Siddhartha recognised him. the boat was just ready. from me? For you must know. the workings of hunger in his body became unbearable. quiet bubbles of air floating on the reflecting surface. the man at the oar moved from side to side: "It is beautiful." Siddhartha laughed. it is as you say." "Ah. into the crystal lines of its drawing. intent to continue travelling without clothes?" "Ah. with white ones. upriver. so rich in secrets. searching. divine voices. listened to the rumbling hunger in his body. my path had led me at that time into a new life. he wanted to listen to it. with green ones. he wanted to learn from it. and it told him: Love this water! Stay near it! Learn from it! Oh yes. He who would understand this water and its secrets. a friendly ferryman had guided me then. "Would you like to ferry me over?" he asked. he looked into the rushing water. I have been looked upon with distrust. I have been looked upon today because of my clothes. This is nothing for people wearing fine clothes. understand this! He understood and grasped it not. which had now grown old and is dead—my present path. shall also take its start there! Tenderly. thought Siddhartha. But isn't every life. In a daze he walked on. he is the one I want to go to. he had also aged very much. how grateful was he to it! In his heart he heard the voice talking. with crystal ones. took him into his boat and pushed it off the bank. Most of all I would like you. How did he love this water. and was nevertheless always there." With a smile. how did it delight him. many secrets." For a long time. "I'm not joking. and accept my clothes for it. to give me an old loincloth and kept me with you as your assistant. But out of all secrets of the river. up the path by the bank. The ferryman. which are a nuisance to me." the ferryman laughed. Wouldn't you." the passenger spoke. Thus. listened to the current. He saw: this water ran and ran. sir. do it today as well. sir. so it seemed to him. like to accept these clothes. the blue of the sky being depicted in it. the river looked at him. With a thousand eyes.

Without him having spoken a word. to seek depth. Until late at night. you've already learned this from the water too. and Vasudeva pushed the oar with more strength. did not add his praise or rebuke. "It is late. to sink. possibly more than twenty years ago. Listening carefully. offered him bread and water. her bed was next to mine. My name is Vasudeva. the river. and to all of them. If I was able to say and teach it. This was among the ferryman's virtues one of the greatest: like only a few. and also ate with eager pleasure of the mango fruits. it was almost the time of the sunset. and you've been ferried across the river by me. waiting. they sat on a log by the bank. after this." he said. that is very good. what a happy fortune it is. he knew how to listen." spoke Vasudeva. But when Siddhartha fell silent. Now." They had reached the middle of the river. Vasudeva."Now I recognise you. The river has spoken to you. for listening to me so well! These people are rare who know how to listen. and remembered. Siddhartha. You'll learn that other thing from it as well. all that searching. so I hope. Siddhartha sat and watched him. he let everything enter his mind. and we parted like good friends. "but not from me. See. I also have no special skill in thinking. Afterwards. "I thank you and accept. as he had seen it before his eyes today. entirely and completely absorbed by it. That is good. his eyes fixed in on the front of the boat. Stay with me. You will. The river has taught me to listen. oh friend. my river has been nothing but an obstacle on their travels. and it is my task to ferry people across the river. but like this I am only a ferryman. but she has died a long time ago. Vasudeva?" Vasudeva rose. all joy." "So be welcome. or perhaps you know it already. "let's go to sleep. for a long time. this was a long time ago. Siddhartha. you've slept in my hut." "I thank you. open. how once before. he helped him to tie the boat to the stakes. with brawny arms. And I did not meet a single one who knew it as well as you did. But in the end of Siddhartha's tale. in that hour of despair. I have transported many. lasted his tale. from it you will learn it as well. thousands. everything can be learned from it. his own search. the ferryman listened with twice the attention. The rich and elegant Siddhartha is becoming an oarsman's servant. to confess to such a listener. when he spoke of the tree by the river. where you're coming from and why these beautiful clothes are such a nuisance to you. how he did not lose a single one." he finally said. the learned Brahman Siddhartha becomes a ferryman: this has also been told to you by the river. when you've last seen me. and tell me. And I also thank you for this. was just listening. with his eyes closed. you shall live with me. All I'm able to do is to listen and to be godly. Siddhartha felt. Haven't you've been a Samana? I can't think of your name any more." said Siddhartha. on that last day of his time as a Samana. the speaker sensed how Vasudeva let his words enter his mind. I have no special skill in speaking. quiet. and I was a Samana." "You will learn it. be my guest today as well and sleep in my hut. I can't tell you that other thing. all that learning. I have learned nothing else. my friend. I might be a wise man. that it is good to strive downwards. and of his deep fall. he accepted Vasudeva's invitation. then Vasudeva said: "It is as I thought. They travelled to seek . Vasudeva listened with great attention. love for this man had stirred in his heart. It knows everything. "At one time. there is space and food for both. He worked calmly. all distress." "My name is Siddhartha. Gratefully. When they had reached the bank. to burry in his heart his own life. I used to have a wife. I have lived alone. the ferryman asked him to enter the hut. and a long silence had occurred. See. It is your friend as well. and Siddhartha ate with eager pleasure. awaited not a single one with impatience. in order to overcome the current. and Siddhartha told the ferryman about where he originally came from and about his life. and how he had felt such a love for the river after his slumber. it speaks to you as well. his own suffering." Quoth Siddhartha after a long pause: "What other thing. I will also learn in this respect from you. You'll learn it. of the holy Om. birthplace and childhood. Vasudeva offered him. I'm no learned man.

and on pilgrimages." Siddhartha spoke with ecstasy. and of a sighing man." "And do you know. was not everything hard. Nothing was. few and at length thought about words. and a thousand other voices more?" "So it is. and of a bird of the night. became almost just as bright. "Did you. at the source and at the mouth. deeply. in the sea." Siddhartha stayed with the ferryman and learned to operate the boat. they have listened to it. Oh. He learned to build an oar. and of a bull." Siddhartha continued. everything has existence and is present. the river has stopped being an obstacle. and occasionally they exchanged some words. Also. with a waiting. And it happened from time to time that both. and the days and months passed quickly. oh friend. Vasudeva was no friend of words. gathered wood. nothing will be. four or five. and for weddings. the river has many voices. and his death and his return to Brahma was no future. at the ferry. they sat in the evening together by the bank on the log. without judgement. and that there is only the present time for it. seeing the two ferrymen. a few." he spoke. he learned from it. Siddhartha. Many travellers. but the voice of life. isn't it: that the river is everywhere at once. just as alike to a child's. Incessantly. and of a woman giving birth. when you succeed in hearing all of its ten thousand voices at once?" Happily. he learned from it to listen. and the ferryman's job was to get them quickly across that obstacle. he worked with Vasudeva in the rice-field. And this had been the very thing which Siddhartha had also been hearing. And time after time. In a friendly manner. very many voices? Hasn't it the voice of a king. everything is." Vasudeva nodded. almost just as throughly glowing with bliss. when . not the shadow of the future?" "This it is. Vasudeva's face was smiling. rarely. to pay close attention with a quiet heart. as it has become sacred to me. and the river has become sacred to them. Let's rest now. just as alike to an old man's. he was taught by the river. without an opinion. but Vasudeva smiled at him brightly and nodded in confirmation. he lived side by side with Vasudeva. then said Siddhartha: "Isn't it so. turned back to his work. he had spoken. opened soul. Siddhartha. everything hostile in the world gone and overcome as soon as one had overcome time. everywhere at once." said Siddhartha. the voice of what exists. as soon as time would have been put out of existence by one's thoughts? In ecstatic delight. his smile became more similar to the ferryman's. this enlightenment had delighted him. "It is this what you mean. at the rapids. at the waterfall. of what is eternally taking shape. and the river was obstructing their and business. Most of all. Often. "what word it speaks. And once again. in the mountains. brushed his hand over Siddhartha's shoulder. and was joyful because of everything he learned. "Yes. just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles. plucked the fruit off the banana-trees. But more than Vasudeva could teach him. said nothing and both listened to the water. were not all forms of tormenting oneself and being afraid time. and when there was nothing to do at the ferry." so he asked him at one time. "all voices of the creatures are in its voice. I looked at my life. without a wish. silently he nodded. was not all suffering time. thought they were brothers. and the boy Siddhartha was only separated from the man Siddhartha and from the old man Siddhartha by a shadow. which was no water to them. without passion. But for some among thousands. "did you too learn that secret from the river: that there is no time?" Vasudeva's face was filled with a bright smile. Siddhartha succeeded in persuading him to speak. he bent over to Siddhartha and spoke the holy Om into his ear. and learned to mend the boat. Siddhartha's previous births were no past. and of a warrior. "And when I had learned it. not by something real. they have heard its voice. and it was also a river. when the river had just increased its flow in the rainy season and made a powerful noise. not the shadow of the past. and to weave baskets.

