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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 Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIDDHARTHA ***

Produced by Michael Pullen,

Chandra Yenco, Isaac Jones

An Indian Tale

by Hermann Hesse




To Romain Rolland, my dear friend

In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the Salwood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection, the service of

meditation. He already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of the clear-thinking spirit. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths of his being, indestructible, one with the universe. Joy leapt in his father's heart for his son who was quick to learn, thirsty for knowledge; he saw him growing up to become great wise man and priest, a prince among the Brahmans. Bliss leapt in his mother's breast when she saw him, when she saw him walking, when she saw him sit down and get up, Siddhartha, strong, handsome, he who was walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect respect. Love touched the hearts of the Brahmans' young daughters when Siddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the luminous forehead, with the eye of a king, with his slim hips. But more than all the others he was loved by Govinda, his friend, the son of a Brahman. He loved Siddhartha's eye and sweet voice, he loved his walk and the perfect decency of his movements, he loved everything Siddhartha did and said and what he loved most was his spirit, his transcendent, fiery thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling. Govinda knew: he would not become a common Brahman, not a lazy official in charge of offerings; not a greedy merchant with magic spells; not a vain, vacuous speaker; not a mean, deceitful priest; and also not a decent, stupid sheep in the herd of the many. No, and he, Govinda, as well did not want to become one of those, not one of those tens of thousands of Brahmans. He wanted to follow Siddhartha, the beloved, the splendid. And in days to come, when Siddhartha would become a god, when he would join the glorious, then Govinda wanted to follow him as his friend, his companion, his servant, his spear-carrier, his shadow. Siddhartha was thus loved by everyone. He was a source of joy for everybody, he was a delight for them all.

that the wise Brahmans had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom. the singular one? Were the gods not creations. feed him. fuming from the sacrifices.But he. Govinda. would not nurse him. his gestures of perfect decency. Siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself. they did not wash off the sin. drop by drop. sparkling from the stars of the night. breathing forth from the verses of the Rig-Veda. where else but in one's own self. where did He reside. he had started to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother. Siddhartha. who else was to be worshipped but Him. the Atman? And where was Atman to be found. dreams came to him and a restlessness of the soul. they did not relieve the fear in his heart. and also the love of his friend. The ablutions were good. that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness. created like me and you. everyone's love and joy. the heart was not satisfied. which everyone had in himself? But where. where was this self. flowing from the water of the river. in its indestructible part. He. subject to time. the spirit was not content. was not a source of joy for himself. where did his eternal heart beat. The sacrifices and the invocation of the gods were excellent—but was that all? Did the sacrifices give a happy fortune? And what about the gods? Was it really Prajapati who had created the world? Was it not the Atman. . He had started to suspect that his venerable father and his other teachers. washing his limbs daily in the bath of repentance. the only one. from the teachings of the old Brahmans. would not bring him joy for ever and ever. and the vessel was not full. he still lacked all joy in his heart. melting from the beams of the sun. in its innermost part. the soul was not calm. sacrificing in the dim shade of the mango forest. was it meaningful and the highest occupation to make offerings to the gods? For whom else were offerings to be made. they did not heal the spirit's thirst. satisfy him. was it right. mortal? Was it therefore good. he found no delight in himself. the only one. sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation. this innermost part. but they were water. being infused into him. Walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden. Dreams and restless thoughts came into his mind.

of exhaling. all knowledge of the wisest ones had been collected here in magic words. the Brahmans and their holy books. quiet and noble were his manners. pure his life. into word and deed? Siddhartha knew many venerable Brahmans. the scholar. into the life. where the wise men or penitents. "Your soul is the whole world". into every step of the way. where the priests. did he live in blissfulness. myself. the arrangement of the senses. not knowing that one and only thing.— But where were the Brahmans. particularly in the Upanishades of Samaveda. the creation of the world. delicate and noble thoughts lived behind its brow —but even he. thus the wisest ones taught. pure as honey collected by bees. wonderful verses. it was neither thought nor consciousness. the most venerable one. His father was to be admired. and not the teachers and wise men. the pure one. many verses of the holy books. the origin of speech. of inhaling. chiefly his father. was written there. nobody knew it. spoke of this innermost and ultimate thing. the solely important thing? Surely. the Atman. would meet with his innermost part and would reside in the Atman. Marvellous wisdom was in these verses. So. not to be looked down upon was the tremendous amount of enlightenment which lay here collected and preserved by innumerable generations of wise Brahmans. they knew everything. wise his words. the acts of the gods. the self. No. did he have peace. again and again. who knew so much. where was it? To reach this place. 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. where. not the father. they knew infinitely much—but was it valuable to know all of this. was he not also just a searching man. a thirsty man? Did he not. which was worthwhile looking for? Alas. not the holy sacrificial songs! They knew everything. have to drink from holy . there was another way. they had taken care of everything and of more than everything.this ultimate part? It was not flesh and bone. and it was written that man in his sleep. of food. the most important thing. in his deep sleep. and nobody showed this way.

from the disputes of the Brahmans? Why did he. Govinda rose. The evening had come. wrapped up in contemplation. this was his suffering. Siddhartha did not answer. never he had quenched the ultimate thirst. will enter the heavenly world every day. the pristine source in one's own self. he seemed not to breathe. as a thirsty man. Thus were Siddhartha's thoughts. And among all the wise and wisest men." Often. Often he spoke to himself from a ChandogyaUpanishad the words: "Truly. have to wash off sins every day. the name of the Brahman is satyam—verily. the irreproachable one. the eternal thirst. his soul sent after the Brahman as an arrow. but never he had reached it completely. Siddhartha right here. over and over every day? Was not Atman in him. Govinda twenty paces away. from the books. the heavenly world. strive for a cleansing every day. After the usual time of the exercise in meditation had passed. who had reached it completely. thinking Om. from the offerings. it seemed near. Siddhartha sat there lost in thought. he who knows such a thing." Siddhartha spoke to his friend. He called Siddhartha's name. While putting himself down." They went to the Banyan tree. it was time to perform the evening's ablution. this was his thirst. That one should incessantly hit. Siddhartha repeated murmuring the verse: Om is the bow. they sat down. "Govinda. . was a detour. among all of them there was no one. let's practise meditation. come with me under the Banyan tree. the heavenly world. it had to be possessed! Everything else was searching. did not the pristine source spring from his heart? It had to be found. my dear. ready to speak the Om. he knew and whose instructions he had received. The Brahman is the arrow's target. Thus sat he. the tip of his tongue was protruding a little between the teeth. was getting lost. who had quenched it completely. "Govinda.sources. his eyes were rigidly focused towards a very distant target. the arrow is soul.

withered men. Speak no more of it. my friend. "will your father permit you to do that?" Siddhartha looked over as if he was just waking up. three skinny. Tomorrow." Quoth Siddhartha: "With your permission. now his fate is beginning to sprout. "O Siddhartha. when he heard these words and read the decision in the motionless face of his friend. after the hour of contemplation. read the fear. of destructive service." he exclaimed. almost naked. neither old nor young. Siddhartha will go to the Samanas. of merciless self-denial. "O Govinda. at daybreak I will begin the life of the Samanas. until his father felt that someone was standing behind him. Siddhartha spoke to Govinda: "Early tomorrow morning. In the evening. Quoth the Brahman: "Is that you. And he turned pale like a dry banana-skin. strangers and enemies to the world. my father. Siddhartha? Then say what you came to say. He will become a Samana. Govinda realized: Now it is beginning. "let's not waste words. May my father not oppose this. I came to tell you that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the ascetics." Govinda turned pale. Samanas had travelled through Siddhartha's town. now Siddhartha is taking his own way." The Brahman fell silent. unstoppable like the arrow shot from the bow." he spoke quietly. strangers and lank jackals in the realm of humans. My desire is to become a Samana. surrounded by loneliness. Soon and with the first glance." Siddhartha entered the chamber. and with his. where his father was sitting on a mat of bast. ascetics on a pilgrimage. read the submission. Behind them blew a hot scent of quiet passion. with dusty and bloody shoulders.Once. my own. scorched by the sun. and remained silent for so long that the stars in the small window wandered . and stepped behind his father and remained standing there. Arrow-fast he read in Govinda's soul.

he went to his bed and lay down. Pale shimmered his bright robe. And he came back after an hour. his arms folded. walked out of the house and saw that the moon had risen. who seemed tall and like a stranger to him. saw the young man standing there. the Brahman stood up again. by the light of the stars. the Brahman stood up. and left the house. the Brahman rose. looked through the small window. he looked into the chamber. After an hour. he came back after two hours. saw him standing in the same place. . Then spoke the father: "Not proper it is for a Brahman to speak harsh and angry words. "What are you waiting for?" asked the father. And he came back hour after hour. there stood Siddhartha. I wish not to hear this request for a second time from your mouth. Quoth Siddhartha: "You know what. and the stars traced their paths in the sky. he returned." Indignant. Siddhartha stood silently. filled his heart with unrest. Through the small window of the chamber he looked back inside. in the darkness. filled his heart with anger. paced to and fro. silently. moonlight reflecting from his bare shins. indignant.and changed their relative positions. before the day began. But indignation is in my heart. the father returned to his bed. the father went back to bed. and there he saw Siddhartha standing. Through the window of the chamber he looked back inside. filled his heart with anguish. silent and motionless sat the father on the mat. With anxiety in his heart. his arms folded. stepped into the room. filled it with sadness. And in the night's last hour. the father left the chamber. since no sleep had come over his eyes. Silent and motionless stood the son with his arms folded. in the moon light. paced to and fro. saw Siddhartha standing. since no sleep had come over his eyes. his arms folded." Slowly. After another hour. 'ere the silence was broken. not moving from his spot. not moving from his spot. With worry in his heart.

" "I will become tired. If you'll find disappointment." "I will die." "And would you rather die. In Siddhartha's face he saw no trembling. He put his limbs back under control." "So will you abandon your plan?" "Siddhartha will do what his father will tell him to do." "Will you always stand that way and wait. Go now and kiss your mother. The Father touched Siddhartha's shoulder."Siddhartha. until it'll becomes morning. "You will. Siddhartha. "go into the forest and be a Samana. noon." The first light of day shone into the room. When you'll have found blissfulness in the forest. Siddhartha wavered to the side. Siddhartha. as he tried to walk. that he had already left him. tell her where you are going to. then return and let us once again make offerings to the gods together. Siddhartha." "You will fall asleep. then come back and teach me to be blissful. "what are you waiting for?" "You know what." "You will die. his eyes were fixed on a distant spot. But for me it is time to go to the river and to perform the first ablution. than obey your father?" "Siddhartha has always obeyed his father. and evening?" "I will stand and wait." "I will not fall asleep." He took his hand from the shoulder of his son and went outside. "You will become tired. . The Brahman saw that Siddhartha was trembling softly in his knees. Then his father realized that even now Siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in his home." he spoke." he spoke.

"You have come. the skinny Samanas. He ate only once a day. empty of wishing. a shadow rose near the last hut. Siddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahman in the street. He fasted for fifteen days. and never something cooked. princes hunting. The world tasted bitter. mourners wailing for their dead. it all stank of lies. mothers nursing their children—and all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye. He saw merchants trading. As he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day the still quiet town. His glance turned to icy when he encountered women.bowed to his father. and went to his mother to do as his father had said. empty of dreams. They were accepted. He wore nothing more than the loincloth and the earth-coloured. shaggy beard grew on his chin. it all lied. who had crouched there. whores offering themselves. and it all was just concealed putrefaction. and joined the pilgrim—Govinda. physicians trying to help the sick." said Govinda. "I have come. A goal stood before Siddhartha. empty of thirst. and offered them their companionship and—obedience. Life was torture. priests determining the most suitable day for seeding." said Siddhartha and smiled. WITH THE SAMANAS In the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics. it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful. The flesh waned from his thighs and cheeks. lovers loving. unsown cloak. Dead to . it all stank. He fasted for twentyeight days. his mouth twitched with contempt. empty of joy and sorrow. a single goal: to become empty. long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry. when he walked through a city of nicely dressed people. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged eyes.

had tasted the gloomy intoxication of the cycle. until nothing stung any more. which is no longer my self. Siddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly. until they were silent. awaited in new thirst like a . was scattered as dust. Silently. learned to get along with only few breathes. until they were quiet. had decayed. until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs any more. learned to stop breathing. leaned to reduce the beats of his heart. practised meditation. Silently. and the penitent stood there. and stood there. over freezing hips and legs. Silently. the innermost of my being. Instructed by the oldest if the Samanas. until nothing burned any more. and Siddhartha stayed rigidly. decayed. was dismembered by hyaenas. Once all of my self was overcome and had died. was a heron. then the ultimate part of me had to awake. Siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun directly above. to find tranquility with an emptied heard. he stood there in the rainy season. A heron flew over the bamboo forest—and Siddhartha accepted the heron into his soul. blood dripped from the burning skin. A dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank. from his hair the water was dripping over freezing shoulders. Siddhartha practised self-denial. that was his goal. was blown across the fields. ate fish. felt the pangs of a heron's hunger. stayed motionless. got bloated. stank. until no blood flowed any more.himself. to calm the beat of his heart. spoke the heron's croak. was the dead jackal. glowing with thirst. once every desire and every urge was silent in the heart. was skinned by vultures. beginning with the breath. turned into a skeleton. not to be a self any more. died a heron's death. had died. flew over forest and mountains. until he neither felt any pain nor thirst any more. he cowered in the thorny bushes. lay on the banks. glowing with pain. to be open to miracles in unselfish thoughts. until they were only a few and almost none. turned to dust. and Siddhartha's soul slipped inside the body. from festering wounds dripped pus. according to a new Samana rules. the great secret. And Siddhartha's soul returned. He learned.

thirst. you've learned every exercise. in the shade or in the rain. to beg for food for themselves and their teachers. for hours and days he remained in the non-self. These and other ways he learned to go. was his self again. when he found himself back in the sunshine or in the moonlight. and again felt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him. Siddhartha. But though the ways led away from the self. he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms. the return was inevitable. turned round in the cycle. sun shone or moon. was stone. One day. and we'll continue learning. and was once again his self and Siddhartha. oh Siddhartha. "how do you think did we progress? Did we reach any goals?" Govinda answered: "We have learned. hunger. Quickly. you'll be a holy man. felt new thirst. a thousand times he left his self. Siddhartha learned a lot when he was with the Samanas. stayed in nothingness. than the service and the exercises required. Govinda. often the old Samanas have admired you. overcame the thirst. He killed his senses. stayed in the animal. You'll be a great Samana. many ways leading away from the self he learned to go. He went the way of self-denial by means of meditation. inescapable was the hour. Occasionally the two of them went through the villages.hunter in the gap. through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions. where an eternity without suffering began. tiredness. "How do you think. in the stone. through voluntarily suffering and overcoming pain. walked the same paths. was wood. was water. he killed his memory. undertook the same efforts. Though Siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times." . was carrion. He went the way of self-denial by means of pain. felt thirst. By his side lived Govinda." Siddhartha spoke one day while begging this way. They rarely spoke to one another. and awoke every time to find his old self again. where he could escape from the cycle. his shadow. where the end of the causes. was an animal. their end nevertheless always led back to the self.

this I know. my friend. oh Govinda. being among the Samanas. Then he won't feel his self any more. oh Govinda. it is a short numbing of the senses against the pain and the pointlessness of life. has gathered no enlightenment. he'll find the same what Siddhartha and Govinda find when they escape their bodies through long exercises. holding your breath. What I've learned. among carters and gamblers I could have learned it. This is how it is. and yet you know that Siddhartha is no driver of an ox-cart and a Samana is no drunkard. it's true that he briefly escapes and rests. But that I. my friend.Quoth Siddhartha: "I can't help but feel that it is not like this. It's true that a drinker numbs his senses. When he falls asleep over his bowl of rice-wine. another time. the same short numbing is what the driver of an ox-cart finds in the inn. this I know. from salvation. Siddhartha. find only a short numbing of the senses in my exercises and meditations and that I am just as far removed from wisdom.—has not risen several steps. it is a short escape of the agony of being a self. I could have learned more quickly and by simpler means." And Siddhartha spoke with a smile: "I do not know. In every tavern of that part of a town where the whorehouses are. up to this day. when Siddhartha left the forest together with Govinda. I've never been a drunkard. The same escape. drinking a few bowls of rice-wine or fermented coconut-milk." Quoth Govinda: "You say so. finds everything to be unchanged. How could you have learned meditation. this. then he finds a short numbing of the senses. then he won't feel the pains of life any more. has not become wiser. oh Govinda. staying in the non-self." And once again." Quoth Govinda: "Siddhartha is putting me on. but he'll return from the delusion. insensitivity against hunger and pain there among these wretched people?" And Siddhartha said quietly. as a child in the mother's womb. oh friend. 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. to beg for .