she had gone on her way due to the news of the near death of Gotama. he could approve of any teachings. to a stranger. Kamala often had to take a rest with him. closed her eyes a bit. Kamala also went to him. Kamala herself. No. desired to go back home. The curious people asked many questions. the great teacher. she was travelling by the river. and while the boy was chewing a banana. said to him. every path. The years passed by. she had to feed him. whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken hundreds of thousands. when the river had been saying something good to them. as a young man. and nobody counted them. for the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon die his last human death. after having looked at the face of one of the ferrymen. who had been told that there were two wise men. became disobedient and started whining. and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men. And as people are flocking from everywhere and from all sides. It happened occasionally that a traveller. with a smile. who seemed to be mute and to have become a bit strange and gaga. had taken her refuge in the teachings. he thought of him. On one of these days. the exalted one. thought of the same things. With her little son. who breathed what is divine. or holy men living by that ferry. For a long time he knew that there was nothing standing between Gotama and him any more. and that they both in the same moment. He did not comprehend why he had to to go on this exhausting and sad pilgrimage with his mother. It happened occasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with them to listen to the river. asked for comfort and advice. so it seemed to him. Often. was among the friends and benefactors of the pilgrims. but the boy had soon grown tired. There was something about this ferry and the two ferrymen which was transmitted to others. and another one. of one of their travellers. It also happened that curious people came. who was holy and about to die. until a new flock of monks came along on their pilgrimage. had to comfort him. proud and precocious words. who used to be the most beautiful of the courtesans. They had been. the Buddha. A long time ago. how did this concern the boy? The pilgrims were getting close to Vasudeva's ferry. desired to rest. and by them the ferrymen were told that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher. both thinking precisely the same thing. It was not long. But suddenly. started to tell the story of his life. like being drawn on by a magic spell. or sorcerers. thus they flocked. had to scold him. But he who had found. she crouched down on the ground. in order to become one with the salvation. which many of the travellers felt. he was accustomed to having his way against her. in simple clothes. confessed evil things. he remembered them. monks came by on a pilgrimage. of death. though he was still unable to accept his teachings. there was nothing standing between him and all the other thousand any more who lived in that what is eternal. both delighted about the same answer to the same question. of their childhood. someone who truly wanted to find. who were asking to be ferried across the river. to an unknown place. told about pains. whose holy face he had also once seen with respect. when little Siddhartha once again forced his mother to rest. Then. and remembered with a smile those words which he had once. there was no teaching a truly searching person. followers of Gotama. every goal. whose voice he had also once heard. had also become tired. her son. saw his path to perfection before his eyes.listening to the river. She. to where the great Buddha was awaiting his death. she had retired from her previous life. the face and fate of whom had occupied their thoughts. and rested. when so many went on a pilgrimage to the dying Buddha. 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. where the huge event was to take place and the great perfected one of an era was to become one with the glory. could accept. but they got no answers. So what if he died. and are gathering like ants in droves. desired to eat. Together with Siddhartha the boy. had given her garden to the monks of Gotama as a gift. at one time. she . of a conversation from the day before yesterday. Siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man. Kindly. when they are going to war or to the coronation of a king. And the curious people laughed and were discussing how foolishly and gullibly the common people were spreading such empty rumours. they only found two friendly little old men. on foot. looked at each other.

He looked up and first saw the boy's face. Alas. Kamala. a small. "He's with you. "You have found peace?" He smiled and placed his hand on hers. with dusty feet. in order to reach people. she said: "Now I see that your eyes have changed as well. until the sound reached Vasudeva's ears. a Brahman prayer came to his mind. It seemed like a dream to her. and now he knew that it was his own son. took the woman on his arms. was only now and then uttering a sob and fell asleep. attentively. she looked at her friend's face. Quickly. she was made to drink a healing potion." she said. over his friendly face ran the light of the stove's fire. whose face had been such a warning reminder to him. Kamala returned to consciousness. You are much more like him. there Kamala collapsed. my dear." "You have found it. Vasudeva nodded. my dear. And with that singsong. whom he instantly recognised. and it's not you." Kamala pointed to her boy and said: "Did you recognise him as well? He is your son. "She'll die. Kamala's wound was washed. paralysed by the poison. who used to love her so much. Vasudeva stood by the stove and cooked rice. Once again." Siddhartha said quietly. "You've become old. let him weep." Siddhartha spoke in a whisper. and at the sight of the child's face." said Siddhartha. who at one time came without clothes. called timidly for the boy. and soon they all reached the hut. and from under her dress. She thought about her pilgrimage to Gotama. They've become completely different. waiting. Kamala felt it. he started to speak. Then he saw Kamala. I have also grown old. "I'm seeing it. The boy wept. petted his hair. Pain distorted her face. though she lay unconscious in the ferryman's arms. which he had learned a long time ago. you're like him. his mind becoming one with her suffering. he came walking. Siddhartha gave him a look. Siddhartha took him on his knees." she said. just slowly she. with a singing voice. who stood at the ferry. In the eyes. Siddhartha placed him on Vasudeva's bed. "You have achieved it?" she asked. But the boy started crying miserably. only interrupting it to kiss and hug his mother. with a smile. and was not able to go any further. By what do I still recognise that you're Siddhartha? It's you. which he returned with a smile. Kamala never stopped looking into his eyes. which wondrously reminded him of something. than you were like him at that time when you had left me and Kamaswami. quietly his eyes looked at hers. Quietly. "I'm seeing it. and got near to the ferry. But you are like the young Samana. She spoke with a heavy tongue." Her eyes became confused and fell shut. old—could you still recognise me?" Siddhartha smiled: "Instantly. but had already turned black and her body was swollen. they now both ran along the path." Siddhartha said nothing. "you've become gray. Looking at him. don't worry. Siddhartha's eyes read the suffering on her mouth. by which Kamala had been bitten. carried her into the boat. I recognised you. Slowly. and she also joined his loud screams for help. the boy looked at her in fear and saw her face having grown pale from horror. the boy became calm. I too will find peace. from his past and childhood. Her consciousness returned. when he had been a little boy himself. on her pale cheeks. to me into the garden. the boy ran along. he read it. the words came flowing to him.uttered a wailing scream. like a warning to remember something he had forgotten. realized her situation. Siddhartha. she lay on Siddhartha's bed in the hut and bent over her stood Siddhartha. Hurriedly. and the heart stirred in his chest. Kamala looked into his eyes. . remembered the bite. were Siddhartha stood by the stove and was just lighting the fire. black snake fled. her gaze sought his eyes.

and the feeling of this both being present and at the same time real. how should I be sad? I. touched and encircled by all times of his life at the same time. read in the pale face. she looked at him.which wanted to take." "You've experienced suffering. there is much to be done. more deeply than ever before. even before the sun could be seen. For a long time. the feeling of eternity. his finger closed her eyelids. "No. compare this mouth with a freshly cracked fig. Vasudeva had prepared rice for him." While the boy was still asleep. with red lips. surrounded by the past. he sat and looked at her peacefully dead face. in the tired wrinkles. who have been rich and happy. the two old men prepared beds of straw for themselves. and saw at the same time his face and hers being young. he observed her mouth. stepped to the door of the hut and listened." "Your son shall be welcome to me as well. deeply it has filled me with the healing thought. and he remembered. When he rose. with the thought of oneness. he sat. in order to see the face of the perfected one. when the final shiver ran through her limbs. just as good. in the spring of his years. but the tongue no longer obeyed her will. When the final pain filled her eyes and made them grow dim. A lot it has told me. I was listening to the river. I sat here. but I see: no sadness has entered your heart. For a long time. But Siddhartha did not eat. Siddhartha. My son has been given to me. and that it was good. Vasudeva. listening to the river. in this hour. and he saw the life fading from her eyes. Let us also build Kamala's funeral pile on the same hill on which I had then built my wife's funeral pile. they built the funeral pile. Siddhartha. filled himself with this sight. he rose. completely filled every aspect of his being. Without speaking. her old. with fiery eyes. Kamala has died on the same bed. which had become thin. . But now. as if she had seen the other one. For a long time. have become even richer and happier now. tired mouth." "No." he said. to breathe his peace. But occasionally. the eternity of every moment. Vasudeva came out of the stable and walked over to his friend. just as white. Deeply he felt. "You haven't slept. where their goat stood. But Siddhartha went outside and sat this night before the hut. with those lips. the indestructibility of every life. and Vasudeva lay himself down to sleep. my dear. let's get to work. Early in the morning. and she thought that she had now found him in his place. on which my wife had died a long time ago. saw his own face lying in the same manner. In the stable. She wanted to tell this to him. just as quenched out. that he used to. whether the boy was sleeping.

to accept his love. and that he had grown up in the habits of rich people. many times I have asked it. then Siddhartha began to understand that his son had not brought him happiness and peace. that he could not love him like a father. against his will. he had to leave all this behind. a mother's boy. But do we. Vasudeva took in the evening his friend aside and talked to him. But the river laughs. who greeted him as his son and welcomed him at his place in Vasudeva's hut. when the boy had come to him. For a long time. and is shaking with laughter at out foolishness. Siddhartha spared him and let him do as he pleased. Tell me. did not want to do any work. "from a friendly heart. to a different nest. Pale. he hoped to win him over." Vasudeva's smile flourished more warmly. your son is not in the place where he can prosper. for long months. Your son. 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. watching. it laughs at you and me. you and me. Vasudeva waited. the old men had split the work. oh friend. Slowly. I'm seeing that you are tormenting yourself. But he loved him. with love and with friendly patience I intent to capture it. people like this have to suffer a lot. in order to be with his son. his pain will be. Vasudeva. I'm seeking to win his heart. his heart is proud and hard. Siddhartha understood that his son did not know him. is worrying you. One day. Water wants to join water. I'm fighting for him. it laughs at me. the boy had attended his mother's funeral. 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?" "No. did not want to eat. did the work in the hut and the field. One day. to a soft bed. and Siddhartha. he too is called upon. waited and said nothing. he too is of the eternal life. to perhaps reciprocate it. For long months. but suffering and worry. what actions to perform." he said. Siddhartha waited for his son to understand him. did not pay his respect to the old men. gave no open look. he had listened to Siddhartha. the river shall also talk to him. ran away from riches and the city. Slowly. I'm seeing that you're in grief. what pain to endure? Not a small one. in the many wrinkles of which there was incessant cheerfulness. He did not force him. by friendly patience. what path to take. after all. know what he is called upon to do." . Since young Siddhartha was in the hut. He has not. "Pardon me. "Give me some more time. he sat for many days by the hill of the dead. I asked the river. and the boy remained a stranger and in a gloomy disposition. I'm talking to you. always picked the best piece of the meal for him. and he is also worrying me. my dear. and he preferred the suffering and worries of love over happiness and joy without the boy. being disgusted and fed up with it. err a lot. That young bird is accustomed to a different life.THE SON Timid and weeping. since he displayed a proud and stubbornly disobedient heart. he also is called upon. "Oh yes. he did many a chore for him. met his fate with resistance and denial. youth wants to join youth. stole from Vasudeva's fruit-trees. I don't do anything of this. ashamed. accustomed to finer food. accustomed to giving orders to servants. burden themselves with much sin. gloomy and shy. my dear! See. did not open his heart. Siddhartha understood that the mourning. he had called himself. he honoured his mourning. like you. pampered child could not suddenly and willingly be content with a life among strangers and in poverty. Siddhartha looked into his friendly face. "How could I part with him?" he said quietly. you too should listen to it!" Troubled. You too should ask the river. Rich and happy. Vasudeva had again taken on the job of the ferryman all by himself. he also saw and understood that the eleven-year-old was a pampered boy. do much injustice. Since time had passed on in the meantime.