I have asked the . there is still much to learn. We find comfort." "If you only. among so many Brahmans. among so many who are searching. I believe out of all the Samanas out there. he has walked along your side for so long. and on this long path of a Samana. I have always been full of questions. we are moving up. we have already ascended many a level.some food in the village for their brothers and teachers. to deceive others. a slightly sad. our venerable teacher?" Quoth Govinda: "Our oldest one might be about sixty years of age. is our oldest Samana. among so many austere and venerable Samanas. we will grow just as old and will do our exercises. We are not going around in circles. not a single one. I always thirsted for knowledge. oh Govinda. and will fast. Govinda. I'm suffering of thirst. and you and me." And Siddhartha: "He has lived for sixty years and has not reached the nirvana. who have thought we were escaping the cycle?" Quoth Govinda: "We have learned a lot. with a quiet. we learn feats. the path of paths. perhaps not a single one. oh Govinda. we will not find. 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. so many who are eagerly trying. the circle is a spiral. He'll turn seventy and eighty. Siddhartha! How could it be that among so many learned men." Siddhartha answered: "How old. will reach the nirvana. my thirst has remained as strong as ever. Siddhartha began to speak and said: "What now. your friend will leave the path of the Samanas." spoke Govinda. would you think. and will meditate. no one will find the path of paths?" But Siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness as mockery. a slightly mocking voice: "Soon. But we will not reach the nirvana. "wouldn't speak such terrible words. But the most important thing. Siddhartha. so many holy men. he won't and we won't. we find numbness. Oh Govinda.

this is within me and within you and within every creature. And just consider: what would become of the sanctity of prayer. what is venerable on earth?!" And Govinda mumbled a verse to himself. There is. standing there with his head low. Yes. He thought about the words which Govinda had said to him and thought the words through to their end. what is precious. unexpressable by words is his blissfulness of his heart. if there was no learning?! What. this is Atman. this is everywhere. it had been just as well. a rumour. of a purified spirit. rose his hands. when the two young men had lived among the Samanas for about three years and had shared their exercises. the . year after year. Perhaps. oh Siddhartha. loses himself in the meditation of Atman. But Siddhartha remained silent. what would then become of all of this what is holy. 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. It took me a long time and am not finished learning this yet. only would not bother your friend with this kind of talk! Truly. oh Govinda. oh Govinda: that there is nothing to be learned! There is indeed no such thing. Govinda stopped on the path." At this. you words stir up fear in my heart. and I have asked the holy Vedas.Brahmans. the exalted one. as what we refer to as `learning'. and I have asked the devote Samanas. a verse from an Upanishad: He who ponderingly. Gotama by name. what of the holiness of the Samanas. At one time. had been just as smart and just as profitable. he thought. oh my friend. a myth reached them after being retold many times: A man had appeared. year after year. and spoke: "If you. if it was as you say. so I believe. Siddhartha. just one knowledge. year after year. some news. if I had asked the hornbill-bird or the chimpanzee. And so I'm starting to believe that this knowledge has no worser enemy than the desire to know it. what of the venerability of the Brahmans' caste. than learning.

full of noble promises. with good and with bad talk. to seek the wise man. the wise man of the family of Sakya. he would spent his days in luxury. This myth. scorned the offerings. but many would get on their way as soon as possible. here a source seemed to spring forth. He was said to wander through the land. just like this this myth ran through the land. the Buddha. so the believers said. in the yellow cloak of an ascetic. After all. He possessed. was without learning. here a messenger seemed to call out. but with a cheerful brow. comforting. the highest enlightenment. a knowledgeable one. here and there. in the towns. had spoken to the gods. the Brahmans spoke of it and in the forest. and knew neither exercises nor self-castigation. The scent of magic flowed from these reports. without possession. the Samanas. he remembered his previous lives. this legend resounded. the helper. with praise and with defamation. the Buddha reached the ears of the young men. and Brahmans and princes would bow down before him and would become his students. without home. teaching. mild. and as such news would go through the land and everyone would talk about it.Buddha. its fragrants rose up. surrounded by disciples. many would believe. the name of Gotama. the world was sick. he had overcome the suffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths. had overcome the devil. without a wife. he had reached the nirvana and never returned into the cycle. again and again. life was hard to bear—and behold. he had performed miracles. But his enemies and disbelievers said. many would doubt. The myth of Buddha sounded sweet. a man of bliss. 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. Many wonderful and unbelievable things were reported of him. this Gotama was a vain seducer. that fragrant myth of Gotama. whose word and breath was enough to heal everyone who had been infected with the pestilence. was never again submerged in the murky river of physical forms. this rumour. a wise man. Everywhere where the rumour of .

felt hope. there was the son of a Brahman from Magadha. but had then turned back to luxury and worldly pleasures. "Oh Siddhartha. felt a longing. and a Brahman invited me into his house. I knew little of his heart. and he had no high opinion of this Gotama. and thought to myself: If only I would too. the Sakyamuni. you would not walk the path of the Samanas for much longer?" . So now you. He had heard that this alleged Buddha used to be an ascetic before and had lived in the forest. the exalted one. The myth had also reached the Samanas in the forest.Buddha was heard. if only we both would too. I had thought. Govinda would stay with the Samanas. I had not known Govinda well enough. Verily. every drop laden with hope. Siddhartha and me. oh Govinda. slowly. drop by drop. my faithful friend. an eagerness. "Today. and among the Brahmans' sons of the towns and villages every pilgrim and stranger was welcome. which are becoming a Samana. want to take a new path and go there. Siddhartha! But have you not also developed a desire. live to see the hour when we will hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfected man! Speak. and in his house. wouldn't we want to go there too and listen to the teachings from the Buddha's mouth?" Quoth Siddhartha: "Always. 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. I was in the village. when he brought news of him. to hear these teachings? And have you not at one time said to me." Govinda spoke one day to his friend. They rarely talked about it. Mock me if you like. every drop laden with doubt. and also Siddhartha. who has seen the Buddha with his own eyes and has heard him teach. But behold. this made my chest ache when I breathed. friend. because the oldest one of the Samanas did not like this myth. where the Buddha spreads his teachings. and also Govinda." Quoth Govinda: "You're mocking me. the young men listened up. everywhere in the lands of India.

which we already now received thanks to the Gotama. I want to show the old man that I've learned something from him. and talked loudly and used crude swearwords. my dear. The old man became mute. subdued him under his own will. But the Samana became angry. oh Govinda! But this fruit. But Siddhartha put his mouth close to Govinda's ear and whispered to him: "Now. to do silently. He informed the oldest one with all the courtesy and modesty becoming to a younger one and a student. 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." On this very same day. without power. let us await with calm hearts. which is that I have grown distrustful and tired against teachings and learning. you've spoken well." Quoth Govinda: "Your willingness delights my heart. deprived him of his power. whatever he demanded him to do. took away his free will. But Siddhartha's thoughts . But tell me. that he wanted to leave him. But let's do it. consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas! Whether he has also other and better things to give us. he captured the old man's glance with his glances. oh friend. and said: "Well. which are brought to us by teachers. have already revealed their best fruit to us?" Quoth Siddhartha: "Let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest. with a concentrated soul." Positioning himself closely in front of the Samana. because the two young men wanted to leave him. his eyes became motionless. Siddhartha laughed in his very own manner. is small. how should this be possible? How should the Gotama's teachings. even before we have heard them. Govinda.At this. his arms were hanging down. he had fallen victim to Siddhartha's spell. Govinda was startled and became embarrassed. and that my faith in words. Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the Samanas of his decision. you've remembered correctly. made him mute. you've heard from me. in which his voice assumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery. If you only remembered the other thing as well. commanded him. his will was paralysed.

the old man made several bows. the silently begging ones. which the rich merchant Anathapindika. in the very first house. to see him. food has been offered to them. an obedient worshipper of the exalted one. you would soon have learned to walk on water. went on their way with salutations. Near the town was Gotama's favourite place to stay. and they accepted the food. had given him and his people for a gift." Quoth the woman: "Here." said Siddhartha. "Let old Samanas be content with such feats!" GOTAMA In the town of Savathi. It is hard. And arriving at Savathi. You .brought the Samana under their control. who handed them the food: "We would like to know. and Siddhartha asked the woman. before the door of which they stopped to beg. he had to carry out. for we are two Samanas from the forest and have come. you Samanas from the forest. if you had stayed there. every child knew the name of the exalted Buddha. where the Buddha dwells. the perfected one. On the way. And the young men returned the bows with thanks. performed gestures of blessing. and every house was prepared to fill the alms-dish of Gotama's disciples. returned the wish. and to hear the teachings from his mouth. it is very hard to cast a spell on an old Samana. had pointed them towards this area. oh charitable one. All tales and answers. you have truly come to the right place. spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey. the grove of Jetavana. Govinda said: "Oh Siddhartha. you have learned more from the Samanas than I knew." "I do not seek to walk on water. what they commanded. which the two young ascetics had received in their search for Gotama's abode. Truly. And thus. the most venerable one.

have you seen him with your own eyes?" Quoth the woman: "Many times I have seen him. walking silently. the only meal of the day. found quickly and without making any noise a place to stay and rested there until the morning. wearing his yellow cloak. . under the trees they sat here and there. The Buddha himself. walking through the alleys in silence. to collect food in town for their lunch. in deep contemplation—or in a conversation about spiritual matters. bearing the alms-dish in his hand. for there is enough space for the innumerable. and he instantly recognised him." This made Govinda happy. was also in the habit of taking this walk to beg in the morning. Govinda listened and wanted to ask and hear much more. Siddhartha saw him. They thanked and left and hardly had to ask for directions. the enlightened one. the exalted one. to hear the teachings from his mouth. the Buddha. On many days. who flock here. a simple man in a yellow robe. presenting his alms-dish in silence at the doors of the houses. accustomed to life in the forest. and talk of those who sought shelter and got it. I have seen him. The two Samanas. The majority of the monks went out with their alms-dish. At sunrise. they saw with astonishment what a large crowd of believers and curious people had spent the night here. But Siddhartha urged him to walk on. do you know him. in Jetavana. And since they reached it at night.should know. in the garden of Anathapindika is where the exalted one dwells. thus we have reached our destination. and full of joy he exclaimed: "Well so. There you pilgrims shall spent the night. monks walked in yellow robes. On all paths of the marvellous grove. bustling like bees. shouts. and our path has come to an end! But tell us. leaving with a filled dish. there were constant arrivals. oh mother of the pilgrims. the shady gardens looked like a city. as if a god had pointed him out to him. full of people. He saw him." Delightedly. for rather many pilgrims and monks as well from Gotama's community were on their way to the Jetavana.

But his face and his walk. did not imitate. and it seemed to him as if every joint of every finger of this hand was of these teachings. just as Govinda had. an untouchable peace. "This one is the Buddha. we'll hear the teachings from his mouth. this Buddha was truthful down to the gesture of his last finger. Never before. he did not believe that they would teach him anything new. the Buddha walked. breathed softly in an unwhithering calm. his calm face was neither happy nor sad. his quietly lowered glance. Thus Gotama walked towards the town.or third-hand information. though these reports only represented second." Attentively. "Today. it seemed to smile quietly and inwardly. And they followed him and observed him. glistened of truth. his quietly dangling hand and even every finger of his quietly dangling hand expressed peace. Govinda looked at the monk in the yellow robe. no effort to be seen. only light and peace. no imitation. breathed of. spoke of. his feet. in an unwhithering light. . and the two Samanas recognised him solely by the perfection of his calm. The Buddha went on his way. This man. This man was holy. heard the contents of this Buddha's teachings again and again. to collect alms. his quietly dangling hand. And soon. But attentively he looked at Gotama's head. exhaled the fragrant of. in which there was no searching. modestly and deep in his thoughts. He felt little curiosity for the teachings. his shoulders. calm. did not search. never before he had loved a person as much as this one." said Govinda. Siddhartha did not answer. who seemed to be in no way different from the hundreds of other monks. wore the robe and placed his feet just as all of his monks did. expressed perfection. but he had. With a hidden smile. by the quietness of his appearance. quiet. somewhat resembling a healthy child. Siddhartha had venerated a person so much. Govinda also realized: This is the one. according to a precise rule."Look here!" Siddhartha said quietly to Govinda. no desire.

Thus join us and walk in holiness. my honoured friend. Right afterwards. We have both heard the exalted one. and it was also perfected. like a starry sky. But you. And Gotama accepted them by speaking: "You have heard the teachings well. Gotama taught the teachings of suffering. taught the eightfold path. the shy one. do you want to wait any longer?" . then Govinda. patiently he went the usual path of the teachings. don't you also want to walk the path of salvation? Would you want to hesitate. Govinda has heard the teachings. brightly and quietly his voice hovered over the listeners. of the origin of suffering. of the way to relieve suffering. sought refuge in the teachings. but salvation from suffering had been found: salvation was obtained by him who would walk the path of the Buddha. he has taken refuge in it. they heard the Buddha teaching. taught the four main doctrines. They saw Gotama returning—what he ate could not even have satisfied a bird's appetite. to put an end to all suffering. Govinda turned to Siddhartha and spoke eagerly: "Siddhartha. But in the evening. Calmly and clearly his quiet speech flowed on. it has come to you well. for they themselves intended to abstain from on this day." Behold. it is not my place to scold you. With a soft. yet firm voice the exalted one spoke. we have both perceived the teachings. like a light. and they saw him retiring into the shade of the mango-trees. also stepped forward and spoke: "I also take my refuge in the exalted one and his teachings. was of perfect calmness." and he asked to accepted into the community of his disciples and was accepted. When the Buddha—night had already fallen— ended his speech. when the Buddha had retired for the night. of the repetitions. was full of peace. many a pilgrim stepped forward and asked to accepted into the community. of the examples. Suffering was life. They heard his voice.They both followed the Buddha until they reached the town and then returned in silence. full of suffering was the world. when the heat cooled down and everyone in the camp started to bustle about and gathered around.

This is what the teachings require. Govinda! Very good are the teachings . they lay there and found no sleep. will take your refuge with the exalted Buddha!" Siddhartha placed his hand on Govinda's shoulder: "You failed to hear my good wish for you. you've always walked one step behind me. But Siddhartha turned him away every time and said: "Be content. that you shall find salvation!" Govinda. Govinda realized that his friend had left him. now you have chosen this path. I beg you. when he heard Govinda's words. he should tell him why he would not want to seek refuge in Gotama's teachings. what fault he would find in these teachings. that you also.Siddhartha awakened as if he had been asleep. Siddhartha kindly spoke to him: "Don't forget. This is what you wanted for yourself. and he started to weep. not completely understanding it yet. Govinda urged his friend. I wish that you would go it up to its end. now you have taken this step. I'm repeating it: I wish that you would go this path up to its end. that you are now one of the Samanas of the Buddha! You have renounced your home and your parents. For a long tome. he looked into Govinda's face. Govinda. out of his own soul? Behold. this is what the exalted one wants. repeated his question in an impatient tone: "Speak up. my learned friend. since it could not be any other way. "Siddhartha!" he exclaimed lamentingly. oh my friend. the friends continued walking in the grove. Then he spoke quietly. my dear! Tell me. oh Govinda. Often I have thought: Won't Govinda for once also take a step by himself. oh Govinda. I'll leave you. Tomorrow. renounced your free will." For a long time. oh Govinda. for a long time. you've been my friend. Always. And over and over again. my friend. in a voice without mockery: "Govinda. renounced all friendship. renounced your birth and possessions. without me. now you've turned into a man and are choosing your path for yourself. that you shall find salvation!" In this moment.

the exalted one. you are presenting the world as a perfect chain. I had come from afar. went through the garden and called all those to him who had as novices taken their refuge in the teachings. Never before. to dress them up in the yellow robe and to instruct them in the first teachings and duties of their position. and when he greeted him with respect and the Buddha's glance was so full of kindness and calm. Quoth Siddhartha: "One thing. oh exalted one." Siddhartha continued. the young man summoned his courage and asked the venerable one for the permission to talk to him. Then he happened to meet Gotama." "As you please. this has been seen so clearly. lost in thought. I have admired in your teachings most of all. is proven. And now my friend is going to stay with your people. oh most venerable one. Does it please the venerable one to listen to me for one moment longer?" Silently. the heart of every Brahman has to beat stronger with love." the venerable one spoke politely. how could I find a fault in them?" Very early in the morning. this has been presented so irrefutably. Then Govinda broke loose. But I will again start on my pilgrimage. But Siddhartha walked through the grove. he has taken his refuge with you. Silently the exalted one nodded his approval. Quoth Siddhartha: "Yesterday. truly. the Buddha nodded his approval. an eternal chain the links of which are causes and effects. one of his oldest monks. never before. once he has seen the world . "but I do not want to leave the exalted one without having honestly told him my thoughts. a follower of Buddha. Everything in your teachings is perfectly clear. a chain which is never and nowhere broken. I had been privileged to hear your wondrous teachings.of the exalted one. to hear your teachings. embraced once again his childhood friend and left with the novices. "Too bold is my speech. Together with my friend.

Gotama had listened to him. They have a different goal. by the same law of causes." Quietly. But be warned. through a small gap. of salvation. are no opinion. possibly this is not essential—but the uniformity of the world. clear as a crystal. whether living according to it would be suffering or joy. with his polite and clear voice: "You've heard the teachings. this world of unity is invaded by something alien. that the great and the small things are all encompassed by the same forces of time. You are truly right. "I have not spoken to you like this to argue with you. that everything which happens is connected. and good for you that you've thought about it thus deeply. This is what Gotama teaches. nothing else. of the thicket of opinions and of arguing about words. There is nothing to opinions. of coming into being and of dying. Whether it may be good or bad. there is little to opinions. But let me say this one more thing: I have . something new. and their goal is not to explain the world to those who seek knowledge. smart or foolish. with his kind. something which had not been there before. with this small breach. You've found a gap in it. to argue about words. You should think about this further. this is what shines brightly out of your exalted teachings.through your teachings perfectly connected. the entire eternal and uniform law of the world is breaking apart again and becomes void. But with this small gap. oh perfected one. they may be beautiful or ugly. oh seeker of knowledge. without gaps. would not be angry with me." "I wish that you. But the teachings." said the young man. I do not wish to discuss. not depending on gods. oh exalted one. oh son of a Brahman. Now he spoke. But according to your very own teachings. the perfected one. their goal is salvation from suffering. Please forgive me for expressing this objection. and which cannot be demonstrated and cannot be proven: these are your teachings of overcoming the world. you've heard from me. an error. everyone can support them or discard them. unmoved. not depending on chance. this unity and necessary sequence of all things is nevertheless broken in one place.

This is what I have thought and realized. when my eyes beheld a holy man. 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. on your own path. in words and through teachings what has happened to you in the hour of enlightenment! The teachings of the enlightened Buddha contain much. who have taken refuge in the teachings? And do you believe. oh exalted one. the highest goal towards which so many thousands of Brahmans and sons of Brahmans are on their way. But often. oh exalted one. "I wish that they shall all stay with the teachings. It has come to you in the course of your own search. for I know there are none. through meditation. through realizations. quietly." The Buddha's eyes quietly looked to the ground. oh venerable one." the venerable one spoke slowly. that you shall reach the goal! But tell me: Have you seen the multitude of my Samanas. that you have reached the goal. Only for . when I have heard the teachings. and of this hour. "I wish. But there is one thing which these so clear.not doubted in you for a single moment.—nobody will obtain salvation by means of teachings! You will not be able to convey and say to anybody. my many brothers. better teachings. I have not doubted for a single moment that you are Buddha." exclaimed Siddhartha. to avoid evil. that they shall reach their goal! It is not my place to judge another person's life. through enlightenment. he alone among hundreds of thousands. oh Samana. oh stranger. It has not come to you by means of teachings! And—thus is my thought. in perfect equanimity his inscrutable face was smiling. but to depart from all teachings and all teachers and to reach my goal by myself or to die. it teaches many to live righteously. these so venerable teachings do not contain: they do not contain the mystery of what the exalted one has experienced for himself. This is why I am continuing my travels—not to seek other. You have found salvation from death. "that your thoughts shall not be in error. I'll think of this day. through thoughts.

and even more he has given to me. thus venerable. sit and walk this way. oh venerable one. before whom I would have to lower my glance. Truly. Gotama looked into the stranger's eyes and bid him to leave with a hardly noticeable gesture. only a person who has succeeded in reaching the innermost part of his self would glance and walk this way. and his glance and half of a smile remained forever etched in Siddhartha's memory. the one who had believed in me and now believes in him. he thought. thus concealed. I wish to be able to glance and smile. thus child-like and mysterious. not before any other. the venerable one spoke. I must decide. No teachings will entice me any more. I must chose. with an unwavering openness and kindness. thus open. Well so. myself. oh Samana. "You are wise. I am deprived. I also will seek to reach the innermost part of my self. a single man. He has deprived me of my friend. .". If I merely were one of your disciples. and the community of the monks!" With half of a smile. but that in truth it would live on and grow. only deceptively my self would be calm and be redeemed. I saw a man. Be aware of too much wisdom!" The Buddha turned away. I must refuse. since this man's teachings have not enticed me. "You know how to talk wisely. too. I am deprived by the Buddha. my duty to follow you. thus free. oh exalted one.myself. Siddhartha thought. my friend. I do not want to lower my glance before any other. for then I had replaced my self with the teachings. thought Siddhartha. who had been my shadow and is now Gotama's shadow. sit and walk this way. Salvation from the self is what we Samanas search for. I'd fear that it might happen to me that only seemingly. I have never before seen a person glance and smile. But he has given me Siddhartha. for myself alone. my love for you. truly.

He realized that one thing had left him. He pondered about this sensation.AWAKENING When Siddhartha left the grove. which I sought to overcome. who have taught you much. he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself: "But what is this. stayed behind. even him. so it seemed to him. which filled him completely. Slowly walking along. that one thing no longer existed in him. and what they. was not able to accept his teachings. like diving into a deep water he let himself sink down to the ground of the sensation. what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers. where the Buddha. He had also left the last teacher who had appeared on his path. the highest and wisest teacher. were still unable to teach you?" And he found: "It was the self. the perfected one. Siddhartha pondered. But I was not able to overcome it. had to part with him. no thing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy. Truly. where Govinda stayed behind. could only deceive it. this mystery of me being alive. as a snake is left by its old skin. of me being one and being separated and isolated from all . It was the self. and by this alone sensations turn into realizations and are not lost. 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. Slower. the most holy one. but become entities and start to emit like rays of light what is inside of them. only hide from it. but had turned into a man. is the very essence of thinking. I wanted to free myself from. as this my very own self. He pondered deeply. because to identify the causes. the purpose and essence of which I sought to learn. as he was slowly walking along. He realized that he was no youth any more. Buddha. then he felt that in this grove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him. he had left him. down to the place where the causes lie. could only flee from it.

the sky and the river flowed. strange and mysterious was the world! Here was blue. colourful was the world. I was fleeing from myself! I searched Atman. want to be my student. the secret of Siddhartha. Siddhartha. "now I would not let Siddhartha escape from me again! No longer. here was yellow. as if he was seeing the world for the first time. all of it was beautiful. And it was not long before he walked again. walked quickly like a man who knows what he has got to do. here was green. I do not want to kill and dissect myself any longer. a single cause: I was afraid of myself. life. "Oh. a new thought. taking a deep breath. he now stopped as these thoughts caught hold of him. nor any kind of teachings. to find the core of all peels in its unknown interior. Neither Yoga-Veda shall teach me any more. and in its midst was he. was no longer a . all this yellow and blue. the ultimate part. all of it was mysterious and magical. on the path to himself. the divine part. which was: "That I know nothing about myself." He looked around. I want to learn from myself. nor Atharva-Veda. the forest and the mountains were rigid. All of this. about Siddhartha!" Having been pondering while slowly walking along. Beautiful was the world. to find a secret behind the ruins. river and forest. I want to begin my thoughts and my life with Atman and with the suffering of the world. of me being Siddhartha! And there is no thing in this world I know less about than about me. and right away another thought sprang forth from these. want to get to know myself." 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. the awakening one. I searched Brahman. nor the ascetics. was no longer the veil of Maya. I was willing to to dissect my self and peel off all of its layers. that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me.others. stems from one cause." he thought. entered Siddhartha for the first time through the eyes. But I have lost myself in the process. was no longer a spell of Mara. the Atman.

I am no ascetic any more. already on the path towards himself. so it was still that very divinity's way and purpose. after years as an ascetic. coincidence. suddenly. would return to his home and his father. No. Blue was blue. "When someone reads a text. and if also in the blue and the river. I called the visible world a deception. I have awakened. who was indeed like someone who had just woken up or like a new-born baby. and worthless hull. who seeks unity. there sky. they were in them. this is over. here blue. I have. despicable to the deeply thinking Brahman. But now. who scorns diversity. Because suddenly. he will study and love them. I am not a priest any more. he he had every intention. The purpose and the essential properties were not somewhere behind the things. for the sake of a meaning I had anticipated before I read. he had also become aware of this: He. in everything. called my eyes and my tongue coincidental and worthless forms without substance. "How deaf and stupid have I been!" he thought. as if there was a snake lying in front of him on the path. scorned the symbols and letters. letter by letter. when he stopped as if a snake was lying on his path. river was river. already awakening. he had to start his life anew and start again at the very beginning. in Siddhartha. who wanted to read the book of the world and the book of my own being. When he had left in this very morning from the grove Jetavana. I have indeed awakened and have not been born before this very day. and here Siddhartha." In thinking this thoughts. only in this moment.pointless and coincidental diversity of mere appearances. that he. but he will read them. to be here yellow. he will not scorn the symbols and letters and call them deceptions. wants to discover its meaning. walking swiftly along. he also awoke to this realization: "But I am no longer the one I was. there forest. Whatever should I do at home and at my father's place? Study? Make . But I. I am no Brahman any more. the singular and divine lived hidden. Siddhartha stopped once again. regarded as natural and took for granted. the grove of that exalted one.

more a self than before. and a thousand monks were his brothers. But he. a bird or a rabbit. and for the time of one moment and breath. nothing else was left. his heart felt cold. he felt it. all of this is no longer alongside my path." Motionless. and found refuge with them. he had been his father's son. Now. spoke their language. Nobody was thus alone as he was. as a small animal. spoke his language. when the world melted away all around him. he inhaled. And it was not long until he walked again in long strides. Deeply. Siddhartha remained standing there. believed in his faith. he also belonged to a caste. There was no nobleman who did not belong to the noblemen. out of this moment of a cold and despair. Govinda had become a monk. heading no longer for home. he felt cold and shivered. when he stood alone like a star in the sky. more firmly concentrated. of a high caste. he was also surrounded by a place he belonged to. no longer to his father. Now. had been a Brahman.offerings? Practise meditation? But all this is over. and even the most forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one and alone. . no worker that did not belong to the workers. He felt: This had been the last tremor of the awakening. wore the same robe as he. Siddhartha emerged. who would not be regarded as Brahmans and lived with them. the awoken one. he felt a cold in his chest. he was nothing but Siddhartha. For many years. no ascetic who would not find his refuge in the caste of the Samanas. no longer back. Still. the last struggle of this birth. and for a moment. where did he belong to? With whom would he share his life? Whose language would he speak? Out of this moment. No Brahman. Siddhartha. he had been without home and had felt nothing. shared their life. even in the deepest meditation. in which he was at home. started to proceed swiftly and impatiently. a cleric. would when seeing how alone he was.

my cousin in Japan KAMALA Siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path. looking at it thus. stars. thus to walk through the world. for the world was transformed. always the sun and the moon had shone. deceptive veil before his eyes. thus childlike. clouds. thus open to what is near. his liberated eyes stayed on this side. birds sang and bees. and his heart was enchanted. Beautiful was this world. the visible. differently the shade of the forest cooled him down. looked upon in distrust. since it was not the essential existence. the goat and the gold-beetle. wind silverishly blew through the rice-field. he saw and became aware of the visible. rocks. the forest and the rocks. thus without distrust. beautiful was the stream and the banks. Beautiful and lovely it was. All of this. the flower and the butterfly. but in former times all of this had been nothing more to Siddhartha than a fleeting. Differently the sun burnt the head. distant hight mountains which were blue and pale. herbs.SECOND PART Dedicated to Wilhelm Gundert. on the other side of. always rivers had roared and bees had buzzed. stream and river. flowers. He saw trees. a thousand-fold and colourful. differently the stream and the cistern. destined to be penetrated and destroyed by thought. animals. thus simply. thus awoken. he saw the stars in the sky in their fixed positions and the crescent of the moon floating like a boat in the blue. did not search for the true essence. the glistening dew in the bushes in the morning. But now. thus childlike. did not aim at a world beyond. without searching. had always been there. rainbows. since this essence lay beyond. the pumpkin and the banana . He saw the sun rising over the mountains with their forests and setting over the distant beach with its palm-trees. Beautiful were the moon and the stars. At night. sought to be at home in this world.

he was part of it. the Buddha's. Siddhartha also remembered everything he had experienced in the Garden Jetavana. full of joy. and nothing could . not the learned wisdom. 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. Now he was with it. he had really found this self. Siddhartha saw a group of apes moving through the high canopy of the forest. every word. wiggling and sparkling. With the body definitely not being the self. Siddhartha saw a male sheep following a female one and mating with her. he had to experience his self. Light and shadow ran through his eyes. this world of thought was also still on this side. All of this had always existed. what he now began to experience. high in the branches. which he had experienced in the hour of his enlightenment— it was nothing but this very thing which he had now gone to experience. No. Short were the days. short the nights. every hour sped swiftly away like a sail on the sea. impetuously hunting. he had spoken to the exalted one. and he had not seen it. Now. and not the spectacle of the senses. not the rational mind. the divine Buddha. stars and moon ran through his heart. What he had said to Gotama: his. Again he remembered his own words. the young fish jumped in droves out of the water. In a lake of reeds. he had not been with it. because he had wanted to capture it in the net of thought. so it also was not the thought. in its essence bearing the same eternal characteristics as Brahman. not the learned ability to draw conclusions and to develop previous thoughts in to new ones. in fear. the scent of strength and passion came forcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water. the farewell from Govinda.tasted. But never. greedy song. he saw the pike hungrily hunting for its dinner. the teaching he had heard there. treasure and secret was not the teachings. but the unexpressable and not teachable. the conversation with the exalted one. which the pike stirred up. and under the sail was a ship full of treasures. It is true that he had already known for a long time that his self was Atman. propelling themselves away from it. and heard their savage. On the way.

both neither had to be scorned nor overestimated. It intoxicated him and rendered him achieved by killing the random self of the senses. When the day began.—When Siddhartha woke up. dressed in the yellow robe of an ascetic. Siddhartha had a dream: Govinda was standing in front of him. he had obeyed the voice. He wanted to strive for nothing. The ferryman got him across the river on his bamboo- . Why had Gotama. the thoughts as well as the senses. Siddhartha asked his host. and he had neither preferred self-castigation. if the random self of thoughts and learned knowledge was fattened on the other hand. and a full breast popped out of the woman's dress. the pale river shimmered through the door of the hut. to get him across the river. In the night when he slept in the straw hut of a ferryman by the river. he embraced Govinda. of every joyful desire. of sun and forest. this was necessary. except where the voice would advise him to do so. ablutions. and as he was pulling him close to his chest and kissed him. except for what the voice commanded him to strive for. both had to be played with. it was not Govinda any more. of every fruit. of animal and flower. both had to be listened to. at which Siddhartha lay and drank. where the enlightenment hit him? He had heard a voice. nor prayer. wrapped his arms around him. sweetly and strongly tasted the milk from this breast. not to an external command. to be ready like this. a dark call of an owl resounded deeply and pleasantly. the ultimate meaning was hidden behind both of them. Both. at that time. It tasted of woman and man. offerings. neither sleep nor dream. this was good. sadly he asked: Why have you forsaken me? At this. only to the voice. To obey like this. sat down under the bo-tree. but a woman. dwell on nothing. Sad was how Govinda looked like. were pretty things. the ferryman. neither food nor drink. in the hour of all hours. which had commanded him to seek rest under this tree. from both the secret voices of the innermost truth had to be attentively perceived. nothing else was necessary. a voice in his own heart. and in the forest.

Commemorate me. Siddhartha was happy about the friendship and the kindness of the ferryman. all would like to be friends." he said to his companion. "a very beautiful river. Smiling. my benefactor. will come back." "Do you think so?" asked Siddhartha amusedly." "I did see it. Much can be learned from a river." Smiling. Like children are all people. "Surely. the path led through a stream. I have learned from the river: everything is coming back! You too. All are submissive. and by the side of the stream. a young woman was kneeling and washing clothes. my dear. Samana. she lifted her head and looked up to him with a . Often I have listened to it." he thought with a smile. were playing with pumpkin-seeds and sea-shells. Now farewell! Let your friendship be my reward. he came through a village. "and I haven't expected any payment from you and no gift which would be the custom for guests to bear. they parted.raft. You will give me the gift another time. "I have no gift I could give you for your hospitality. children were rolling about in the street. though they are the ones who would have a right to receive thanks. often I have looked into its eyes. think little." said the ferryman. "all I meet on my path are like Govinda. screamed and wrestled. but they all timidly fled from the unknown Samana. "This is a beautiful river. When Siddhartha greeted her. "He is like Govinda." spoke the ferryman. when you'll make offerings to the gods. "Yes." At about noon." spoke Siddhartha. This too. a son of a Brahman and a Samana. I love it more than anything. In front of the mud cottages. and always I have learned from it. disembarking on the other side of the river. In the end of the village. I am a man without a home. All are thankful. the wide water shimmered reddishly in the light of the morning. and also no payment for your work. like to obey." "I than you.

so that he saw the white in her eyes glistening. carrying 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. he hesitated for a moment. Then. the voice if his innermost self. and was happy. as it is the custom among travellers. Siddhartha stopped at the . asked whether he had eaten already. Before the city. carried by four servants in an ornamental sedanchair. She exchanged humorous banter with him. Looking up. For a long time. And in this moment he heard. and the straw hut of the ferryman. the traveller came across a small group of servants. all charms disappeared from the young woman's smiling face. he bend slightly down to the woman and kissed with his lips the brown nipple of her breast. Siddhartha also felt desire and felt the source of his sexuality moving. on red pillows under a colourful canopy. and asked how far he still had to go to reach the large city. shuddering with awe. for he felt the need to be among people. turned away from her and disappeared away from the disappointed woman with light steps into the bamboo-wood. he petted her cheek. with contracted pupils. sat a woman. in a beautifully fenced grove. he had lived in the forests. Then she got up and came to him. 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 called out a blessing to her. which the textbooks call "climbing a tree". In their midst. Siddhartha felt his blood heating up. but since he had never touched a woman before. While talking. in which he had slept that night. had been the first roof for a long time he has had over his head. he saw her face smiling full of lust and her eyes. the mistress. beautifully her wet mouth was shimmering in her young face. and this voice said No. he reached the large city before the evening. he no longer saw anything else but the damp glance of a female animal in heat. begging with desire. and since in this moment he had to think of his dream again. On this day. Politely. while his hands were already prepared to reach out for her. both male and female.

with a charming omen.entrance to the pleasure-garden and watched the parade. drifted through the flow of the streets. smart and watchful dark eyes. the famous courtesan. aside from the grove. long and thin. Under black hair. like a freshly cracked fig. how despicable. the maids. when the sedanchair came closer. he made friends with barber's assistant. with wide golden bracelets over the wrists. He instantly felt drawn into the grove. rested on the stairs of stone by the river. which made to tower high on her head. saw the sedan-chair and saw the lady in it. tall neck rising from a green and golden garment. and then the servant as well. I am still an ascetic and beggar. And he laughed. very smart face. a brightly red mouth. I must not remain like this. Siddhartha thought. whom he found again praying in a temple of Vishnu. Now he had a goal. but he thought about it. Then. he looked at the fair. read for a moment in the smart eyes with the high arcs above. When the evening came. charming face. saw the servants. I am still a Samana. he entered the city. whom he had seen working in the shade of an arch in a building. how rejecting. whom he told about . he did not know. resting fair hands. I will not be able to enter the grove like this. a clear. Thus I am entering this city. the beautiful women nodded for a moment and disappeared into the grove. With a smile. very delicate. he allowed the city to suck him in. eyebrows which were well tended and painted in a high arch. stood still on the squares. and only now he became aware of how the servants and maids had looked at him at the entrance. how distrustful. and his heart rejoiced. she owned a house in the city. and straightening up again. breathed in a slight fragrant. He bowed deeply. he saw a very fair. Pursuing his goal. The next person who came along this path he asked about the grove and for the name of the woman. the baskets. Siddhartha saw how beautiful she was. he thought. and was told that this was the grove of Kamala. and that.

and the first one I met. and dust in your hair?" "You have observed well. he had the barber's assistant shave his beard and cut his hair. without a word into a pavilion. and left him alone with her. the son of a Brahman. Among the boats by the river. where Kamala was lying on a couch. and who has been a Samana for three years." Kamala smiled and played with her fan of peacocks' feathers." "But didn't you yesterday wear a beard. And asked: "And only to tell me this. who has left his home to become a Samana. "It's true that I've already seen and greeted you yesterday. who was following him. Kamala. was you. asked him. comb his hair and anoint it with fine oil. Siddhartha was standing at the entrance. You have seen Siddhartha. oh Kamala! You are the first woman whom Siddhartha is not addressing with his eyes turned to the ground. and long hair. "Weren't you already standing out there yesterday. you have seen everything. before the first customers came into his shop. greeting me?" asked Kamala. when I'm coming across a beautiful woman. beautiful Kamala approached her grove in her sedan-chair. to follow him conducted him. And if it doesn't displease you. Never again I want to turn my eyes to the ground.stories of Vishnu and the Lakshmi. even before I had entered the city. 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. the servant returned. When late in the afternoon. After a while. Then he went to take his bath in the river. I have left that path and came into this city. who had been waiting. I have come to you. To say this. I . But now. he slept this night. made a bow and received the courtesan's greeting. Siddhartha has come to me?" "To tell you this and to thank you for being so beautiful. and early in the morning.

that a Samana from the forest came to me and wanted to learn from me! Never before this has happened to me. my friend. I have marked your words." Siddhartha exclaimed. and there are also sons of Brahmans among them. "How should I not mark words which are coming from such a mouth! Your mouth is like a freshly cracked fig. Kamala exclaimed: "No. you'll see. oh Samana. Even yesterday. I have already taken off my beard. my dear. but they come in beautiful clothes. "Never before this has happened to me. My mouth is red and fresh as well. have combed the hair. but without clothes. have oil in my hair. they come in fine shoes. Kamala laughed aloud." At this. oh excellent one: fine clothes. Siddhartha has set harder goals for himself than such trifles. and he has reached them. without shoes. 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. I have already learned harder things than what you're supposed to teach me. it will be a suitable match for yours. I was already learning. for I know nothing yet of that art which you have mastered in the highest degree. and shoes.would like to ask you to be my friend and teacher. There is little which is still missing in me. how the young men are like who come to me. How shouldn't I reach that goal. aren't . This is. Clothes are what he must have." Quoth Siddhartha: "Already I am starting to learn from you. pretty clothes. Do you know it now. and lots of money in his pouch. Kamala. And now let's get to it: You aren't satisfied with Siddhartha as he is. and gifts for Kamala. that a Samana came to me with long hair and an old. Kamala. pretty shoes. money in my pouch. beautiful Kamala. with oil in his hair. Samana from the forest? Did you mark my words?" "Yes. they have perfume in their hair and money in their pouches.—But tell me. torn loin-cloth! Many young men come to me. fine shoes. he doesn't satisfy me yet. without money?" Laughing. You shall know.