stronger than the knowledge was his love for the boy. isn't he punished by all this?" Troubled. "Often. don't give him orders. prayer. wouldn't punish him? Don't you shackle him with your love? Don't you make him feel inferior every day. the silent war of patience. he could not give up the boy. he had not already thought and known for himself. But look. thus unsuccessfully. won't he lose himself to pleasure and power. Vasudeva had spoken so many words. I praise you. suffering for the sake of another person. You don't force him." she had said to him. he had never been able to lose or devote himself completely to another person. stronger was his tenderness. into this world? Won't he become exuberant. as it had seemed to him at that time. in the days of their youth. he touched Siddhartha's arm and said: "Ask the river about it. Siddhartha. whose thoughts can't be his. But now." Never before. having become a fool on account of love. there'll still be servants around. and yet thus happily? Siddhartha could not heed his friend's advice. Kindly. he let him disregard him. from foolishness? Were his father's religious devotion. from soiling himself with life. Vasudeva had told him nothing. could not sleep for a long time. But this was a knowledge he could not act upon. to whom even rice is a delicacy. while comparing the childlike people with falling leaves. Siddhartha suddenly had to think of a line which Kamala a long time ago. his teachers warnings. who had no tender heart anyhow. bring him to a teacher. because you would like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment? But even if you would die ten times for him. "You cannot love. his own knowledge. and among girls." Siddhartha spoke sadly. had once said to him. had also become completely a childlike person. thus sufferingly. softly. from sin. to commit foolish acts for the love of another person. At one time. because you love him. which you once told me here on this very spot? Who has kept the Samana Siddhartha safe from Sansara. a Brahman's son. how shall I put him. had he ever loved any person thus. and don't you make it even harder on him with your kindness and patience? Don't you force him. give him to them. 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. won't he perhaps get entirely lost in Sansara?" Brightly. patient. Siddhartha looked to the ground. from drinking the bitter drink for himself. went troubled into the hut. because you know that 'soft' is stronger than 'hard'. the great distinction which set him apart from the childlike people. which teacher had been able to protect him from living his life for himself. Have you never thought of this?" "You're seeing into my heart. He let the boy give him orders. anybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path? That perhaps your little son would be spared. that story about Siddhartha. the ferryman's smile lit up. his fear to lose him. He said nothing and waited. Vasudeva also said nothing and waited. the arrogant and pampered boy. not for the teachings' sake. from greed. Indeed. his own search able to keep him safe? Which father. to forget himself. and this was. when the boy's face reminded him very much of Kamala. love stronger than force. never he had been able to do this. thus blindly. won't he repeat all of his father's mistakes. now he. I have thought of this."I knew it. But aren't you mistaken in thinking that you wouldn't force him. . my dear. you would not be able to take the slightest part of his destiny upon yourself. to live in a hut with two old banana-eaters. friendly. knowing. lost to a love. Had he ever lost his heart so much to something. since his son was here. he began the mute struggle of friendliness. bring him into his mother's house. Very good. admonition? My dear. They were both masters of patience. from burdening himself with guilt. don't beat him. that story containing so many lessons. and he had agreed with her and had compared himself with a star. he asked: "What do you think should I do?" Quoth Vasudeva: "Bring him into the city. And when there aren't any around any more. from finding his path for himself? Would you think. Water stronger than rocks. Siddhartha thanked him. loving another person. and in the world which is his own. Quietly. and nevertheless he had also sensed an accusation in that line. whose hearts are old and quiet and beats in a different pace than his? Isn't forced. have you entirely forgotten that story. daily. but so that he shall be among other boys.

every viciousness with kindness. and he is right. than to become like you! I hate you. let him humiliate himself every day by giving in to his moods. I see you suffering. enriched by one thing. Through all this. and Vasudeva helped him to tied the canes together with ropes of grass. all these there no attributes which could win the boy over. The boat had also disappeared. What had also disappeared was a small basket. who kept him prisoner here in this miserable hut of his. these foolish acts also had to be committed. A day came. that you won't hit me. the boy had made yesterday. But him. late. he is no child any more. he knows how to get around. the son let him commit his foolish acts. just as devout. my friend. He's looking for the path to the city. he felt at the same time. a murky source. dark waters. "to get our boat back. He already held the axe in his hands and began to make a raft of bamboo. This father had nothing which would have delighted him and nothing which he would have feared. I do know. "A child can't go through the forest all alone. "Get the brushwood for yourself!" he shouted foaming at the mouth. He did sense very well that this love. just to make you suffer. "I must follow him. "I'm not your servant. Vasudeva said: "It might have been possible that the oar of our boat got lost. and he openly turned against his father. He's taking care of himself. He thought." said Vasudeva. and go to hell.Now he too felt. foamed at the father in a hundred savage and evil words. He'll perish. just as soft. this strongest and strangest of all passions. that it was Sansara. perhaps a very devout man. suffered from it. you shall let run along. you're not my father. The boy had ran away. in which the ferrymen kept those copper and silver coins which they received as a fare. was nevertheless renewed in one respect. and if you've ten times been my mother's fornicator!" Rage and grief boiled over in him. and screamed in a powerful outburst his hatred and contempt into his father's face. You want me to become like you. he was bored by him. this pain also had to be endured. This pleasure also had to be atoned for. kind. it was not worthless. but you're suffering a pain at which one would like to laugh. Nevertheless. if he had been abused by him. something very human. pulled the raft upriver on the opposite bank. I do know. drifted far off their course. Siddhartha. clenched his fists. this blind love for his son. the boy would have thrown away . it was necessary. at which you'll soon laugh for yourself. he had disappeared. But the next morning. Then they crossed over. woven out of bast of two colours. Siddhartha saw it lying by the opposite bank. was a passion. who had been shivering with grief since those ranting speeches. let him court for his affection. he's taking his course." said Siddhartha. He was bored by this father. don't forget that. "Why did you take the axe along?" asked Siddhartha. this very thing was the hated trick of this old sneak. and for him to answer every naughtiness with a smile. soft man. once in his lifetime. to get over the water. perhaps a saint. I rather want to become a highway-robber and murderer. listen up. he had told him to gather brushwood. and was nevertheless in bliss." "We will build a raft. just as wise! But I. which the boy has taken away. Then the boy ran away and only returned late at night. that you constantly want to punish me and put me down with your religious devotion and your indulgence. thumped on the ground with his feet. The latter had given him a task. But the boy did not leave the hut. Much more the boy would have liked it if he had been threatened by him. every insult with friendliness. this father. you don't dare. suffered miserably." Siddhartha did not answer. a good. We must build a raft." But Siddhartha knew what his friend was thinking. He's doing what you've failed to do yourself. He was a good man. Alas. in stubborn disobedience and rage he stayed where he was. Vasudeva. came from the essence of his own being. when what young Siddhartha had on his mind came bursting forth.