shoes. He could force you. Kamala. if a pretty young man like you would want to tackle it in such a wrong manner. couldn't you still give me one small advice?" "An advice? Why not? Who wouldn't like to give an advice to a poor. but it cannot be stolen." Siddhartha bowed with a smile. finding it in the street. it would be a pity. He could kidnap you. which knows how to give so many sweet things! You are learning easily. money. Like this it is. who is coming from the jackals and doesn't even know yet what women are?" "Oh. who is coming from the jackals of the forest?" "Dear Kamala." "No. I shall not lose a single drop of sweetness from your mouth. lovely Kamala. for they are his very own. he's strong. the Samana. receiving it as a gift. No. ignorant Samana. I am not afraid of this. But speak. thus advise me where I should go to. No. nor you from mine! So it is settled: Siddhartha will return. beautiful girl. and he would only give away from those whatever he is willing to give and to whomever he is willing to give. and he isn't afraid of anything. and his depth of thought? No. Siddhartha. In this. you have come up with the wrong path. He could hurt at all afraid of the Samana from the forest. thus you should also learn this: love can be obtained by begging. and his religious devotion. Beautiful and red is Kamala's mouth. "It would be a pity. someone might come and grab him and steal his learning. Samana. who has come to learn how to make love?" "Whatever for should I be afraid of a Samana. Did any Samana or Brahman ever fear. and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from it. once he'll have have what he still lacks: clothes. you are so right! It would be such a great pity. but just try to kiss it against Kamala's will. precisely like this it is also with Kamala and with the pleasures of love. a stupid Samana from the forest. that I'll find these three things most quickly?" . buying.

lured him. and shoes in return. "Beautiful are your verses. I can also write poetry. these verses: Into her shady grove stepped the pretty Kamala. rejected him. Kamala loudly clapped her hands. which revealed itself before his eyes. he remained standing where he was. I'm losing nothing when I'm giving you a kiss for them. and truly. and smiling Kamala thanked. What would be its title?" Siddhartha spoke." "Nothing else?" "Nothing. More lovely is offering to pretty Kamala. oh brown Samana. Bowed that man. after he had thought about it for a moment. There is no other way for a poor man to obtain money. For a long time. everyone different from the others. Would you like to give me a kiss for a poem?" "I would like to. But yes. thought the young man. than offerings for gods. how she controlled him. Kamala kissed him. he was still to receive. Breathing deeply. so that the golden bracelets clanged. and with a deep astonishment Siddhartha felt how she taught him." exclaimed Kamala. Deeply. clothes. I would give you pieces of ."Friend." She beckoned him with her eyes. I can fast. he tilted his head so that his face touched hers and placed his mouth on that mouth which was like a freshly cracked fig. More lovely. how wise she was. You must do what you've learned and ask for money. seeing the lotus's blossom. What might you be able to do?" "I can think. I can wait. many would like to know this. if I'll like your poem. "Very beautiful are your verses. well tested sequence of kisses. At the grove's entrance stood the brown Samana. and was in this moment astonished like a child about the cornucopia of knowledge and things worth learning. and how after this first one there was to be a long. "if I was rich. a well ordered.

You will also still find use for the magic spells. a maid came running in and whispered a message into her mistress's ear. and all beautiful things. Contently. very good." "The way you're able to kiss. this I am able to do. Contently. he managed to get out of the grove and over the hedge without making a sound. he returned to the city. Siddhartha. Kamala!" stammered Siddhartha. nobody may see you in here. brought into a garden-house avoiding the direct path. led into the bushes. I have read the scriptures—" "Stop." In this moment. Many people can do this." said Siddhartha. I also know magic spells. bracelets. shoes. carrying the rolled up garments under his arm." "Most people can't. At the inn. remember this! Tomorrow. ." exclaimed Kamala." Kamala interrupted him. fasting. But it will be difficult for you to earn thus much money with verses as you need. if you want to be Kamala's friend. "You're able to read? And write?" "Certainly. he did as he had been told. "Yes. but I do not want to speak them any more." But to the maid she gave the order to give the pious Brahman white upper garments. being given upper garments as a gift. Being accustomed to the forest. therefore I do not lack clothes. "Hurry and get yourself away. and urgently admonished to get himself out of the grove as soon as possible without being seen. making poetry?" "I also know the sacrificial songs. Siddhartha found himself being dragged away by the maid. It is very good that you're able to read and write. Without fully understanding what was happening to him. "There's a visitor for for them. I'll see you again. I also can't do it. I can do this. But what will become of you? Aren't you able to do anything else but thinking. "but I do not want to sing them any more. For you need a lot of money.

" Siddhartha thanked her and laughed. If he'll like you. he'll entrust you with a lot.where travellers stay. Kamala. they won't make a person lose any sleep. or else I won't be satisfied with you. Now. to wait." He had already discovered Kamala's house in the city long before. But don't be too modest! I do not want you to become his servant. I had others tell him about you. I need clothes and money. you'll see. without a word he accepted a piece of rice-cake." she called out to him. He gave the rice-cake to a dog and remained without food. he positioned himself by the door. "I'm opening one door after another for you. Suddenly. and when she found out that he had not eaten anything yesterday and today. it was no longer becoming to him to beg." thought Siddhartha. this a small. If he'll like you. there he turned up the following day. "Simple is the life which people lead in this world here. he thought. but you thought this was of no use. nothing else. Be polite towards him. Be smart. Everything was difficult. and to fast. "Things are working out well. which Kamala is giving me. he'll accept you into his service. he is very powerful. she sent for bread and fruits and treated him to it. toilsome. How come? Do you have a spell?" Siddhartha said: "Yesterday. I told you I knew how to think. Kamaswami is starting to get old and lazy. he is the richest merchant of the city. But it is useful for many things. "It presents no difficulties. You'll see that the stupid . pride flared up in him. "They are expecting you at Kamaswami's. without words he asked for food. easy like that lessons in kissing. brown Samana. everything is easy. I will ask no one for food any more. near goals. and ultimately hopeless." she said when they parted. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow. "You've been lucky. you shall become his equal. He was no Samana any more. when I was still a Samana.

" "But what if I hadn't been willing?" "You were willing." "Well yes. I also knew that I would carry it out. but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water. I knew that you would help me. "Perhaps it is so. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. a resolution. But perhaps it is also like this: that Siddhartha is a handsome man. if he is able to think. She loved his voice. he lets himself fall. "when I came to you into your grove. at your first glance at the entrance of the grove I already knew it. The day before yesterday. It was my resolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman. he fasts. Siddhartha does nothing. This is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal. she loved the look from his eyes. he waits." ." she said quietly. because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. he thinks. I was still a shaggy beggar.Samanas are learning and able to do many pretty things in the forest. if he is able to wait. "as you say. Nothing is effected by daemons. if Kamala wasn't helping you?" "Dear Kamala. I did the first step. His goal attracts him." Kamala listened to him. if he is able to fast." she admitted. Kamala: When you throw a rock into the water. Everyone can perform magic. which the likes of you aren't capable of. Look." said Siddhartha and straightened up to his full height. friend. he is drawn. that therefore good fortune is coming towards him. there are no daemons. From that moment on when I had made this resolution. it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. as soon as yesterday I have kissed Kamala. "But where would you be without me? What would you be. without stirring. that his glance pleases the women. and soon I'll be a merchant and have money and all those things you insist upon. without doing anything. This is what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected by means of the daemons. everyone can reach his goals.

" said Siddhartha. Siddhartha bid his farewell. that always good fortune shall come to me out of your direction!" WITH THE CHILDLIKE PEOPLE Siddhartha went to Kamaswami the merchant. Might you have become destitute. but that you seek to be in the service of a merchant." ." said Siddhartha. servants led him between precious carpets into a chamber. I am without possessions. and have never thought about of what I should live. "that you were a Brahman. with whom I have lived for a long time. the host and the guest greeted one another. with very intelligent. where he awaited the master of the house.With one kiss. Brahman. and therefore I am not destitute. how could you be anything but destitute? Aren't the Samanas entirely without possessions?" "I am without possessions. Surely. that my glance shall please you." "If you're coming from the Samanas. For more than three years. he was directed into a rich house. smoothly moving man with very gray hair. a swiftly. cautious eyes. "if this is what you mean. so that you seek to serve?" "No. "I wish that it should be this way. You should know that I'm coming from the Samanas. being without possessions?" "I haven't thought of this yet. But I am so voluntarily." "But what are you planning to live of. with a greedy mouth. "I have not become destitute and have never been destitute." the merchant began." "So you've lived of the possessions of others. my teacher. "I have been told. Kamaswami entered. Politely. a learned man. sir. I have been without possessions.

he would give his merchandise in return. for a long time he can allow hunger to besiege him and can laugh about it. Everyone takes." Kamaswami left the room and returned with a scroll. that's everything!" "And what's the use of that? For example. the farmer rice. fasting is the smartest thing he could do. a merchant also lives of what other people own. the merchant gives merchandise. for example. whether it may be with you or wherever. and began to read out its contents." "Well said." "That's everything?" "I believe. everyone gives. the teacher teachings. sir. the fisher fish. Siddhartha hadn't learned to fast. which he handed to his guest while asking: "Can you read this?" Siddhartha looked at the scroll. what would you like to give?" "Everyone gives what he has. . After all." "You're right." "So it seems to be indeed."Presumable this is how it is. But he wouldn't take anything from another person for nothing. When." "Yes indeed. on which a salescontract had been written down." "But if you don't mind me asking: being without possessions. And what is it now what you've got to give? What is it that you've learned. I can fast. what you're able to do?" "I can think. he knows no impatience. such is life. The warrior gives strength. But like this. because hunger would force him to do so. the fasting—what is it good for?" "It is very good. sir. he would have to accept any kind of service before this day is up. Siddhartha can wait calmly. is what fasting is good for. he knows no emergency. I can wait. When a person has nothing to eat. This. Wait for a moment. Samana.

"Excellent," said Kamaswami. "And would you write something for me on this piece of paper?" He handed him a piece of paper and a pen, and Siddhartha wrote and returned the paper. Kamaswami read: "Writing is good, thinking is better. Being smart is good, being patient is better." "It is excellent how you're able to write," the merchant praised him. "Many a thing we will still have to discuss with one another. For today, I'm asking you to be my guest and to live in this house." Siddhartha thanked and accepted, and lived in the dealers house from now on. Clothes were brought to him, and shoes, and every day, a servant prepared a bath for him. Twice a day, a plentiful meal was served, but Siddhartha only ate once a day, and ate neither meat nor did he drink wine. Kamaswami told him about his trade, showed him the merchandise and storage-rooms, showed him calculations. Siddhartha got to know many new things, he heard a lot and spoke little. And thinking of Kamala's words, he was never subservient to the merchant, forced him to treat him as an equal, yes even more than an equal. Kamaswami conducted his business with care and often with passion, but Siddhartha looked upon all of this as if it was a game, the rules of which he tried hard to learn precisely, but the contents of which did not touch his heart. He was not in Kamaswami's house for long, when he already took part in his landlords business. But daily, at the hour appointed by her, he visited beautiful Kamala, wearing pretty clothes, fine shoes, and soon he brought her gifts as well. Much he learned from her red, smart mouth. Much he learned from her tender, supple hand. Him, who was, regarding love, still a boy and had a tendency to plunge blindly and insatiably into lust like into a bottomless pit, him she taught, thoroughly starting with the basics, about that school of thought which teaches that pleasure cannot be be taken without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every look, every spot of the body, however small it was, had its secret, which would bring happiness to those who know about it

and unleash it. She taught him, that lovers must not part from one another after celebrating love, without one admiring the other, without being just as defeated as they have been victorious, 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. Wonderful hours he spent with the beautiful and smart artist, became her student, her lover, her friend. Here with Kamala was the worth and purpose of his present life, nit with the business of Kamaswami. 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. He soon saw that Siddhartha knew little about rice and wool, shipping and trade, but that he acted in a fortunate manner, and that Siddhartha surpassed him, the merchant, in calmness and equanimity, and in the art of listening and deeply understanding previously unknown people. "This Brahman," he said to a friend, "is no proper merchant and will never be one, there is never any passion in his soul when he conducts our business. But he has that mysterious quality of those people to whom success comes all by itself, whether this may be a good star of his birth, magic, or something he has learned among Samanas. He always seems to be merely playing with out business-affairs, they never fully become a part of him, they never rule over him, he is never afraid of failure, he is never upset by a loss." The friend advised the merchant: "Give him from the business he conducts for you a third of the profits, but let him also be liable for the same amount of the losses, when there is a loss. Then, he'll become more zealous." Kamaswami followed the advice. But Siddhartha cared little about this. When he made a profit, he accepted it with equanimity; when he made losses, he laughed and said: "Well, look at this, so this one turned out badly!" It seemed indeed, as if he did not care about the business. At one time, he travelled to a village to buy a large harvest of rice there. But when he got

there, the rice had already been sold to another merchant. Nevertheless, Siddhartha stayed for several days in that village, treated the farmers for a drink, gave copper-coins to their children, joined in the celebration of a wedding, and returned extremely satisfied from his trip. Kamaswami held against him that he had not turned back right away, that he had wasted time and money. Siddhartha answered: "Stop scolding, dear friend! Nothing was ever achieved by scolding. If a loss has occurred, let me bear that loss. I am very satisfied with this trip. I have gotten to know many kinds of people, a Brahman has become my friend, children have sat on my knees, farmers have shown me their fields, nobody knew that I was a merchant." "That's all very nice," exclaimed Kamaswami indignantly, "but in fact, you are a merchant after all, one ought to think! Or might you have only travelled for your amusement?" "Surely," Siddhartha laughed, "surely I have travelled for my amusement. For what else? I have gotten to know people and places, I have received kindness and trust, I have found friendship. Look, my dear, if I had been Kamaswami, I would have travelled back, being annoyed and in a hurry, as soon as I had seen that my purchase had been rendered impossible, and time and money would indeed have been lost. But like this, I've had a few good days, I've learned, had joy, I've neither harmed myself nor others by annoyance and hastiness. And if I'll ever return there again, perhaps to buy an upcoming harvest, or for whatever purpose it might be, 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. So, leave it as it is, my friend, and don't harm yourself by scolding! If the day will come, when you will see: this Siddhartha is harming me, then speak a word and Siddhartha will go on his own path. But until then, let's be satisfied with one another." Futile were also the merchant's attempts, to convince Siddhartha that he should eat his bread. Siddhartha ate his own bread, or rather they both ate other people's bread, all people's bread. Siddhartha never listened to Kamaswami's worries and

he was still aware that there was something which separated him from them and this separating factor was him being a Samana. my dear Kamaswami. one day. for little pleasures. He . He was open to everything. or a debtor seemed to be unable to pay. and becoming gray for the sake of things which seemed to him to entirely unworthy of this price. whose businesses. saw them suffering. I haven't learned to think from you. you ought to be the one seeking to learn from me. When. Kamaswami held against him that he had learned everything he knew from him. to have wrinkles on the forehead. However easily he succeeded in talking to all of them. welcome was the debtor who sought another loan. Welcome was the merchant who offered him linen for sale. Kamaswami could never convince his partner that it would be useful to utter a few words of worry or anger. for being slightly honoured." Indeed his soul was not with the trade. to sleep badly. he saw them scolding and insulting each other. in living with all of them. Siddhartha's interest and curiosity was only concerned with the people. 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. in learning from all of them. these people brought his way. he saw them complaining about pain at which a Samana would only smile. pleasures. Whether there was a business-deal going on which was in danger of failing. These are your areas of expertise.Kamaswami had many worries. The business was good enough to provide him with the money for Kamala. and suffering because of deprivations which a Samana would not feel. Besides from this. which he loved and also despised at the same time. crafts. He saw mankind going trough life in a childlike or animallike manner. worries. for money. and it earned him much more than he needed. 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. He saw them toiling. and acts of foolishness used to be as alien and distant to him as the moon. or whether a shipment of merchandise seemed to have been lost.

he pitied. of. only as much as he considered indispensable. he played with his business-deals. The source ran somewhere. far away from him. really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator. deep in his chest. real life still passing him by and not touching him. . really to act. had nothing to do with his life any more. lamented quietly. he made gifts. And then. he let them cheat him a bit. with his heart. towards the next person who would ask for him.did not treat the rich foreign merchant any different than the servant who shaved him and the streetvendor whom he let cheat him out of some small change when buying bananas. He gave advice. she was more similar to him. found amusement in them. and turned away from him. he listened curiously and happily. was puzzled by him. with the people around him. 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. quiet voice. a dying. he was not with them. learned the art of love. which admonished him quietly. many to appeal to his sympathy. At times he felt. chatted with her. But again and again. And there were many who came to him. many to get his advice. for an hour. of him doing lots of things which were only a game. he became aware of the strange life he was leading. received advice. though being happy and feeling joy at times. When Kamaswami came to him. consented that he was a little bit right. ran and ran invisibly. he came back to beautiful Kamala. many to do business with him. really to live. learned from her. As a ball-player plays with his balls. watched them. practised the cult of lust. in which more than in anything else giving and taking becomes one. to complain about his worries or to reproach him concerning his business. tried to understand him. She understood him better than Govinda used to understand him. many to draw some secret out of him. he hardly perceived it. gave her advice. 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. many to cheat him. with the source of his being.

there was one of this kind. Most people. a perfected one. who are small children with respect to their mind. It is that Gotama. are like a falling leaf. he said to her: "You are like me. "Again." "Not all people are smart. You are Kamala.Once. of which I knew many." she said thoughtfully. follow his instructions every hour. "I ever saw. and inside of you. when I'll be older. which had grown tired. in themselves they have their law and their course. until he was defeated and rested exhausted by her side." Siddhartha said nothing. to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home at yourself. "again. Thousands of followers are listening to his teachings every day. The courtesan bent over him. more willing. many secrets. at his eyes." she said. Kamala. Few people have this. For a long time. one of the thirty or forty different games Kamala knew. and still has no refuge in himself. Her body was flexible like that of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter. and tumbles to the ground. she played with Siddhartha." said Siddhartha. rejected him. which is blown and is turning around through the air. enticed him." said Kamala. you're talking about him. Others have it. "You are the best lover. embraced him: enjoyed his masterful skills. Among all the learned men and Samanas. and yet all could have it. I'd . nothing else. and they played the game of love. who is spreading that teachings. are like stars. You're stronger than others. as I can also do. "No." Kamala looked at him with a smile. the exalted one. there is a peace and refuge. I'll never be able to forget him. more supple. But others. forced him. you're having a Samana's thoughts. he who had learned from her how to make love. At some time. not in themselves they have teachings and a law. and wavers. Kamaswami is just as smart as I. they go on a fixed course. a few. you are different from most people. took a long look at his face. You've learned my art well. "that's not the reason why. Siddhartha. was knowledgeable of many forms of lust. but they are all falling leaves. no wind reaches them.

It was still the art of thinking. Siddhartha hardly felt them fading away. had awoken again. you love nobody. had tasted power. many things he had learned from the . in those days after Gotama's sermon. The childlike people can. "I am like you. His senses. nevertheless he had still remained in his heart for a long time a Samana. Kamala. which used to be near." Siddhartha said tiredly. which used to murmur within himself. That high. but there was nobody close to him. my dear. He had become rich. Siddhartha had lived the life of the world and of lust. had tasted lust. people of our kind can't love.want to bear your child. Nevertheless. which guided his life. had realized this quite right. except Kamala. that supple willingness to listen to the divine voice in his own heart. after the separation from Govinda. distant and quiet. bright state of being awake. for quite a while he possessed a house of his own and his own servants. whenever they needed money or advice. that proud state of standing alone without teachings and without teachers. though without being a part of it. And yet. of waiting. The people liked him. that's their secret. of fasting. had slowly become a memory. Years passed by. Isn't it so?" "It might very well be so. You also do not love—how else could you practise love as a craft? Perhaps. and a garden before the city by the river. the childlike people. the holy source murmured. which he had experienced that one time at the height of his youth. he had tasted riches. had been fleeting. that tense expectation. surrounded by the good life. and yet you do not love me. you've remained a Samana." SANSARA For a long time. being smart. they came to him. which he had killed off in hot years as a Samana. still the people of the world. had remained alien to him as he was alien to them.

to give orders to servants. put it to sleep. Many a part of this he still had. spices and sweets. among his growing riches. he had learned to wear beautiful clothes. He had learned to eat tenderly and carefully prepared food. something of their . he had learned from Gotama. Just as a potter's wheel. as the harvest seasons and rainy seasons passed by. some mocking disdain. made it heavy. and to drink wine. will keep on turning for a long time and only slowly lose its vigour and come to a stop. Just slowly and imperceptibly. of his eternal entity. when he was annoyed. made it tired. had remained within him for a long time afterwards: moderate living. Siddhartha had always watched it with mockery. once it has been set in motion. to enjoy himself with a woman. but it turned slowly and hesitantly and was close to coming to a standstill. much they had experienced. when he felt insulted. slowly it filled his soul. Slowly. When Kamaswami was ailing. like humidity entering the dying stem of a tree. even meat and poultry. hours of meditation. with the same disdain which a Samana constantly feels for the people of the world. secret knowledge of the self. On the other hand. his superiority had become more quiet. his mockery had become more tired. filling it slowly and making it rot. the world and sloth had entered Siddhartha's soul. he had learned from his father the Brahman. even fish. Siddhartha had assumed something of the childlike people's ways for himself. joy of thinking. when he was vexed by his worries as a merchant. the wheel of differentiation for a long time.Samanas. the wheel of thinking. to use his power over people. Siddhartha had learned to trade. to sleep on a soft bed. his senses had become alive. to watch dancing girls. but one part after another had been submerged and had gathered dust. to have himself carried about in a sedan-chair. which is neither body nor consciousness. there was much they had learned. But still he had felt different from and superior to the others. always he had watched them with some mockery. which causes sloth and forgetfulness. He had learned to play with dice and on a chess-board. to bathe in perfumed waters. thus Siddhartha's soul had kept on turning the wheel of asceticism. Just slowly. still turning.

gets stains. those features which are so often found in the faces of rich people. had become silent. the more similar he became to them. His face was still smarter and more spiritual than others. of ill-humour. These people were all of the time in love with themselves. But he did not learn this from them. As a new dress becomes old in time. and hidden at bottom. Siddhartha did not notice it. with women. gets worn off at the seams. getting a bit denser every day. those features of discontent. a bit heavier every year. which had awoken in him at that time and had ever guided him in his best times. tiredness came over Siddhartha. the amount of passion in their joys and fears. He only noticed that this bright and reliable voice inside of him. felt unable to think and tired. one after another. . And yet.childlikeness and of their fearfulness. with their children. in the morning after having had company the night before. thus Siddhartha's new life. Slowly the disease of the soul. when Kamaswami bored him with his worries. disappointment and disgust were waiting. envied them just the more. already showing its ugliness here and there. had grown old. like a thin mist. of sickliness. which he had started after his separation from Govinda. lost colour and splendour as the years passed by. this joy of a child and this foolishness of a child. a bit murkier every month. with plans or hopes. but it rarely laughed. It happened that he laughed just too loud. with honours or money. and starts to show threadbare spots here and there. Like a veil. It happened more and more often that. he envied them. this out of all things. when he lost a game of dice. which he himself despised. he learned from them out of all things the unpleasant ones. the fearful but sweet happiness of being constantly in love. grabbed hold of him. the importance they were able to attach to their lives. slowly. It happened that he became angry and impatient. gets wrinkles. of a lack of love. He envied them for the one thing that was missing from him and that they had. was gathering wrinkles and stains. which rich people have. and assumed. loses its beautiful colour in time. he stayed in bed for a long time. of sloth.

because he wanted to continue gambling. won thousands. by means of the game of dice. which he felt while he was rolling the dice. the merchants' false god. that terrible and petrifying fear. few dared to take him on. losing and wasting his wretched money in the game brought him an angry joy. sloth. covetousness. by lust. lost his patience when he was not payed on time. He was a feared gambler. lost money. threw away thousands. He played the game due to a pain of his heart. for in this feeling alone he still felt something like happiness. when he had stopped being a Samana in his heart. Siddhartha lost his calmness when losses occurred. always get it to a slightly higher level. forced his debtors more strictly to pay. that Siddhartha began to play the game for money and precious things. while he was worried about losing high stakes. dull life. won again. 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. lost jewelry. pursued the trade more zealously. that fear he loved and sought to always renew it. He. And after each big loss. he wanted to continue squandering. hating himself. Thus he gambled with high stakes and mercilessly. lost again. with an increasing rage and passion. possessions.He had been captured by the world. Siddhartha had gotten into this final and most base of all dependencies. which he at other times only joined with a smile and casually as a custom of the childlike people. lukewarm. always increase it. in no other way he could demonstrate his disdain for wealth. lost his kindness towards beggars. something like an elevated form of life in the midst of his saturated. Property. they were no longer a game and trifles to him. more clearly and more mockingly. lost a house in the country. mocking himself. continue demonstrating his disdain of wealth. his mind was set on new riches. so high and audacious were his stakes. lost his disposition for giving away and loaning money to those who petitioned him. and riches also had finally captured him. On a strange and devious way. who gambled away tens of thousands at one roll of the dice and laughed . had become a shackle and a burden. something like an intoxication. That fear. It was since that time.

still unsaid. I'll also follow that Buddha. by wine. words behind which a sadness and tiredness lay hidden. how kind his smile. whenever he found his face in the mirror at the bedroom's wall to have aged and become more ugly. With a . who was only in his forties. For a long time. and had tied him to her in the act of making love with painful fervour. Tiredness was written on Kamala's beautiful face. and Kamala had said thoughtful words. how closely lust was akin to death. of slight grooves. she wanted to squeeze the last sweet drop out of this vain. tiredness and the beginning of withering. tiredness from walking a long path. fear of having to die. became more strict and more petty in his business. fleeting pleasure. occasionally dreaming at night about money! And whenever he woke up from this ugly spell. Never before. She had asked him to tell her about Gotama." But after this. and Kamala had sighed and had said: "One day. perhaps not even conscious anxiety: fear of old age. as clearly as never before. he had to tell her about the exalted Buddha. as if. and under her eyes and next to the corners of her mouth he had. talking. and Kamala's face had been close to him. In this pointless cycle he ran. growing ill. biting and in tears. here and it. read a fearful inscription. once more. growing tired. an inscription of small lines. They had been sitting under the trees. which has no happy destination. Then he had lain by her side. fleeing into a numbing of his mind brought on by sex. He had spend the hours of the evening with Kamala. just as Siddhartha himself. whenever embarrassment and disgust came over him. she had aroused him. how clear his eyes. had already noticed. Then the time came when a dream warned him. and concealed. and could not hear enough of him. an inscription reminiscent of autumn and old age. how peaceful his walk had been. I'll give him my pleasure-garden for a gift and take my refuge in his teachings. and from there he fled back into the urge to pile up and obtain possessions. perhaps soon. fear of the autumn. growing old. in her beautiful pleasure-garden. gray hairs among his black ones. fleeing into a new game. it had become so strangely clear to Siddhartha. how still and beautiful his mouth. he continued fleeing.

the just too soft smile of the dancing girls. and in the same moment. dull music. he dreamt. thus this sleepless man wished to free himself of these pleasures. Worthless. he felt terribly shocked. so it seemed to him. he was disgusted by himself.sigh. though this was no longer true. Siddhartha had spent the night in his house with dancing girls and wine. he had a dream: Kamala owned a small. these habits and all of this pointless life and himself. Not until the light of the morning and the beginning of the first activities in the street before his city-house. and his heart hurt. he had bid his farewell to her. by the flabby tiredness and listlessness of his skin. by the smell of wine from his mouth. vomits it back up again with agonising pain and is nevertheless glad about the relief. who has eaten and drunk far too much. he stepped in front of the cage and looked inside. But more than by anything else. had acted as if he was superior to them towards the fellow-members of his caste. full of a disgust which he felt penetrating his entire body like the lukewarm. out in the street. and had for a long time sought to sleep in vain. Of this bird. the just too sweet. In those moments. and full of concealed anxiety. rare singing bird in a golden cage. repulsive taste of the wine. Starting up from this dream. and since this arose his attention. a hint of sleep. and then threw it away. there the small bird was dead and lay stiff on the ground. He took it out. by his perfumed hair. close to weeping and despair. Then. He dreamt: this bird had become mute. the just too sweet scent of their hair and breasts. in an immense burst of disgust. as if he had thrown away from himself all value and everything good by throwing out this dead bird. the soul full of reluctance. who at other times always used to sing in the morning. had drunk much wine and gone to bed a long time after midnight. worthless and pointless was the way he had been . he felt encompassed by a deep sadness. he had slightly fallen asleep. weighed it for a moment in his hand. had found for a few moments a half unconsciousness. his heart full of misery which he thought he could not bear any longer. Like when someone. being tired and yet excited.

in the midst of the thirst. several times he had experienced such a thing. for how long had he reached no height any more. like those children. By and by. Alone he stood there and empty like a castaway on the shore. when he had obtained praise from the Brahmans. came to an end in him. starting with the first days he could remember. sat down under a mango-tree. withered in him. the gods are awaiting you. without a high goal. then again he had. sat and sensed how everything died in him. and in his mind. he gathered his thoughts. without elevation. without thirst. when he wrestled in pain for the purpose of Brahman. content with small lustful pleasures and yet never satisfied! For all of these many years. locked the gate. he had tried hard and longed to become a man like those many. when every obtained knowledge only kindled new thirst in him. in the dispute with the learned ones. With a gloomy mind. when the ever rising. nothing which was alive. nothing which was in some way delicious or worth keeping he had left in his hands. for many long years. and in all this. you are destined for. goal of all thinking had ripped him out of and up from the multitude of those seeking the same goal." And again. how even and dull was the manner in which his path had passed through life. he had felt it in his heart: "There is a path in front of you. and also when he had gone away from him to the uncertain. he has had a taste of it. felt death in his heart and horror in his chest. his life had been much more miserable and poorer than . In his years as a boy. felt a true bliss? Oh yes. and again when he had gone away from the Samanas to that perfected one. upward fleeing. as an assistant in the offerings. Siddhartha went to the pleasure-garden he owned.going through life. as a young man. he once again went the entire path of his life. When was there ever a time when he had experienced happiness. For how long had he not heard this voice any more." Then. 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. without knowing it himself. 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.

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

full of the feeling of been sick of it. that she had felt one more time to be so completely possessed and penetrated by him. to be dead. full of misery. where she held a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage. full of death. given him comfort. From this day on. She opened the door of the cage. that there was no going back for him. she gazed after it. For a long time. and no awakening from that! Was there still any kind of filth. to have rest. Deeply. a poison which would numb his senses. But after some time. was over and done away with. he had dreamt of. she went to the window.spite of all the pain of the loss. the flying bird. she received no more visitors and kept her house locked. a dreariness of the soul he had not brought upon himself? Was it still at all possible to be alive? Was it possible. as he had lived it for many years until now. Dead was the singing bird. and that he had tasted all of it. he had been entangled in Sansara. sucked everything out of it until he was disgusted with it. 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. she became aware that she was pregnant from the last time she was together with Siddhartha. that this life. he had sucked up disgust and death from all sides into his body. bring him forgetfulness and sleep. and knew nothing but that one thing. there was nothing left in this world which could have attracted him. like a sponge sucks up water until it is full. When she received the first news of Siddhartha's disappearance. that she had pulled him so affectionately to her heart for this last time. a sin or foolish act he had not committed. Passionately he wished to know nothing about himself anymore. took the bird out and let it fly. And full he was. Dead was the bird in his heart. BY THE RIVER Siddhartha walked through the forest. given him joy. was already far from the city. to breathe in again and . he had not soiled himself with.

It . when he had still been a young man and came from the town of Gotama. Tiredness and hunger had weakened him. There was nothing left for him. to breathe out. to feel hunger. In deep tiredness. let him be chopped to bits by the daemons! With a distorted face. a coconuttree. This was the great vomiting he had longed for: death. to spit out this stale wine. he stared into the water. this depraved and rotten body. the same river over which a long time ago. and whatever for should he walk on. and looked down into the green water. a sound stirred up. in order to let himself fall straight down. this weakened and abused soul! Let him be food for fishes and crocodiles. Siddhartha leaned against its trunk with his shoulder. 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. he had reached the end. he slipped towards death. the smashing to bits of the form he hated! Let him be food for fishes. to which goal? No. except to smash the failure into which he had shaped his life.again. except to annihilate himself. this lunatic. wherever to. saw the reflection of his face and spit at it. A frightening emptiness was reflected back at him by the water. to put an end to this miserable and shameful life. this dog Siddhartha. to eat again. to sleep again. he took his arm away from the trunk of the tree and turned a bit. Then. in order to finally drown. before the feet of mockingly laughing gods. there was nothing left but the deep. hesitantly he stood at the bank. looked down and found himself to be entirely filled with the wish to let go and to drown in these waters. A hang bent over the bank of the river. Yes. embraced the trunk with one arm. to throw it away. there were no more goals. which ran and ran under him. a ferryman had conducted him. By this river he stopped. out of remote areas of his soul. answering to the terrible emptiness in his soul. painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream. With his eyes closed. out of past times of his now weary life.

he heard the water quietly flowing. mumbling Om. But it took him a long while for this. so doomed was he. Deep was his sleep and without dreams. with a slurred voice. And in the moment when the sound of "Om" touched Siddhartha's ear. infinitely far away. By the foot of the coconut-tree. the holy "Om". all desperation had not brought about. without thinking. which he. placed his head on the root of the tree and fell into a deep sleep. like an early pre-birth of his present self)—that his previous life had been abandoned by him. When he woke up after many hours. this wish of a child. infinitely meaningless. But this was only a moment. so much he had lost his way and was forsaken by all knowledge. He only knew that his previous life (in the first moment when he thought about it. knew about the indestructibility of life. for a long time he had not known such a sleep any more. opened his eyes. and he remembered where he was and how he got here. that. Om! he spoke to himself: Om! and again he knew about Brahman. full of disgust and . So this was how things were with him. this was brought on by this moment. when the Om entered his consciousness: he became aware of himself in his misery and in his error. this past life seemed to him like a very old. Siddhartha was deeply shocked. flash.was a word. that he had been able to seek death. Siddhartha collapsed. a syllable. spoke to himself. his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness of his actions. previous incarnation. saw with astonishment that there were trees and the sky above him. which roughly means "that what is perfect" or "the completion". knew about all that is divine. did not know where he was and who had brought him here. which he had forgotten. he felt as if ten years had passed. infinitely distant. and the past seemed to him as if it had been covered by a veil. the old word which is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the Brahmans. all sobering realizations. had been able to grow in him: to find rest by annihilating his body! What all agony of these recent times. that this wish. struck down by tiredness.

the holy word Om on his lips. was renewed. he spoke the word Om to himself. he knew himself. sensing his gaze. who had neither hair on his head nor a beard. thus rejuvenated! Perhaps. "I have been sleeping. thus renewed. under a coconut-tree. apparently. he had been sitting here for a long time and been waiting for him to wake up. but this Siddhartha was nevertheless transformed. "It is not good to be sleeping in such places. and he had not observed him for long when he recognised this monk as Govinda. timidness. had drowned and was reborn in a new body? But no. oh sir. he had been thus refreshed." answered Govinda. he has come to his senses. speaking which he had fallen asleep. Siddhartha saw that Govinda did not recognise him. searching. expressed zeal. Quietly. though he did not know him. Govinda had aged. What a wonderful sleep had this been! Never before by sleep. faithfulness. an unknown man. But when Govinda now. the friend of his youth. "However did you get here?" "You have been sleeping. sitting in the position of pondering. but that by a river. the eccentric. a submergence and complete entering into Om." said Siddhartha. knew this self in his chest. Govinda was happy to find him awake. but still his face bore the same features. he had even intended to throw his life away. this Siddhartha. He observed the man. joyful and curious. he knew his hand and his feet. I. a thinking of Om. Siddhartha straightened up. he too. am a follower of the exalted . a monk in a yellow robe with a shaven head. the weird one. knew the place where he lay. was strangely well rested. the perfected. strangely awake. where snakes often are and the animals of the forest have their paths. Govinda who had taken his refuge with the exalted Buddha. and it seemed to him as if his entire long sleep had been nothing but a long meditative recitation of Om. then he saw a person sitting opposite to him. into the nameless.wretchedness. that then he had fallen asleep and had now woken up and was looking at the world as a new man. he had really died. opened his eyes and looked at him.