And in fact. no goal. so he thought. saw young Kamala walking among the high trees. When Siddhartha had already been walking through the forest for a long time. which had drawn him here following the runaway son. he stood there. one of them came to him and placed two bananas in front of him. into the small wrinkles. felt once again the wish to annihilate himself. and regained his senses. Instantly. Deeply. no longer to save him. without seeing a path. he saw himself being served food and drink by Kamala. listening attentively. neither one mentioned the boy's name. 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. again he saw himself standing there. That this wound did not blossom yet. Instead of the desired goal. there was no oar left in the boat. breathed Sansara. the thought occurred to him that his search was useless. Either. When. was once again healed by the holy Om. seeing images. returned home to the ferry. looked at the monks. just to perhaps see him one more time. or. He rose and greeted Vasudeva. if he should still be on his way. near the city. lived through all this once again. saw the servants. After having been standing by the gate of the garden for a long time. he also found that he. at this hour. After this. As he continued thinking. Neither one talked about what had happened today. In the hut. he ran without stopping. by the entrance of the beautiful pleasure-garden. into the happy eyes. the hair full of dust. he would conceal himself from him. he sat down. he was awoken by a hand touching his shoulder. The past rose up in his soul. which used to belong to Kamala. From this petrified state. who had followed him. made him sad. this one thing: waiting. let himself fall. this tender. He started making a new oar. listening to the story of his life. he already found him asleep. For a long time. He saw Kamaswami. neither one spoke about the wound. he stopped. This he had learned by the river. and dust was gathering on his gray hair. he silently went back into the forest with Vasudeva. pondering. Nevertheless. seeing monks in yellow robes walking among the beautiful trees. felt once again disgust. And when he felt the wound burning.or broken the oar in order to get even and in order to keep them from following him. saw Kamala's song-bird in the cage. neither one spoke about him running away. fell into emptiness. that he was not allowed to cling him. waited for a voice. naked Samana. he recognised this touch. he felt the love for the run-away in his heart. Vasudeva pointed to the bottom of the boat and looked at his friend with a smile. where he had seen her for the first time in her sedan-chair. that it had to become a blossom and had to shine. the pursuer. saw young Siddhartha in their place. Vasudeva did not stop him. listening. saw no images any more. that he could not help his son. He sat lost in thought and waited. and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it. there was now emptiness. listened to his heart. looking proudly and disdainfully back on his Brahmanism. For a long time. saw no joy any more. Siddhartha stood there and looked through the open gate into the garden. The old man did not see him. to look for the run-away. . which were as if they were filled with nothing but his smile. and when after a while Vasudeva came to him. on his part. Siddhartha realised that his desire was foolish. he stood there. picked them up. the orgies. then he smiled too. beginning proudly and full of desire his worldly life. a bearded. in the dust of the road. Sadly. beating tiredly and sadly. And when he looked into Vasudeva's friendly face. ate the other one himself. he reached a wide road. the musicians. the gamblers with the dice. But Siddhartha bid his farewell. And he sat and listened. he silently spoke the Om. to offer him a bowl of coconut-milk. which had made him go up to this place. Now he saw the bananas lying in front of him. For a long time. felt something dying in his heart. just to satisfy his desire. The monks in the garden saw him. Clearly. bashful touch. Many an hour he crouched. was once again old and tired. having patience. young. experienced emptiness. did not shine yet. filled himself with Om. receiving his first kiss from her. And he ran up to just outside of the city. and since he crouched for many hours. gave one to the ferryman. the boy was far ahead and had already reached the city. like a wound. was not worried for his son. that he knew deep inside that he had neither perished nor was in any danger in the forest. Siddhartha lay down on his bed.


without thinking: "So many. just as animals too can. thus similar to the childlike people he had become. to be able to feel and inhale the oneness.OM For a long time. all of these urges. bearing infinitely much. all except for me. less smart. when the wound burned violently. it still seemed to him as if those childlike people were his brothers. childlike people. the thought of oneness. whether it might not also perhaps be a childish idea of the thinking people. And he remembered how he. unrelenting performance of what is necessary. women. he found it: this face resembled another face. the knowledge. less proud. which reminded him. Differently than before. something he had forgotten. so many thousands possess this sweetest of good fortunes—why don't I? Even bad people. longingly and bitterly Siddhartha thought of his son. all of these simple. the stupid. the Brahman in each of their passions. Had his father not also suffered the same pain for him. smiling. there was nothing the knowledgeable one. And Siddhartha even doubted in many an hour. small thing: the consciousness. he saw people living for their sake. while living his life. had to put him above them except for one little thing. it was the dry season. a long time ago. but immensely strong. their blind strength and tenacity. this thought was to be valued thus highly. each of their acts. childlike face: harmony. slowly ripened in Siddhartha the realisation. it laughed brightly and clearly at the old ferryman. the Brahman. the conscious thought of the oneness of all life. In all other respects. he felt like them. nurtured his love and tenderness in his heart. They lacked nothing. as a young man. but instead warmer. in order to hear even better. Many a traveller Siddhartha had to ferry across the river who was accompanied by a son or a daughter. the wound continued to burn. Slowly blossomed. became understandable. these people did not seem alien to him as they used to: he understood them. Though he was near perfection and was bearing his final wound. Worthy of love and admiration were these people in their blind loyalty. what the goal of his long search was. he bent over the water. of the thinking and childlike people. and are being loved by them. all of this childish stuff. he now looked upon people. The river flowed softly and quietly. the indestructible. but its voice sounded strange: it laughed! It laughed clearly." Thus simply. It was nothing but a readiness of the soul. which was not guided by thoughts and insight. was shining back at him from Vasudeva's old. warriors. suffering infinitely much. but solely by urges and wishes. that what is alive. what wisdom actually was. strongly prevailing urges and desires were now no childish notions for Siddhartha any more. blind pride of a conceited father for his only son. committed all foolish acts of love. driven by a yearning. their vanities. vain woman for jewelry and admiring glances from men. more involved. and he could love them for it. saw them achieving infinitely much for their sake. and he saw his face reflected in the quietly moving waters. a secret art. a single. became lovable. an ability. strongly living. which he used to know and love and also fear. But the wound still burned. The river laughed. and he saw none of them without envying him. seem to be superior to humans in their tough. how he had gone and had never come back. Siddhartha stopped. conducting wars. tiny. the blind. Slowly this blossomed in him. this flame would go out. and as he thought about it. after all. to think every moment. he saw life. knowledge of the eternal perfection of the world. the worldly people were of equal rank to the wise men. Not by itself. even became worthy of veneration to him. And one day. which he now suffered for his son? Had his father not long since . thus without reason he now thought. how he had bed his farewell to him. he understood and shared their life. more curious. got off the boat and was willing to go to the city and to look for his son. in some moments. travelling. It resembled his father's face. and in this reflected face there was something. whether this knowledge. foolish. desires for possession. even thieves and robbers have children and love them. oneness. and ridiculous aspects were no longer ridiculous to him. Siddhartha ferried across the river. were often far superior to them. had forced his father to let him go to the penitents. businessmen. the thinker. The blind love of a mother for her child. allowed the pain to gnaw at him. When he ferried travellers of the ordinary kind. wild desire of a young.

he felt an undefeatable desire to open up to Vasudeva. of his walk to the city. Thorough all this. thinking of his father. he also being tied with the bondage of yearning to his distant son. He presented his wound. he now told him of. and the more he felt it and entered into it. Vasudeva's listening gave Siddhartha a stronger sensation than ever before.died. Yes. The river sang with a voice of suffering. singing in many voices. came back at him from his counterpart. the same pain was suffered over and over again. and not less tending towards laughing along at (?? über) himself and the entire world. almost forever. that he himself had almost reached the same state. Siddhartha looked into the water. Softly sounded the river. everything he could tell. sat down with him. . this realisation of Vasudeva's changed character took possession of him. Vasudeva turned his friendly eyes. Nevertheless. What they had never talked about. alone. that Vasudeva had already been like this for a long time. thinking of his son. without having seen his son again? Did he not have to expect the same fate for himself? Was it not a comedy. smiled at the river. that he was the eternal itself. Alas. yes. the master of listening. and that this could not last." he said. the less wondrous it became. at that time. who was listening to him. at him. that he was God himself. of his envy at the sight of happy fathers. which had not been suffered and solved up to its end. He took Siddhartha's hand. and images appeared to him in the moving water: his father appeared. how he ferried across the water. everything came back. shine at him. slowly he started talking. let his silent love and cheerfulness. he himself appeared. while Vasudeva was listening with a quiet face. "But you haven't heard everything. said nothing. Siddhartha nodded. lonely. everything could be said. that he was now seeing old Vasudeva as the people see the gods. he was able to say everything." They listened. that this motionless listener was absorbing his confession into himself like a tree the rain. When he had finished talking. to show him everything. his fears flowed over to him. willing to walk to the city. longingly it sang. the wound was not blossoming yet. his son appeared. that this motionless man was the river itself. still admitting and confessing. "Do you hear?" Vasudeva's mute gaze asked. Siddhartha felt more and more that this was no longer Vasudeva. a childish run-away. also told how he fled today. greedily rushing along the burning course of his young wishes. longingly. in his heart. he felt hope. cheerfulness and victory were not yet shining from his suffering. he talked incessantly. and once he had returned to the hut. spoke for a long time. of the burning wound. each one obsessed by the goal. He no longer used the ferry-boat. at odds with himself. this running around in a fateful circle? The river laughed. While he spoke. each one suffering. Siddhartha sat down next to the old man. laughed at by the river. understanding and knowledge. you'll hear more. of his futile fight against them. until it had cooled and become one with the river. the boy. the more he realised that everything was in order and natural. But Siddhartha want back into the boat and ferried back to the hut. his eyes were starting to get weak. "You've heard it laugh. lonely. lonely as well. While he was still speaking. Vasudeva was sitting in the hut and weaving a basket. Unchanged and flourishing was only the joy and the cheerful benevolence of his face. each one heading for his goal. and not just his eyes. tending towards despair. his arms and hands as well. no longer a human being. which had grown slightly weak. so it was. he sensed how his pain. He felt. to say everything. it flowed towards its goal. how the river had laughed. everything shown. He reported everything. of his knowledge of the foolishness of such wishes. he started bidding his farewell to Vasudeva. how his secret hope flowed over. his heart was still fighting his fate. a strange and stupid matter. To show his wound to this listener was the same as bathing it in the river. Let's listen. mourning for his son. even the most embarrassing parts. lamentingly its voice sang. And while Siddhartha stopped thinking of himself and his wound. this repetition. led him to the seat by the bank. that only he had not quite recognised it.

which is no longer opposed by any will. the lake. Siddhartha stopped fighting his fate. today it sounded new. "I've known it. saw his steps full of peace. flowed on once again. With a bright smile. the river. all that was good and evil. many goals. all of this together was the world. farewell. stopped suffering. for a long time. His wound blossomed. and the image of Govinda. He was now nothing but a listener. a thousand voices. was the music of life. Now that it has come. Kamala's image also appeared and was dispersed. Now it's enough. the river was heading. everything was one. but when he heard them all. completely empty. when he looked into Siddhartha's eyes and saw the cheerfulness of the knowledge shining in them. voices of joy and of suffering. when he neither listened to the suffering nor the laughter. he had ever seen. with the current of life."Listen better!" Vasudeva whispered. not the ones of children from those of men. good and bad voices. And when Siddhartha was listening attentively to this river. floating radiantly over all the wrinkles of his old face. Siddhartha listened. I've been Vasudeva the ferryman. headed forward once again. the scream of rage and the moaning of the dying ones. towards goals. he had heard all this. Often before. a river. Siddhartha!" Siddhartha made a deep bow before him who bid his farewell. Vasudeva's smile was shining. full of sympathy for the pain of others. these many voices in the river. his suffering was shining. which knows perfection. . and the river's voice sounded full of yearning. when he looked at his friend. this song of a thousand voices. all yearning. everything was intertwined and connected. turned into a source. and brightly the same smile was now starting to shine on Siddhartha's face as well. he softly touched his shoulder with his hand. in this careful and tender manner. In this hour. he felt. saw his head full of lustre. turned into rain and poured down from the sky. the sea. I've been waiting for this hour. Already. all of these waves and waters were hurrying. his own image. Brightly his smile was shining. for the goal. and other images. a stream. the rapids. river. full of unsatisfiable desire. Farewell. the image of his son merged. when he did not tie his soul to any particular voice and submerged his self into it. longing. which consisted of him and his loved ones and of all people. suffering. perceived the whole. With deep joy. belonging to the oneness. "You'll go into the forests?" "I'm going into the forests. searching. entangled a thousand times. all voices. The image of his father. all goals. Brightly. which is in agreement with the flow of events. saw his body full of light. and said: "I've been waiting for this hour. completely concentrated on listening. and they merged with each other. farewell. "Do you hear. they all belonged together. turned all into the river. the oneness. my dear. that he had now finished learning to listen. When Vasudeva rose from the seat by the bank. his self had flown into the oneness. but other voices joined it. Siddhartha made an effort to listen better." Vasudeva's gaze asked again. But the longing voice had changed. and the water turned into vapour and rose to the sky. desiring. I'm going into the oneness. It still resounded. full of sympathy for the pleasure of others. Siddhartha watched him leaving. and every goal was followed by a new one. laughing and sad ones." he said quietly. as the Om was floating in the air over all the voices of the river. which was Om: the perfection. let me leave. devoted to the flow." spoke Vasudeva with a bright smile. full of burning woe. And everything together. the lamentation of yearning and the laughter of the knowledgeable one. he left. All of it together was the flow of events. being the river. hut. suffering. On his face flourished the cheerfulness of a knowledge. not the happy ones from the weeping ones. Siddhartha saw it hurrying. headed all. full of suffering. all suffering. a hundred voices. with deep solemnity he watched him leave. For a long time. then the great song of the thousand voices consisted of a single word. and all goals were reached. the waterfall. all pleasure. he could no longer tell the many voices apart. For the goal.


you have already ferried many of us across the river. are perhaps indeed a searcher." asked Govinda. because he is obsessed by the goal. oh honourable one?" Quoth Siddhartha: "What should I possibly have to tell you. Govinda. Aren't you too. he said to the old man: "You're very good to us monks and pilgrims. he chose the path to the ferry. Many people. Would you like to tell me something. When Govinda went back on his way. my friend." Govinda stayed the night in the hut and slept on the bed which used to be Vasudeva's bed. many years ago. "Are you Siddhartha?" he asked with a timid voice. Never I'll stop searching. my dear. ferryman. and when they got off the boat on the other side. You. though you are already of an old in years and are wearing the robe of Gotama's monks?" "It's true. But. though he was also looked upon with veneration by the younger monks on account of his age and his modesty. Siddhartha. which the courtesan Kamala had given to the followers of Gotama for a gift. this seems to be my destiny. that he is unable to find anything. oh venerable one? Perhaps that you're searching far too much? That in all that searching. "A ferryman. you don't find the time for finding?" "How come?" asked Govinda. these words: "Before I'll continue on my path. have been searching. to let anything enter his mind." Astonished. oh venerable one. I am one of those. Do you have a teaching? Do you have a faith.—And so you've now become a ferryman?" In a friendly manner. you've once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by the river. He came to the river and asked the old man to ferry him over. the restlessness and the searching still had not perished from his heart.GOVINDA Together with other monks. smiling from his old eyes: "Do you call yourself a searcher. yes. my dear. Govinda used to spend the time of rest between pilgrimages in the pleasure-grove. permit me to ask one more question. But finding means: being free. eager to see the ferryman." spoke Govinda. because he has a goal. you did not recognise the sleeping man. "but I haven't stopped searching. "When someone is searching. Govinda. in those days when we . Many questions he posed to the friend of his youth. so it seems to me. there are many things you don't see. because. which helps you to live and to do right?" Quoth Siddhartha: "You know. I'm old." "I don't quite understand yet. striving for your goal. that I already as a young man. Govinda said. oh venerable one. Be welcome. have to wear many a robe. Because. and spend the night in my hut. When in the next morning the time had come to start the day's journey. have to change a lot. "then it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes still see is that what he searches for. "I wouldn't have recognised you this time as well! From my heart. Siddhartha laughed. "what do you mean by this?" Quoth Siddhartha: "A long time ago. He heard talk of an old ferryman. I'm greeting you. who lived one day's journey away by the river. because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search. and have sat down with him to guard his sleep. which are directly in front of your eyes. a searcher for the right path?" Quoth Siddhartha. from my heart. having no goal. or a knowledge. oh venerable one. you follow. not without hesitation. and who was regarded as a wise man by many. oh Govinda. being open. many things Siddhartha had to tell him from his life. Siddhartha. the monk looked into the ferryman's eyes. though he had lived his entire life by the rules." said Siddhartha. Searching means: having a goal. You too. I'm happy to see you once again! You've changed a lot. as if he had been the object of a magic spell.