and from the offerings. again I thank you for this." "I'm going. I stayed behind from my group and sat with you. oh Govinda. from your father's hut. for watching out over my sleep. And then. and from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in the grove Jetavana. always be in good health. and since I saw that your sleep was very deep. I have served you. and from our walk to the Samanas. the Sakyamuni. sir. and have been on a pilgrimage together with several of us on this path. oh sir." "Farewell. you followers of the exalted one. and don't comprehend any more how I couldn't recognise you right away. "Permit me to ask. from where do you know my name?" Now. tiredness has overwhelmed me. sir. though I wouldn't have required any guard. Samana. "You're friendly. Badly. I'm recognising you." Govinda exclaimed loudly. Now you may go then. But now that you're awake. to see you again. to see you again. You've been the guard of my sleep." "I thank you." said Siddhartha. Therefore." Govinda made the gesture of a salutation and said: "Farewell. "Now." spoke Siddhartha. I have fallen asleep myself. so it seems. Where are you going to. sir.Gotama. The monk stopped. oh friend?" . my joy is great. when I saw you lying and sleeping in a place where it is dangerous to sleep. Be welcome. Govinda. I who wanted to guard your sleep. Siddhartha smiled. the Buddha. Siddhartha. I sought to wake you up." "It also gives me joy. "I know you. and from the school of the Brahmans." "I thank you. let me go to catch up with my brothers. May you. Samana." "You're Siddhartha.

and our hair and bodies themselves. what are you now?" "I don't know it. and your hair. Remember. for I have been one of them. few in such shoes. "But few would go on a pilgrimage in such clothes. you have observed well. your keen eyes see everything. today. oh Siddhartha." "You've lost your riches?" . But you. wearing such shoes. Siddhartha. you do not look like a pilgrim. we always move from one place to another. I was a rich man and am no rich man any more. my dear: Not eternal is the world of appearances. where are you going to?" Quoth Siddhartha: "With me too. it is as it is with you. We monks are always travelling." said Govinda. live according to the rules if the teachings passed on to us. and what I'll be tomorrow. because I have been a rich man." "You're on a pilgrimage. and I believe in you. forgive me. friend. accept alms. Siddhartha. not eternal. Never I have met such a pilgrim. my dear Govinda. my dear. But now. It is always like this." "I believe you. I'm travelling. I'm just travelling. I'm on a pilgrimage. I don't know. with the fragrance of perfume. such a garment. anything but eternal are our garments and the style of our hair. I'm wearing them."I'm going nowhere. you've met a pilgrim just like this. I don't know it just like you. You're wearing a rich man's garments. move on. and I'm wearing my hair like the worldly and lustful people. not the hair of a Samana. being a pilgrim myself for many years. But. you're wearing the shoes of a distinguished gentleman. I'm wearing a rich man's clothes. I'm going nowhere." "And now. whenever it is not the rainy season. I said: I'm on a pilgrimage. few with such hair. is not a pilgrim's hair." "Right so. And so it is: I'm on a pilgrimage." Govinda spoke: "You're saying: you're on a pilgrimage. you've seen this quite right. But I haven't said to you that I was a Samana.

he gave him the salutation which one would use on a gentleman and went on his way. had been able to do three noble and undefeatable feats: fasting—waiting—thinking. this fearful man. For the most wretched things."I've lost them or they me. was this very thing that he loved everything. nor waiting. in the glorious hour after his wonderful sleep. After that. Siddhartha watched the leaving monk. now he had really become a childlike person. for the good life. And now. so he remembered. you know it. . laborious years of his youth. for what fades most quickly. and yet also with a smile." Govinda looked at the friend of his youth for a long time. he had given them up. In those days. he thought of that time. The sleep had strengthened him much. And now. Govinda. which had happened inside of him in his sleep and by means of the Om. for riches! His life had indeed been strange. so it seemed. These had been his possession. but hunger gave him much pain. this faithful man. he had boasted of three three things to Kamala. Govinda. They somehow happened to slip away from me. his power and strength. that he was full of joyful love for everything he saw. his solid staff. they had abandoned him. With a smiling face. nothing else. The wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly. for sensual lust. Where is Siddhartha the Brahman? Where is Siddhartha the Samana? Where is Siddhartha the rich man? Non-eternal things change quickly. in the busy. And how could he not have loved everybody and everything in this moment. so it seemed to him now. and the times were long past when he had been tough against hunger. nor thinking. Siddhartha watched him leave. that he was not able to love anybody or anything. for by now he had not eaten for two days. With sadness. he had learned these three feats. with doubt in his eyes. neither fasting. he loved him still. filled with Om! The enchantment. which had been his sickness before. With a smiling face. And it was this very thing. none of them was his any more.

He liked this well. learned to hunger. I had to spend many years losing my spirit. kindly he smiled at the river. and laughed about it. Yes. since all these most easily perishing things have slipped from me again. always moving on downhill. suffered of heat and frost. Now. now I'm standing here under the sun again just as I have been standing here a little child. he thought. soon afterwards. But I also had to leave Buddha and the great knowledge. but he forced himself. his fate had been strange! Things were going downhill with him. nothing is mine. But he could not feed sad about this. learned to love my stomach. to . that my hair is already half gray. foolish world. and now he was again facing the world void and naked and stupid. he did not really feel like it. in past times. that my strength is fading.Siddhartha thought about his situation. and he also saw the river going downhill. wasted money. insight came towards me in the form of the great Buddha's teachings. How wondrous is this! Now. worshipped the eternal in the Atman. and as he was saying it. with thinking and meditation. he happened to glance at the river. I felt the knowledge of the oneness of the world circling in me like my own blood. "Things are going downhill with you!" he said to himself. learned to please my senses. now I'm starting again at the beginning and as a child! Again. I followed the penitents. there is nothing I could bring about. learned trading with Kamaswami. I went and learned the art of love with Kamala. Thinking was hard on him. that I'm no longer young. to unlearn thinking again. so he thought. wondrous detours it has taken. lived in the forest. piled up money. But as a young man. Wonderfully. I have learned nothing. no. a hundred years ago. As I boy. As a youth. I have no abilities. to laugh about this strange. taught my body to become dead. Was this not the river in which he had intended to drown himself. he even felt a great urge to laugh. I had only to do with gods and offerings. and singing and being happy through it all. I had only to do with asceticism. he had to smile. to laugh about himself. was searching for Brahman. or had he dreamed this? Wondrous indeed was my life.

you have once again had an idea. just to become a child again and to be able to start over. Siddhartha. to that foolish and dreary life! I praise you. that I am finally free again and am standing like a child under the sky? Oh how good is it to have fled. good sleep. it moves in loops. How did I hate this world of the rich. to be able to sleep properly and awake properly again. through so much vices. this path. have . Where else might my path lead me to? It is foolish. my eyes smile to it.forget the oneness. I've had to experience despair. this I like. of spices. this I must praise. which has done me so good? Or from the word Om. where from did you get this happiness? Might it come from that long. and yet. perhaps it is going around in a circle. from a thinker into a childlike person? And yet. to have become free! How clean and beautiful is the air here. I had to become a fool. delude myself into thinking that Siddhartha was wise! But this one thing I have done well. where I ran away from. Isn't it just as if I had turned slowly and on a long detour from a man into a child. have made myself old and evil! No. after so many years of foolishness. which I said? Or from the fact that I have escaped. to hear Om again. of excess. of the gamblers! How did I hate myself for staying in this terrible world for so long! How did I hate myself. of those who revel in fine food. to be able to live again. never again I will. Wherever from. I've had to sink down to the most foolish one of all thoughts. to the thought of suicide. my heart says "Yes" to it. that I have completely fled. I had to sin. tortured myself. of sloth. there everything smelled of ointments. But what a path has this been! I had to pass through so much stupidity. of wine. he asked his heart. to find Atman in me again. the bird in my chest has not died. have deprive. through so much disgust and disappointments and woe. this path has been very good. Let it go as it likes. in order to be able to experience divine grace. how good to breathe! There. But it was right so. poisoned. Wonderfully. he felt joy rolling like waves in his chest. I want to to take it. as I used to like doing so much. that there is now an end to that hatred against myself. through so many errors.

and let his soul die of thirst. had he not felt its death? No. frightened. and proud self. in my heart. by this lovely river? Was it not due to this death. made money. but I have experienced only now. he could have stayed with Kamaswami. here in the forest. which had defeated him again and again. but in my eyes. felt fear? Was it not this. I have already learned as a child. listened curiously to his stomach." he thought. "It is good. Like this. well upholstered hell. that most extreme moment. Had not this bird died in him. something else from within him had died. filled his stomach. that he was now like a child. something which already for a long time had yearned to die.done something. which today had finally come to its death. I have known it for a long time. found joy in himself. That lust for the world and riches do not belong to the good things. if this had not happened: the moment of complete hopelessness and despair. it was good. his small. in my stomach. have heard the bird in your chest singing and have followed it! Thus he praised himself. when he hang over the rushing waters and was ready to destroy himself. devoured up to the point of desperation and death. Was it not this what he used to intend to kill in his ardent years as a penitent? Was this not his self. which one needs to know. listened to the bird. a piece of suffering. this was why he felt joy. Good for me. That he had felt this despair. wasted money. And now I know it. so without fear. to know this!" For a long time. he had wrestled with for so many years. so full of joy? . He had now. he pondered his transformation. don't just know it in my memory. this was why his face was smiling brightly under his hair which had turned gray. this deep disgust. that the bird. so he felt. and that he had not succumbed to it. the joyful source and voice in him was still alive after all. completely tasted and spit out. in these recent times and days. prohibited joy. a piece of misery. so full of trust. which was rumbling with hunger. for much longer he could have lived in this soft. as it sang for joy. "to get a taste of everything for oneself. which was back again after every killing. For much longer. this was why he laughed.

to woman and money. not to leave it very soon. the pointlessness of a dreary and wasted life up to the end. never before he had like a water so well as this one. his self had retreated. a dice-gambler. He had died. until the priest and Samana in him was dead. until Siddhartha the lustful. a new Siddhartha had woken up from the sleep. up to bitter despair. the teachings. was a child. He thought these thoughts. He would also grow old. bearing the disgust. Into being a priest. mortal was Siddhartha. he had to continue bearing these ugly years. to much selfcastigation. always the knowing and spiritual one. so much doing and striving for that goal! Full of arrogance. Cheerfully. that no teacher would ever have been able to bring about his salvation. Too much knowledge had held him back. Therefore. tired. which was still awaiting him. always working the most. while he thought he would kill it by fasting and penance. Siddhartha the greedy could also die. the new Siddhartha. always one step ahead of all others. Siddhartha had intended to drown himself. he would also eventually have to die. Therefore. lose himself to lust and power. into this arrogance. a drinker. always the smartest. desperate Siddhartha had drowned today. had to become a merchant. But today he was young. But the new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing water. It seemed to him. too many sacrificial rules. mortal was every physical form. he had to go out into the world. listened with a smile to his stomach. In this river. there it sat firmly and grew. and a greedy person. Now he saw it and saw that the secret voice had been right. as if the river had something special to tell him. too many holy verses. he looked into the rushing river. always the priest or wise one. . and was full of joy. into this spirituality. something he did not know yet. listened gratefully to a buzzing bee. and decided for himself.Now Siddhartha also got some idea of why he had fought this self in vain as a Brahman. never before he had perceived the voice and the parable of the moving water thus strongly and beautifully. as a penitent. he had been. in it the old.

he wanted to listen to it. starting out from his hut. many secrets. only felt some idea of it stirring. How did he love this water. with green ones. shall also take its start there! Tenderly. divine voices. he looked into the rushing water. listened to the current. In a daze he walked on. upriver. how did it delight him. so rich in secrets. listened to the rumbling hunger in his body. the workings of hunger in his body became unbearable.THE FERRYMAN By this river I want to stay. was always at all times the same and yet new in every moment! Great be he who would grasp this. this one touched his soul. my present new life. he wanted to learn from it. with crystal ones. With a thousand eyes. would also understand many other things. he today only saw one. which had now grown old and is dead—my present path. into the transparent green. with white ones. it is the same which I have crossed a long time ago on my way to the childlike people. all secrets. incessantly it ran. my path had led me at that time into a new life. and it told him: Love this water! Stay near it! Learn from it! Oh yes. and was nevertheless always there. so it seemed to him. a distant memory. with sky-blue ones. quiet bubbles of air floating on the reflecting surface. into the crystal lines of its drawing. the blue of the sky being depicted in it. He who would understand this water and its secrets. he is the one I want to go to. He saw: this water ran and ran. the boat was just ready. a friendly ferryman had guided me then. the river looked at him. Siddhartha rose. how grateful was he to it! In his heart he heard the voice talking. Bright pearls he saw rising from the deep. When he reached the ferry. up the path by the bank. But out of all secrets of the river. thought Siddhartha. which was newly awaking. and the same ferryman who had once . understand this! He understood and grasped it not.

and . "It must be beautiful to live by this water every day and to cruise on it. "At one time. searching. I have no money to pay your fare. This is nothing for people wearing fine clothes." With a smile. you would soon stop enjoying it. "Now I recognise you." the ferryman laughed." Siddhartha laughed. and accept my clothes for it. intent to continue travelling without clothes?" "Ah. took him into his boat and pushed it off the bank. Behold. from me? For you must know. I have been looked upon with distrust. "Once before. "Would you like to ferry me over?" he asked. most of all I wouldn't want to continue travelling at all. he had also aged very much. sir. But isn't every life. I have been looked upon today because of my clothes. Thus. "I'm not joking. do it today as well. stood in the boat." "Ah." For a long time. or rather as your trainee. it is as you say. But I envy you for yours." he finally said. ferryman. Wouldn't you." the passenger spoke. like to accept these clothes. being astonished to see such an elegant man walking along and on foot. this was a long time ago. Most of all I would like you. possibly more than twenty years ago. sir." "And do you. you've slept in my hut. The ferryman. for I'll have to learn first how to handle the boat. Siddhartha recognised him. ferryman. sir. "It's a beautiful life you have chosen for yourself." "You're joking. isn't every work beautiful?" "This may be true. friend.transported the young Samana across the river. once before you have ferried me across this water in your boat for the immaterial reward of a good deed. the ferryman looked at the stranger. which are a nuisance to me. to give me an old loincloth and kept me with you as your assistant. the man at the oar moved from side to side: "It is beautiful.

Without him having spoken a word. . Siddhartha felt. all that searching. Gratefully. and also ate with eager pleasure of the mango fruits. his own suffering. after this. and Vasudeva pushed the oar with more strength. birthplace and childhood. all distress. Siddhartha. what a happy fortune it is. be my guest today as well and sleep in my hut. so I hope. he helped him to tie the boat to the stakes. and tell me. did not add his praise or rebuke. Vasudeva offered him. the ferryman asked him to enter the hut. When they had reached the bank. all joy. This was among the ferryman's virtues one of the greatest: like only a few. with brawny arms. his own search. Listening carefully. He worked calmly. My name is Vasudeva. waiting. how he did not lose a single one. he knew how to listen. quiet." "So be've been ferried across the river by me. and I was a Samana. when you've last seen me. to burry in his heart his own life. open. how once before. where you're coming from and why these beautiful clothes are such a nuisance to you. love for this man had stirred in his heart. in that hour of despair. it was almost the time of the sunset. the speaker sensed how Vasudeva let his words enter his mind. Haven't you've been a Samana? I can't think of your name any more. You will. and remembered. awaited not a single one with impatience. was just listening. he accepted Vasudeva's invitation. to confess to such a listener. and Siddhartha ate with eager pleasure. and Siddhartha told the ferryman about where he originally came from and about his life." They had reached the middle of the river. his eyes fixed in on the front of the boat. Vasudeva listened with great attention. all that learning. as he had seen it before his eyes today." "My name is Siddhartha. lasted his tale. Afterwards. they sat on a log by the bank. Until late at night. in order to overcome the current. on that last day of his time as a Samana. offered him bread and water. and we parted like good friends. he let everything enter his mind. Siddhartha sat and watched him.

I will also learn in this respect from you. but like this I am only a ferryman. and it is my task to ferry people across the river.But in the end of Siddhartha's tale. I used to have a wife. and . That is good. my friend." "You will learn it. All I'm able to do is to listen and to be godly. I might be a wise man. And I did not meet a single one who knew it as well as you did. there is space and food for both. the river." he said. of the holy Om. The river has taught me to listen. I have transported many. I have no special skill in speaking. I'm no learned man. The river has spoken to you. It is your friend as well. then Vasudeva said: "It is as I thought. entirely and completely absorbed by it. the ferryman listened with twice the attention." Quoth Siddhartha after a long pause: "What other thing. You'll learn it. Vasudeva. from it you will learn it as well. If I was able to say and teach it. and of his deep fall. "let's go to sleep. and a long silence had occurred. Now. I have lived alone. but she has died a long time ago. when he spoke of the tree by the river. You'll learn that other thing from it as well. "I thank you and accept. with his eyes closed." said Siddhartha. I have learned nothing else. her bed was next to mine. It knows everything. "but not from me. it speaks to you as well. Siddhartha." "I thank you. But when Siddhartha fell silent. Stay with me. I can't tell you that other thing. Vasudeva?" Vasudeva rose. The rich and elegant Siddhartha is becoming an oarsman's servant. to sink. you've already learned this from the water too. And I also thank you for this. the learned Brahman Siddhartha becomes a ferryman: this has also been told to you by the river. everything can be learned from it. I also have no special skill in thinking. that is very good. for a long time. or perhaps you know it already." spoke Vasudeva. and how he had felt such a love for the river after his slumber. oh friend. "It is late. for listening to me so well! These people are rare who know how to listen. thousands. you shall live with me. to seek depth. See. that it is good to strive downwards. See.

and that there is only the present time for it." said Siddhartha. without an opinion. Let's rest now. he was taught by the river. all of them. and the river was obstructing their path. and for weddings. I looked at my life. plucked the fruit off the banana-trees. "Did you. at the source and at the mouth. But more than Vasudeva could teach him. Vasudeva was no friend of words. They travelled to seek money and business. at the waterfall. and to weave baskets. a few. rarely. he learned from it to listen. to pay close attention with a quiet heart. Siddhartha succeeded in persuading him to speak. gathered wood. at the ferry. "did you too learn that secret from the river: that there is no time?" Vasudeva's face was filled with a bright smile. and on pilgrimages. and the river has become sacred to them. not the shadow of the past. isn't it: that the river is everywhere at once. without passion. and the days and months passed quickly. Siddhartha." so he asked him at one time. and it was also a . they have heard its voice. with a waiting. He learned to build an oar. he lived side by side with Vasudeva. "It is this what you mean. he worked with Vasudeva in the rice-field. the river has stopped being an obstacle. in the sea. everywhere at once. they have listened to it. my river has been nothing but an obstacle on their travels. without a wish. Siddhartha. In a friendly manner. and the ferryman's job was to get them quickly across that obstacle. and was joyful because of everything he learned. opened soul." Siddhartha stayed with the ferryman and learned to operate the boat. Most of all. and when there was nothing to do at the ferry. But for some among thousands. and learned to mend the boat. four or five. without judgement. "And when I had learned it. in the mountains. as it has become sacred to me. "Yes." he spoke. at the rapids. and occasionally they exchanged some words. few and at length thought about words. not the shadow of the future?" "This it is. he learned from it.

then said Siddhartha: "Isn't it so. Oh. oh friend. Often. his smile became more similar to the ferryman's. Nothing was. Vasudeva's face was smiling. when you succeed in hearing all of its ten thousand voices at once?" Happily. "all voices of the creatures are in its voice. almost just as throughly glowing with bliss. deeply. silently he nodded. was not everything hard. just as alike to an old man's. was not all suffering time. and of a warrior. the river has many voices. turned back to his work. just as alike to a child's. but Vasudeva smiled at him brightly and nodded in confirmation. and his death and his return to Brahma was no future. everything hostile in the world gone and overcome as soon as one had overcome time.river. everything is. thought they were brothers. brushed his hand over Siddhartha's shoulder. Also. And this had been the very thing which Siddhartha had also been hearing. he had spoken. they sat in the evening . and a thousand other voices more?" "So it is. and of a woman giving birth. and of a bird of the night." "And do you know. Many travellers. when the river had just increased its flow in the rainy season and made a powerful noise. very many voices? Hasn't it the voice of a king. nothing will be. not by something real. and the boy Siddhartha was only separated from the man Siddhartha and from the old man Siddhartha by a shadow. became almost just as bright. this enlightenment had delighted him." Siddhartha spoke with ecstasy. and of a sighing man. were not all forms of tormenting oneself and being afraid time. he bent over to Siddhartha and spoke the holy Om into his ear. as soon as time would have been put out of existence by one's thoughts? In ecstatic delight." Vasudeva nodded. And time after time. and of a bull. Siddhartha's previous births were no past. just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles." Siddhartha continued. And once again. seeing the two ferrymen. "what word it speaks. everything has existence and is present.

who had been told that there were two wise men. The years passed by. told about pains. The curious people asked many questions. the face and fate of whom had occupied their thoughts. after having looked at the face of one of the ferrymen. at one time. There was something about this ferry and the two ferrymen which was transmitted to others. which many of the travellers felt. the Buddha. monks came by on a pilgrimage. confessed evil things. and nobody counted them.together by the bank on the log. It happened occasionally that a traveller. It also happened that curious people came. when listening to the river. or sorcerers. started to tell the story of his life. until a new flock of monks came along on their pilgrimage. of death. for the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon die his last human death. and by them the ferrymen were told that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher. of one of their travellers. looked at each other. Then. which was no water to them. and another one. It happened occasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with them to listen to the river. but they got no answers. and that they both in the same moment. but the voice of life. of a conversation from the day before yesterday. or holy men living by that ferry. said nothing and both listened to the water. of what is eternally taking shape. they only found two friendly little old men. and the monks as well as most of the other travellers and people walking through the land . It was not long. and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men. the voice of what exists. thought of the same things. in order to become one with the salvation. And it happened from time to time that both. followers of Gotama. asked for comfort and advice. And the curious people laughed and were discussing how foolishly and gullibly the common people were spreading such empty rumours. who were asking to be ferried across the river. both thinking precisely the same thing. when the river had been saying something good to them. both delighted about the same answer to the same question. who seemed to be mute and to have become a bit strange and gaga. of their childhood.

the exalted one. But he who had found. he remembered them. he could approve of any teachings. desired to go back home. Together with Siddhartha the boy. she was travelling by the river. when so many went on a pilgrimage to the dying Buddha. They had been. had taken her refuge in the teachings. could accept. and are gathering like ants in droves. who used to be the most beautiful of the courtesans. proud and precocious words. he thought of him. the great teacher. there was no teaching a truly searching person. saw his path to perfection before his eyes. but the boy had soon grown tired. someone who truly wanted to find. so it seemed to him. said to him. Siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man. On one of these days. she had gone on her way due to the news of the near death of Gotama. Kamala also went to him. as a young man. like being drawn on by a magic spell. on foot. became disobedient and started whining. Often. whose voice he had also once heard. to where the great Buddha was awaiting his death. And as people are flocking from everywhere and from all sides. she had retired from her previous life. in simple clothes. whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken hundreds of thousands. her son. with a smile. desired to eat.spoke of nothing else than of Gotama and his impending death. whose holy face he had also once seen with respect. Kindly. 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. With her little son. No. thus they flocked. every goal. A long time ago. where the huge event was to take place and the great perfected one of an era was to become one with the glory. every path. who breathed what is divine. and remembered with a smile those words which he had once. when they are going to war or to the coronation of a king. desired to rest. had given her garden to the monks of Gotama as a gift. was among the friends and benefactors of the pilgrims. For a long time he knew that there was nothing standing between Gotama and him any more.

He looked up and first saw the boy's face. though she lay unconscious in the ferryman's arms. who was holy and about to die. who used to love her so much. She. closed her eyes a bit. which wondrously reminded him of something. he was accustomed to having his way against her. in order to reach people. But the boy started crying miserably. whose face had been such a warning reminder to him. black snake fled. had to scold him. she crouched down on the ground. to an unknown place. only interrupting it to kiss and hug his mother. she was made to drink a healing potion. when little Siddhartha once again forced his mother to rest. But suddenly.Kamala often had to take a rest with him. like a warning to remember something he had forgotten. and rested. with a smile. took the woman on his arms. just slowly . Kamala herself. she looked at her friend's face. they now both ran along the path. had to comfort him. Then he saw Kamala. had also become tired. she had to feed him. and got near to the ferry. and from under her dress. Quickly. and she also joined his loud screams for help. the boy ran along. So what if he died. there Kamala collapsed. and now he knew that it was his own son. and the heart stirred in his chest. whom he instantly recognised. and was not able to go any further. a small. Her consciousness returned. Kamala's wound was washed. were Siddhartha stood by the stove and was just lighting the fire. she lay on Siddhartha's bed in the hut and bent over her stood Siddhartha. she uttered a wailing scream. to a stranger. Hurriedly. by which Kamala had been bitten. until the sound reached Vasudeva's ears. It seemed like a dream to her. the boy looked at her in fear and saw her face having grown pale from horror. and soon they all reached the hut. but had already turned black and her body was swollen. He did not comprehend why he had to to go on this exhausting and sad pilgrimage with his mother. who stood at the ferry. and while the boy was chewing a banana. he came walking. carried her into the boat. how did this concern the boy? The pilgrims were getting close to Vasudeva's ferry.

"you've become gray. I recognised you. and at the sight of the child's face. my dear.she. on her pale cheeks. The boy wept. which he had learned a long time ago. waiting. which he returned with a smile. called timidly for the boy. he started to speak. Looking at him." said Siddhartha. attentively. Alas. Vasudeva nodded. my dear. was only now and then uttering a sob and fell asleep. you're like him. And with that singsong. with a singing voice. Siddhartha took him on his knees. over his friendly face ran the light of the stove's fire. Siddhartha. Kamala looked into his eyes. I have also grown old. Kamala. Siddhartha placed him on Vasudeva's bed. old— could you still recognise me?" Siddhartha smiled: "Instantly. let him weep. Once again. "She'll die. Pain distorted her face. Vasudeva stood by the stove and cooked rice. In the eyes. she said: "Now I see that your eyes have changed as well. Siddhartha gave him a look. with dusty feet. But you are like the young Samana. Kamala felt it. don't worry. the boy became calm. to me into the garden." Kamala pointed to her boy and said: "Did you recognise him as well? He is your son. She spoke with a heavy tongue. the words came flowing to him. remembered the bite. They've become . than you were like him at that time when you had left me and Kamaswami. petted his hair. "You've become old. when he had been a little boy himself. who at one time came without clothes. You are much more like him. Slowly." Siddhartha said quietly. from his past and childhood. a Brahman prayer came to his mind. his mind becoming one with her suffering. Quietly. he read it. her gaze sought his eyes. paralysed by the poison. realized her situation. "He's with you." Her eyes became confused and fell shut. Kamala returned to consciousness." she said. Siddhartha's eyes read the suffering on her mouth.

and he remembered. and saw at the same time his face and hers being young. By what do I still recognise that you're Siddhartha? It's you. and it's not you. quietly his eyes looked at hers. Deeply he felt." Siddhartha said nothing. with fiery eyes. and she thought that she had now found him in his place. and he saw the life fading from her eyes. where . he sat and looked at her peacefully dead face. "You have achieved it?" she asked.completely different. "I'm seeing it. just as quenched out. compare this mouth with a freshly cracked fig. For a long time. to breathe his peace. "I'm seeing it. completely filled every aspect of his being. which had become thin. he observed her mouth. in the spring of his years." Siddhartha spoke in a whisper. the feeling of eternity. with those lips. in the tired wrinkles. more deeply than ever before. read in the pale face. But Siddhartha did not eat. For a long time. filled himself with this sight. tired mouth. Vasudeva had prepared rice for him. she looked at him. that he used to. her old. when the final shiver ran through her limbs. In the stable. She thought about her pilgrimage to Gotama. When he rose. in order to see the face of the perfected one. he sat. the eternity of every moment. as if she had seen the other one." she said. with red lips. and that it was good." "You have found it. When the final pain filled her eyes and made them grow dim. in this hour. Kamala never stopped looking into his eyes. just as white. but the tongue no longer obeyed her will. For a long time. which wanted to take. the indestructibility of every life. "You have found peace?" He smiled and placed his hand on hers. just as good. and the feeling of this both being present and at the same time real. Without speaking. I too will find peace. his finger closed her eyelids. She wanted to tell this to him. saw his own face lying in the same manner.

gloomy and shy. listening to the river. touched and encircled by all times of his life at the same time. they built the funeral pile." While the boy was still asleep. I was listening to the river. even before the sun could be seen. Siddhartha. did not want to eat. whether the boy was sleeping. who have been rich and happy. the boy had attended his mother's funeral. he had listened to Siddhartha. with the thought of oneness. stepped to the door of the hut and listened. met his fate with resistance and denial. but I see: no sadness has entered your heart." "You've experienced suffering.their goat stood. the two old men prepared beds of straw for themselves. Early in the morning. how should I be sad? I. "No. surrounded by the past. deeply it has filled me with the healing thought." "No. . did not open his heart. who greeted him as his son and welcomed him at his place in Vasudeva's hut." he said. Pale. have become even richer and happier now. Kamala has died on the same bed." "Your son shall be welcome to me as well. Let us also build Kamala's funeral pile on the same hill on which I had then built my wife's funeral pile. But Siddhartha went outside and sat this night before the hut. My son has been given to me. there is much to be done. "You haven't slept. THE SON Timid and weeping. I sat here. A lot it has told me. Siddhartha. my dear. Vasudeva. let's get to work. Vasudeva came out of the stable and walked over to his friend. But now. But occasionally. he rose. he sat for many days by the hill of the dead. on which my wife had died a long time ago. and Vasudeva lay himself down to sleep. gave no open look.

he had called himself. he honoured his mourning.Siddhartha spared him and let him do as he pleased. Siddhartha understood that his son did not know him. Since young Siddhartha was in the hut. Your son. did the work in the hut and the field. But he loved him. Vasudeva waited. One day. accustomed to giving orders to servants. when the boy had come to him." he said. Since time had passed on in the meantime. is worrying you. accustomed to finer food. he hoped to win him over. the old men had split the work. I'm seeing that you are tormenting yourself. and the boy remained a stranger and in a gloomy disposition. always picked the best piece of the meal for him. For long months. my dear. a mother's boy. watching. for long months. "Pardon me. For a long time. Slowly. Vasudeva had again taken on the job of the ferryman all by himself. he did many a chore for him. "from a friendly heart. Siddhartha understood that the mourning. and he is also worrying me. stole from Vasudeva's fruit-trees. Vasudeva took in the evening his friend aside and talked to him. by friendly patience. and that he had grown up in the habits of rich people. then Siddhartha began to understand that his son had not brought him happiness and peace. did not want to do any work. He did not force him. pampered child could not suddenly and willingly be content with a life among strangers and in poverty. 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. he also saw and understood that the eleven-year-old was a pampered boy. since he displayed a proud and stubbornly disobedient heart. in order to be with his son. Siddhartha waited for his son to understand him. Slowly. to a soft bed. did not pay his respect to the old men. Rich and happy. but suffering and worry. That young bird is accustomed to a different . that he could not love him like a father. to perhaps reciprocate it. and he preferred the suffering and worries of love over happiness and joy without the boy. to accept his love. waited and said nothing. and Siddhartha. I'm talking to you. I'm seeing that you're in grief.

you too should listen to it!" Troubled. with love and with friendly patience I intent to capture it. and is shaking with laughter at out foolishness. whose thoughts can't be his. "Give me some more time. after all. his heart is proud and hard. it laughs at you and me. you and me. the arrogant and pampered boy. like you. many times I have asked it. Water wants to join water. But the river laughs. know what he is called upon to do. Vasudeva. He has not. his pain will be. he too is of the eternal life. ashamed. burden themselves with much sin. I praise you. wouldn't punish him? Don't you shackle him with your love? Don't you make him feel inferior every day. what path to take. 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. But aren't you mistaken in thinking that you wouldn't force him. Very good. err a lot. I'm fighting for him. You too should ask the river." "I knew it. oh friend. he had to leave all this behind. do much injustice. don't beat him. love stronger than force. to whom even rice is a delicacy. being disgusted and fed up with it. youth wants to join youth. what pain to endure? Not a small one. Tell me. the river shall also talk to him. to a different nest. But do we. he too is called upon. don't give him orders. your son is not in the place where he can prosper. I asked the river. and don't you make it even harder on him with your kindness and patience? Don't you force him." Vasudeva's smile flourished more I don't do anything of this. Water stronger than rocks. whose hearts are old and quiet and beats in a . people like this have to suffer a lot. it laughs at me. "How could I part with him?" he said quietly. he also is called upon. You don't force him. ran away from riches and the city. in the many wrinkles of which there was incessant cheerfulness. because you know that 'soft' is stronger than 'hard'. Siddhartha looked into his friendly face. One day. what actions to perform. to live in a hut with two old banana-eaters. I'm seeking to win his heart. against his will. "Oh yes. my dear! See.

how shall I put him. his teachers warnings. from greed. which teacher had been able to protect him from living his life for himself.different pace than his? Isn't forced. softly. that story containing so many lessons. won't he repeat all of his father's mistakes. prayer. from soiling himself with life. won't he perhaps get entirely lost in Sansara?" Brightly. bring him into his mother's house. from finding his path for himself? Would you think. the ferryman's smile lit up. 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. from sin. And when there aren't any around any more. there'll still be servants around. who had no tender heart anyhow. from drinking the bitter drink for himself. "Often. that story about Siddhartha. give him to them. but so that he shall be among other boys. Have you never thought of this?" "You're seeing into my heart. have you entirely forgotten that story. Quietly. because you love him." Siddhartha spoke sadly. his own knowledge. But look. from foolishness? Were his father's religious devotion. isn't he punished by all this?" Troubled. a Brahman's son. won't he lose himself to pleasure and power. his own search able to keep him safe? Which father. which you once told me here on this very spot? Who has kept the Samana Siddhartha safe from Sansara. because you would like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment? But even if you . from burdening himself with guilt. and among girls. he touched Siddhartha's arm and said: "Ask the river about it. bring him to a teacher. Siddhartha looked to the ground. my dear. he asked: "What do you think should I do?" Quoth Vasudeva: "Bring him into the city. I have thought of this. and in the world which is his own. not for the teachings' sake. into this world? Won't he become exuberant. anybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path? That perhaps your little son would be spared. admonition? My dear.

and this was. he had not already thought and known for himself. Now he too felt. Indeed. stronger was his tenderness. and nevertheless he had also sensed an accusation in that line. They were both masters of patience. stronger than the knowledge was his love for the boy. he let him disregard him. suffered from it. once in his lifetime. he had never been able to lose or devote himself completely to another person. loving another person. and yet thus happily? Siddhartha could not heed his friend's advice. But now. now he. . Siddhartha. Siddhartha thanked him. late. He said nothing and waited. when the boy's face reminded him very much of Kamala. this strongest and strangest of all passions. he began the mute struggle of friendliness. suffered miserably." Never before. had he ever loved any person thus. since his son was here. having become a fool on account of love. friendly. But this was a knowledge he could not act upon. thus blindly. he could not give up the boy. knowing. went troubled into the hut. to forget himself. Vasudeva had told him nothing. Vasudeva had spoken so many words. thus unsuccessfully. the great distinction which set him apart from the childlike people. never he had been able to do this. had once said to him. and was nevertheless in bliss. Siddhartha suddenly had to think of a line which Kamala a long time ago. lost to a love." she had said to him. suffering for the sake of another person.would die ten times for him. in the days of their youth. the silent war of patience. as it had seemed to him at that time. patient. to commit foolish acts for the love of another person. Kindly. He let the boy give him orders. and he had agreed with her and had compared himself with a star. his fear to lose him. you would not be able to take the slightest part of his destiny upon yourself. daily. thus sufferingly. could not sleep for a long time. while comparing the childlike people with falling leaves. At one time. "You cannot love. Had he ever lost his heart so much to something. Vasudeva also said nothing and waited. had also become completely a childlike person.

let him humiliate himself every day by giving in to his moods. in stubborn disobedience and rage he stayed where he was. this father. But the boy did not leave the hut. 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. and for him to answer every naughtiness with a smile. He was a good man.was nevertheless renewed in one respect. He was bored by this father. that you won't hit me. The latter had given him a task. you don't dare. when what young Siddhartha had on his mind came bursting forth. soft man. who kept him prisoner here in this miserable hut of his. just as wise! But I. it was necessary. came from the essence of his own being. He did sense very well that this love. dark waters. was a passion. just as devout. the son let him commit his foolish acts. just as soft. perhaps a very devout man. this very thing was the hated trick of this old sneak. A day came. This pleasure also had to be atoned for. that it was Sansara. kind. he felt at the same time. I do know. enriched by one thing. he was bored by him. every insult with friendliness. just to make you suffer. a good. these foolish acts also had to be committed. this blind love for his son. Through all this. This father had nothing which would have delighted him and nothing which he would have feared. and he openly turned against his father. clenched his fists. he had told him to gather brushwood. You want me to become like you. every viciousness with kindness. and screamed in a powerful outburst his hatred and contempt into his father's face. if he had been abused by him. I do know. it was not worthless. I rather want to become a . perhaps a saint. Nevertheless. "I'm not your servant. Much more the boy would have liked it if he had been threatened by him. listen up. all these there no attributes which could win the boy over. "Get the brushwood for yourself!" he shouted foaming at the mouth. a murky source. something very human. this pain also had to be endured. let him court for his affection.