roundness. the possible. you would delight my heart. Govinda. a saint. my dear. I have learned here from this river and from my predecessor. death is to me like life. and a rich merchant was my teacher. between evil and good. though you've found no teachings. even a follower of Buddha. my loving agreement. what exists around us and inside of us. which I have found: wisdom cannot be passed on. I see whatever exists as good. he will reach the Nirvana. on the pilgrimage. everything is Brahman. though our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things. in you. Everything is one-sided which can be thought with thoughts and said with words. Therefore. This was what I. all just one half. all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself. and there everything is good. all infants already have death. everything only requires my consent. is. it is possible to be carried by it. started to distrust teachers and teachings and to turn my back to them. but not wisdom. A person or an act is never entirely Sansara or entirely Nirvana. I have felt knowledge in me. and insight. which you'll again regard as a joke or foolishness. "I'm not kidding. you have to worship in him. is also a deception. only my willingness. When the exalted Gotama spoke in his teachings of the world. There have been many thoughts. Sometimes. But the world itself. are only a parable! The sinner is not on his way to become a Buddha. but which is my best thought. there is no other way for him who wants to teach. the Buddha is waiting. sometimes suspected. is a sinner. I have stuck with this. miracles can be performed with it. "Listen well. oneness." Quoth Siddhartha: "I've had thoughts. is never one-sided. A beautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time. into deception and truth. a person is never entirely holy or entirely sinful. In deep meditation. oh Siddhartha. I believe in you and know that you haven't followed a teacher. it can be lived. then the gap which seems to be between the world and the eternity. has been my teacher. Nevertheless. I'm telling you what I've found. but it would be hard for me to convey them to you. to see all life which was. you still found certain thoughts.lived with the penitents in the forest. between suffering and blissfulness. He was a very simple person. which are your own and which help you to live? If you would like to tell me some of these. No. And if time is not real. I have had many teachers since then. but he knew what is necessary just as well as Gotama. wisdom like foolishness. Once. again and again. he is not in the process of developing. my dear Govinda. But haven't you found something by yourself. It is not possible for any person to see how far another one has already progressed on his path. I have experienced this often and often again. in everyone the Buddha which is coming into being. because we are subject to deception. is not imperfect. It can be found. for an hour or for an entire day. you love a bit to mock people. all dying people the eternal life. he sat with me when I had fallen asleep in the forest. this is one of my thoughts. to be . very grateful. all small children already have the old person in themselves. into suffering and salvation. travelling on foot. as it seems to me. I've also learned from him. yes. in the robber and dice-gambler. it is perfect in every moment. as one would feel life in one's heart. he had to divide it into Sansara and Nirvana. everything is perfect. It does really seem like this. the hidden Buddha. Look. what has driven me away from the teachers. Vasudeva. everything has to be as it is. there is the possibility to put time out of existence. listen well! The sinner. I have found a thought. the robber is waiting. he was a perfect man. Wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to someone always sounds like foolishness. It cannot be done differently. and some gamblers with dice. will be Buddha—and now see: these 'times to come' are a deception. it's all one-sided. even as a young man. and will be as if it was simultaneous. 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. But most of all." "Are you kidding?" asked Govinda. his future is already all there. my friend Govinda. the ferryman Vasudeva. or on a slow path towards perfection: no. but in times to come he will be Brahma again. certain insights. Govinda. Knowledge can be conveyed. sin like holiness. he was no thinker. in the Brahman. which I am and which you are. Time is not real." Govinda said: "Still. as if time was something real. The world." "How come?" asked Govinda timidly. within the sinner is now and today already the future Buddha. but it cannot be expressed in words and taught. all lacks completeness. I'm also grateful to him.

Let the things be illusions or not. Thus. that love this very stone. others like sand. in the dryness or wetness of its surface." Quoth Govinda: "Not just a word. Govinda. a man has been my predecessor and teacher. and all these things we are looking at and from which we can learn. in order to stop comparing it to some world I wished. some kind of perfection I had made up. I must confess to you.—These. in the gray. I have a better opinion of things. and things can be loved. Perhaps it are these which keep you from finding peace. it belongs to the world of the Maja.good for me. perhaps it are the many words. There is no thing which would be Nirvana. I imagined. and also a tree or a piece of bark." Govinda listened silently. only because he had believed in the river. every beetle was just as divine and knows just as much and can teach just as much as the worshipped river. but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy being a part of it. that it is a stone. But today I think: this stone is a stone. they have nothing but words. and others like leaves. picked up a stone from the ground. in order to learn how to give up all resistance. a holy man. it is also god. and this is this very fact which I like and regard as wonderful and worthy of worship. they have no hardness. my dear: I don't differentiate much between thoughts and words." Govinda said: "But is that what you call `things'. no taste. in order to learn how to love the world. There are stones which feel like oil or soap." spoke Siddhartha. Therefore. everything always becomes a bit different. who has for many years simply believed in the river. To be honest. perhaps turn into soil. nothing else. in the yellow. I can love a stone. This is what makes them . Sansara and Nirvana as well. It is a thought. This are things. to do nothing but work for my benefit. but rather because it is already and always everything— and it is this very fact. "This here. the river seemed to be a god to him. the desire for possessions." Siddhartha bent down. and will. therefore I also grant it importance. no edges. no smell. each one is Brahman. knew more than you and me. and weighed it in his hand. is oily or juicy. "Why have you told me this about the stone?" he asked hesitantly after a pause. he learned from it. Or perhaps what I meant was. no softness. I would have said: This stone is just a stone. and needed the most shameful despair. but because it might be able to become also a human being and a spirit in the cycle of transformations. for many years he did not know that every wind. "I did it without any specific intention. this is why I love it and see worth and purpose in each of its veins and cavities. are mere words. Govinda. I also very much agree with this. But I cannot love words. as soon as it is put into words. "I do not care very much about. Because salvation and virtue as well. gets distorted a bit. vanity." he said playing with it. and this is also very good. just an image and illusion? Your stone. to be unable to ever harm me. your tree. a bit silly—yes. I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I needed sin very much. he knew everything. Here on this ferry-boat. I needed lust. In the past. something which has existence? Isn't it just a deception of the Maja. actually something real. for instance. after all I would then also be an illusion. without teachers. my friend. every cloud. I also have no high opinion of thoughts. and every one is special and prays the Om in its own way. it might be so. and I like it a lot. "is a stone. it is also Buddha. I would perhaps have thought in the past. it is worthless. The words are not good for the secret meaning. no colours.—But let me speak no more of this. oh Govinda. in the hardness. without books. teachings are no good for me. after a certain time. your river— are they actually a reality?" "This too. is Nirvana. every bird. it is also animal." Siddhartha continued: "A thought. and thus they are always like me. But when this holy man went into the forests. and the river. He had noticed that the river's spoke to him. there is just the word Nirvana. in the sound it makes when I knock at it. it educated and taught him. that it appears to me now and today as a stone. that this what is one man's treasure and wisdom always sounds like foolishness to another person. are some of the thoughts which have come into my mind. I do not venerate and love it because it could turn into this or that. and will turn from soil into a plant or animal or human being. but simultaneously and just as much it is a stone.

shines a cheerfulness and mildness and holiness. place more importance on his acts and life than on his speeches. my words of love are in a contradiction. not to hate it and me. the two old men said nothing. May his teachings be strange. for I know. his teachings sound foolish. Govinda. Never again. his walk. with fear. he expresses bizarre thoughts. while he was still struggling in vain and with reluctance to think away time. shines a calmness. Siddhartha. laborious life only to help them. quiet smile. seems to me to be the most important thing of all. Siddhartha. while bowing for a farewell: "I thank you.) As Govinda thought like this. his skin and his hair. give me something on my way which I can grasp. They are partially strange thoughts. he forbade us to tie our heart in love to earthly things. "we have become old men. out of every part of him shines a purity. and yet drawn by great love and expectation." Siddhartha said nothing and looked at him with the ever unchanged. nothing strange. For I cannot deny. and there was a conflict in his heart. I thank you. which I have seen in no other person since the final death of our exalted teacher. may be the thing great thinkers do. For this very reason. my path. "Siddhartha. his breath." he spoke. oh honourable one. I distrust in words so much. this contradiction is a deception. obeyed his words. and I wish you to have calm days. not to despise it. even closer! Very close! Kiss my forehead. I prefer the thing over the words. I see. I confess that I haven't found it. "I know it. never since then have I met a person of whom I felt: this is a holy man! Only him. Therefore. something miraculous happened to him. It is unlikely for one of us to see the other again in this incarnation. He commands benevolence. sympathy. his smile. I can love them. to teach them! Even with him. who has discovered all elements of human existence in their transitoriness. To thoroughly understand the world. clemency. to imagine Nirvana and Sansara as one. for telling me some of your thoughts. Then spoke Govinda. but not love. only in his actions. This being as it may." "This I understand. clearer. often dark. And this is now a teaching you will laugh about: love. with this we are right in the middle of the thicket of opinions. out of his gaze and his hand. Not in his speech. even with your great teacher. while even a certain contempt for the words of his friend was fighting in him against an . Govinda stared at his face. in their meaninglessness. to despise it. But I'm only interested in being able to love the world. he." For a long time. I have found to be like this. a seeming contradiction with Gotama's words. Deeply he bowed to him who was calmly sitting. While his thoughts were still dwelling on Siddhartha's wondrous words. to be able to look upon it and me and all beings with love and admiration and great respect." (But secretly he thought to himself: This Siddhartha is a bizarre person. And behold. eternal not-finding. and yet loved people thus much. his forehead. So differently sound the exalted one's pure teachings. beloved. that you have found peace. after our exalted Gotama has become one with the Nirvana. It it often hard." spoke Govinda." "I know it. his greeting." said Siddhartha. with yearning. or silly is contained in them. to use a long. more on the gestures of his hand than his opinions. I see his greatness. oh Govinda. one more word. Siddhartha saw it and smiled. tolerance. and the eternal search was visible in his look. But different from his thoughts seemed to me Siddhartha's hands and feet. to explain it. foolish. which I can understand! Give me something to be with me on my path. in the dispute about words. bent down closely to him and touched his forehead with his lips. How should he not know love. suffering. dear and worthy of veneration for me: they are like me. Govinda!" But while Govinda with astonishment. drawn by love. "But this very thing was discovered by the exalted one to be a deception. his smile shone golden. may his words sound foolish. more comprehensible. his eyes. "Bend down to me! Like this. I know that I am in agreement with Gotama. he once again bowed to Siddhartha. not in his thoughts. in his life. Tell me. not all have been instantly understandable to me. "Bent down to me!" he whispered quietly in Govinda's ear. this Siddhartha.

motionless. saw Krishna. a me and a you. perhaps very benevolently. Deeply. generated themselves. which all came and disappeared. of boars. distorted from crying—he saw the face of a murderer. a shell or mold or mask of water. all existence. like a transparent skin. this smile of oneness above the flowing forms. loving it. a Gotama. touching the ground. feeling in his innermost self as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow. this smile of Siddhartha was precisely the same.immense love and veneration. the perfected ones are smiling. destroying it. many. hating it. the humblest veneration in his heart. whose smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in his life. was precisely of the same kind as the quiet. impenetrable. without individuality of its own. and this mask was smiling. each one helping the other. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Siddhartha. like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love. he saw him plunging a knife into the body of another person—he saw. cold. by Herman Hesse *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIDDHARTHA *** ***** This file should be named 2500-h. giving re-birth to it. not knowing any more whether there existed a Siddhartha. which all constantly changed and renewed themselves. which had just been the scene of all manifestations. but yet existing. a carp. naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love—he saw corpses stretched out. received evermore a new face. he smiled silently. Govinda bowed. of hundreds. Like this. after under its surface the depth of the thousandfoldness had closed up again. like a thin glass or ice. ran down his old face. flowed. he bowed. in the same second. wise. perhaps very mockingly. void— he saw the heads of animals. this smile of the mask. Not knowing any more whether time existed. and this mask was Siddhartha's smiling face. Govinda. instead he saw other faces. of crocodiles. this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths. and yet none of them died. in this very same moment touched with his lips. this criminal in bondage. each one only transformed. perhaps benevolent. The face was unchanged. with fading eyes—he saw the face of a new-born child. which he had just kissed. each one was a will to die. Deeply. the Buddha. of elephants. perhaps mocking. and which were still all Siddhartha. the exalted one. of thousands. thousand-fold smile of Gotama. kneeling and his head being chopped off by the executioner with one blow of his sword —he saw the bodies of men and . and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously. Govinda knew. with an infinitely painfully opened mouth. the face of a dying fish. smiled quietly and softly. all transformations. Govinda still stood for a little while bent over Siddhartha's quiet face. floated along and merged with each other. a long sequence. Govinda saw it like this. red and full of wrinkles. a flowing river of faces.htm or ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg. being enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self. and they were all constantly covered by something thin. And. He saw the face of a fish. as he had seen it himself with great respect a hundred times. a passionately painful confession of transitoriness. tears he knew nothing of. precisely as he used to smile. what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life. this happened to him: He no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha. the injury of which tasted sweet. which he. delicate. of bulls. without any time having passed between the one and the other face—and all of these figures and faces rested. of birds—he saw gods. whether the vision had lasted a second or a hundred years. was always re-born. before him who was sitting motionlessly. saw Agni—he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships with one another.

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