" Siddhartha did not answer. Then the boy ran away and only returned late at night. Then they crossed over. The boy had ran away. Vasudeva. and he is right. but you're suffering a pain at which one would like to laugh. But the next morning. He's taking care of himself. to get over the water. We must build a raft. and Vasudeva helped him to tied the canes together with ropes of grass. "to get our boat back. pulled the raft upriver on the opposite bank. He already held the axe in his hands and began to make a raft of bamboo. don't forget that. What had also disappeared was a small basket. than to become like you! I hate you. which the boy has taken away. you shall let run along. Siddhartha saw it lying by the opposite bank. "Why did you take the axe along?" asked Siddhartha." But Siddhartha knew what his friend was thinking. But him. the boy had made yesterday. drifted far off their course. He's doing what you've failed to do yourself. my friend. in which the ferrymen kept those copper and silver coins which they received as a fare. he is no child any more. He thought. and go to hell. woven out of bast of two colours." "We will build a raft. foamed at the father in a hundred savage and evil words. you're not my father. "A child can't go through the forest all alone. He'll perish. at which you'll soon laugh for yourself. he knows how to get around. "I must follow him. He's looking for the path to the city. Vasudeva said: "It might have been possible that the oar of our boat got lost. I see you suffering.highway-robber and murderer. Alas. and if you've ten times been my mother's fornicator!" Rage and grief boiled over in him. who had been shivering with grief since those ranting speeches. The boat had also disappeared. he had disappeared." said Siddhartha. the boy would have thrown . he's taking his course. Siddhartha." said Vasudeva.

listening to the story of his life. that he knew deep inside that he had neither perished nor was in any danger in the forest. he ran without stopping. if he should still be on his way. he also found that he. which used to belong to Kamala. Either.away or broken the oar in order to get even and in order to keep them from following him. he would conceal himself from him. no longer to save him. or. seeing monks in yellow robes walking among the beautiful trees. just to satisfy his desire. he stood there. the musicians. near the city. pondering. Siddhartha stood there and looked through the open gate into the garden. seeing images. young. to look for the runaway. And in fact. receiving his first kiss from her. saw young Siddhartha in their place. When. Clearly. He saw Kamaswami. he stopped. looking proudly and disdainfully back on his Brahmanism. For a long time. was not worried for his son. 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. For a long time. the orgies. naked Samana. again he saw himself standing there. He started making a new oar. the hair full of dust. the boy was far ahead and had already reached the city. But Siddhartha bid his farewell. on his part. Nevertheless. he saw himself being served food and drink by Kamala. And he ran up to just outside of the city. a bearded. saw the servants. The past rose up in his soul. the thought occurred to him that his search was useless. For a long time. he reached a wide road. where he had seen her for the first time in her sedan-chair. there was no oar left in the boat. he stood there. so he thought. the gamblers with the dice. When Siddhartha had already been walking through the forest for a long time. Vasudeva did not stop him. As he continued thinking. Vasudeva pointed to the bottom of the boat and looked at his friend with a smile. beginning proudly and full of desire his worldly life. by the entrance of the beautiful pleasuregarden. the pursuer. lived through all . saw young Kamala walking among the high trees. just to perhaps see him one more time. saw Kamala's song-bird in the cage. looked at the monks.

into the happy eyes. gave one to the ferryman. was once again old and tired. Instantly. beating tiredly and sadly. made him sad. returned home to the ferry. there was now emptiness. saw no joy any more. picked them up. he was awoken by a hand touching his shoulder. let himself fall. Instead of the desired goal. That this wound did not blossom yet. He sat lost in thought and waited. The old man did not see him. ate the other one himself. bashful touch. was once again healed by the holy Om. one of them came to him and placed two bananas in front of him.this once again. listening. this tender. fell into emptiness. having patience. without seeing a path. felt once again disgust. that it had to become a blossom and had to shine. he sat down. After having been standing by the gate of the garden for a long time. Now he saw the bananas lying in front of him. and since he crouched for many hours. And when he felt the wound burning. who had followed him. listening attentively. felt once again the wish to annihilate himself. This he had learned by the river. in the dust of the road. and regained his senses. Siddhartha realised that his desire was foolish. no goal. did not shine yet. The monks in the garden saw him. that he was not allowed to cling him. and dust was gathering on his gray hair. he silently went back into the forest with Vasudeva. And when he looked into Vasudeva's friendly face. Many an hour he crouched. he recognised this touch. filled himself with Om. breathed Sansara. and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it. saw no images any more. at this hour. that he could not help his son. felt something dying in his heart. like a wound. he felt the love for the run-away in his heart. which were as if they were filled with nothing but his smile. this one thing: waiting. into the small wrinkles. And he sat and listened. waited for a voice. After this. which had drawn him here following the runaway son. Neither one . listened to his heart. then he smiled too. Sadly. which had made him go up to this place. He rose and greeted Vasudeva. he silently spoke the Om. Deeply. experienced emptiness. From this petrified state.

neither one mentioned the boy's name. less proud. became lovable. all of these simple. without thinking: "So many. foolish. but instead warmer. and when after a while Vasudeva came to him. even became worthy of veneration to him. warriors. even thieves and robbers have children and love them. but immensely strong. . Siddhartha lay down on his bed. and ridiculous aspects were no longer ridiculous to him. desires for possession. the wound continued to burn. but solely by urges and wishes. thus similar to the childlike people he had become. became understandable. more involved. all except for me. Many a traveller Siddhartha had to ferry across the river who was accompanied by a son or a daughter." Thus simply. OM For a long time. it still seemed to him as if those childlike people were his brothers. businessmen. Though he was near perfection and was bearing his final wound. childlike people. these people did not seem alien to him as they used to: he understood them. more curious. the stupid. and he saw none of them without envying him. women. he understood and shared their life. thus without reason he now thought. The blind love of a mother for her child. he already found him asleep. which was not guided by thoughts and insight. neither one spoke about him running away. their vanities. blind pride of a conceited father for his only son. When he ferried travellers of the ordinary kind. all of these urges. he now looked upon people. all of this childish stuff. vain woman for jewelry and admiring glances from men. Differently than before. strongly living. and are being loved by them. he felt like them. less smart. to offer him a bowl of coconut-milk. the blind. wild desire of a young. neither one spoke about the wound.talked about what had happened today. In the hut. so many thousands possess this sweetest of good fortunes—why don't I? Even bad people.

Slowly this blossomed in him. longingly and bitterly Siddhartha thought of his son. the thinker. saw them achieving infinitely much for their sake. knowledge of the eternal perfection of the world.strongly prevailing urges and desires were now no childish notions for Siddhartha any more. this thought was to be valued thus highly. but its . seem to be superior to humans in their tough. nurtured his love and tenderness in his heart. Slowly blossomed. in some moments. smiling. after all. And one day. The river flowed softly and quietly. tiny. the thought of oneness. what wisdom actually was. what the goal of his long search was. unrelenting performance of what is necessary. travelling. the conscious thought of the oneness of all life. Siddhartha ferried across the river. They lacked nothing. conducting wars. the knowledge. childlike face: harmony. and he could love them for it. of the thinking and childlike people. he saw people living for their sake. whether this knowledge. their blind strength and tenacity. had to put him above them except for one little thing. It was nothing but a readiness of the soul. Worthy of love and admiration were these people in their blind loyalty. got off the boat and was willing to go to the city and to look for his son. And Siddhartha even doubted in many an hour. were often far superior to them. the worldly people were of equal rank to the wise men. a single. oneness. while living his life. small thing: the consciousness. the Brahman in each of their passions. the indestructible. committed all foolish acts of love. But the wound still burned. a secret art. there was nothing the knowledgeable one. suffering infinitely much. an ability. was shining back at him from Vasudeva's old. Not by itself. allowed the pain to gnaw at him. to be able to feel and inhale the oneness. just as animals too can. driven by a yearning. it was the dry season. slowly ripened in Siddhartha the realisation. In all other respects. bearing infinitely much. each of their acts. that what is alive. whether it might not also perhaps be a childish idea of the thinking people. this flame would go out. he saw life. when the wound burned violently. to think every moment.

which had not been suffered and solved up to its end. and once he had returned to the hut. the wound was not blossoming yet. which reminded him. a long time ago. and not less tending towards laughing along at (?? über) himself and the entire world. which he used to know and love and also fear. Vasudeva was sitting in the hut and weaving a basket. had forced his father to let him go to the penitents. It resembled his father's face. everything came back. But Siddhartha want back into the boat and ferried back to the hut. Had his father not also suffered the same pain for him. how he had bed his farewell to him. thinking of his father. a strange and stupid matter. Yes. and not just his eyes. how he had gone and had never come back. it laughed brightly and clearly at the old ferryman. thinking of his son. at odds with himself. to say everything. The river laughed. the same pain was suffered over and over again. and he saw his face reflected in the quietly moving waters. tending towards despair. in order to hear even better. he felt hope. and as he thought about it. the master of listening. this running around in a fateful circle? The river laughed. Siddhartha stopped. this repetition. without having seen his son again? Did he not have to expect the same fate for himself? Was it not a comedy. . something he had forgotten. he bent over the water. and in this reflected face there was something. Alas. he felt an undefeatable desire to open up to Vasudeva. cheerfulness and victory were not yet shining from his suffering. his arms and hands as well. He no longer used the ferry-boat. to show him everything. And he remembered how he. Unchanged and flourishing was only the joy and the cheerful benevolence of his face. so it was. Nevertheless. as a young man. the Brahman. laughed at by the river. alone. his heart was still fighting his fate.voice sounded strange: it laughed! It laughed clearly. which he now suffered for his son? Had his father not long since died. he found it: this face resembled another face. his eyes were starting to get weak.

he sensed how his pain. While he spoke. of the burning wound. came back at him from his counterpart. While he was still speaking. the more he realised that everything was in order and natural. no longer a human being. he started bidding his farewell to Vasudeva. almost forever. a childish run-away. everything he could tell. while Vasudeva was listening with a quiet face. that he was God himself. until it had cooled and become one with the river. that he was the eternal itself. his fears flowed over to him. he was able to say everything. spoke for a long time. of his knowledge of the foolishness of such wishes. at that time. of his futile fight against them. He reported everything. He presented his wound. Vasudeva's listening gave Siddhartha a stronger sensation than ever before. let his silent love and . What they had never talked about.Siddhartha sat down next to the old man. the less wondrous it became. how he ferried across the water. who was listening to him. And while Siddhartha stopped thinking of himself and his wound. even the most embarrassing parts. how his secret hope flowed over. that this motionless listener was absorbing his confession into himself like a tree the rain. yes. at him. said nothing. slowly he started talking. He felt. of his walk to the city. Siddhartha felt more and more that this was no longer Vasudeva. that only he had not quite recognised it. how the river had laughed. this realisation of Vasudeva's changed character took possession of him. everything could be said. still admitting and confessing. When he had finished talking. and the more he felt it and entered into it. Thorough all this. and that this could not last. that Vasudeva had already been like this for a long time. he now told him of. everything shown. that he was now seeing old Vasudeva as the people see the gods. also told how he fled today. which had grown slightly weak. of his envy at the sight of happy fathers. he talked incessantly. in his heart. willing to walk to the city. that he himself had almost reached the same state. To show his wound to this listener was the same as bathing it in the river. that this motionless man was the river itself. Vasudeva turned his friendly eyes.

longingly it sang. lonely. turned into rain and poured down from the sky. lonely. "Listen better!" Vasudeva whispered. and the river's voice sounded full of yearning. the sea." They listened. a stream. the boy.cheerfulness. and other images. headed all. it flowed towards its goal. and they merged with each other. full of burning woe. singing in many voices. longingly. and images appeared to him in the moving water: his father appeared. lamentingly its voice sang. It still resounded. mourning for his son. led him to the seat by the bank. full of suffering. and every goal was followed by a new one. towards goals. desiring. suffering. Softly sounded the river. the waterfall. "Do you hear?" Vasudeva's mute gaze asked. smiled at the river. and the image of Govinda. flowed on once again. a river. the rapids. the river was heading. Siddhartha made an effort to listen better. The image of his father. For the goal. he had ever seen. greedily rushing along the burning course of his young wishes. He took Siddhartha's hand. Let's listen. sat down with him. searching. he also being tied with the bondage of yearning to his distant son. full of unsatisfiable desire. the image of his son merged. longing. Kamala's image also appeared and was dispersed. voices of joy and of suffering. being the river. you'll hear more. understanding and knowledge. Siddhartha nodded. The river sang with a voice of suffering. turned all into the river. Siddhartha looked into the water. But the longing voice had changed. "But you haven't heard everything." he said. headed forward once again. which consisted of him and his loved ones and of all people. his son appeared. "You've heard it laugh. suffering. and all goals were reached. but other voices joined it. . and the water turned into vapour and rose to the sky. lonely as well. Siddhartha saw it hurrying. his own image. many goals. the lake. for the goal. shine at him. each one heading for his goal. all of these waves and waters were hurrying. the river. he himself appeared. each one suffering. each one obsessed by the goal. turned into a source.

the oneness. his suffering was shining. all suffering. today it sounded new. all that was good and evil. His wound blossomed. He was now nothing but a listener. laughing and sad ones. On his face flourished the cheerfulness of a knowledge. all voices. these many voices in the river. Vasudeva's smile was shining. entangled a thousand times. And everything together. In this hour. they all belonged together. a hundred voices. not the ones of children from those of men. Brightly. all pleasure. he could no longer tell the many voices apart. all goals. the lamentation of yearning and the laughter of the knowledgeable one. floating radiantly over all the wrinkles of his old face. And when Siddhartha was listening attentively to this river. then the great song of the thousand voices consisted of a single word. which knows perfection. his self had flown into the oneness. All of it together was the flow of events. a thousand voices. "Do you hear. everything was intertwined and connected. was the music of life. when he looked at his friend. not the happy ones from the weeping ones. completely empty. he felt. Siddhartha stopped fighting his fate. which was Om: the perfection. Already. but when he heard them all. perceived the whole. as the Om was floating in the air over all the voices of the river. the scream of rage and the moaning of the dying ones. when he did not tie his soul to any particular voice and submerged his self into it. all yearning. this song of a thousand voices. and brightly the same smile was now starting to shine on Siddhartha's face as well. Brightly his smile was shining. he had heard all this. when he neither listened to the suffering nor the laughter. completely concentrated on listening. everything was one. that he had now finished learning to listen. which is in agreement with the flow of events. full of sympathy for the pain of . Siddhartha listened." Vasudeva's gaze asked again.good and bad voices. stopped suffering. with the current of life. all of this together was the world. Often before. which is no longer opposed by any will.

I've been Vasudeva the ferryman. and who was regarded as a wise man by many. saw his steps full of peace. and said: "I've been waiting for this hour.others. I've been waiting for this hour. full of sympathy for the pleasure of others. he left. he chose the path to the ferry. though he had lived his entire life by the rules. saw his head full of lustre. though he was also looked upon with veneration by the younger monks on account of his age and his modesty. saw his body full of light. my dear. . with deep solemnity he watched him leave. river. For a long time. When Vasudeva rose from the seat by the bank. "I've known it." he said quietly. belonging to the oneness. the restlessness and the searching still had not perished from his heart. devoted to the flow. When Govinda went back on his way. With deep joy. who lived one day's journey away by the river. Now it's enough. which the courtesan Kamala had given to the followers of Gotama for a gift. Because. in this careful and tender manner. farewell. for a long time. hut. farewell. I'm going into the oneness. let me leave." spoke Vasudeva with a bright smile. Govinda used to spend the time of rest between pilgrimages in the pleasure-grove. eager to see the ferryman. With a bright smile. he softly touched his shoulder with his hand. when he looked into Siddhartha's eyes and saw the cheerfulness of the knowledge shining in them. Siddhartha watched him leaving. "You'll go into the forests?" "I'm going into the forests. Siddhartha!" Siddhartha made a deep bow before him who bid his farewell. GOVINDA Together with other monks. Farewell. He heard talk of an old ferryman. Now that it has come.

that he is unable to find anything. I'm old. which are directly in front of your eyes. Never I'll stop searching. are perhaps indeed a searcher." "I don't quite understand yet. and when they got off the boat on the other side." asked Govinda. oh venerable one." . though you are already of an old in years and are wearing the robe of Gotama's monks?" "It's true. "then it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes still see is that what he searches for. so it seems to me. have been searching. You too. having no goal. there are many things you don't see. because he has a goal. you did not recognise the sleeping man. Would you like to tell me something. because. You. being open. and have sat down with him to guard his sleep. you have already ferried many of us across the river. because he is obsessed by the goal. striving for your goal. Searching means: having a goal. But finding means: being free. "what do you mean by this?" Quoth Siddhartha: "A long time ago. oh honourable one?" Quoth Siddhartha: "What should I possibly have to tell you. to let anything enter his mind. smiling from his old eyes: "Do you call yourself a searcher. a searcher for the right path?" Quoth Siddhartha." said Siddhartha. he said to the old man: "You're very good to us monks and pilgrims. oh venerable one. you don't find the time for finding?" "How come?" asked Govinda.He came to the river and asked the old man to ferry him over. oh venerable one. oh Govinda. "but I haven't stopped searching. this seems to be my destiny. But. oh venerable one? Perhaps that you're searching far too much? That in all that searching. "When someone is searching." spoke Govinda. ferryman. because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search. Aren't you too. you've once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by the river. many years ago.

"I wouldn't have recognised you this time as well! From my heart. "A ferryman. I have stuck with this. he sat with me when I had fallen asleep in the forest.—And so you've now become a ferryman?" In a friendly manner. a saint. many things Siddhartha had to tell him from his life. that I already as a young man. which helps you to live and to do right?" Quoth Siddhartha: "You know. on the pilgrimage. not without hesitation. the ferryman Vasudeva. he was a perfect man. Many questions he posed to the friend of his youth. you follow. Govinda said. I have learned here from this river and from my predecessor." Govinda stayed the night in the hut and slept on the bed which used to be Vasudeva's bed. A beautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time. I have had many teachers since then. I'm happy to see you once again! You've changed a lot. my dear. these words: "Before I'll continue on my path. Once. travelling on foot. in those days when we lived with the penitents in the forest. started to distrust teachers and teachings and to turn my back to them. But most of all. "Are you Siddhartha?" he asked with a timid voice. and a rich merchant was my teacher. I'm also grateful to him. very grateful. I'm greeting you. Siddhartha laughed. Govinda. Many people. has been my teacher. or a knowledge. have to change a lot. Vasudeva. He was a very simple person. I am one of those. Siddhartha. and some gamblers with dice.Astonished. even a follower of Buddha. from my heart. Govinda. have to wear many a robe. my dear. Do you have a teaching? Do you have a faith. Siddhartha. but he knew what is necessary just as well as Gotama. I've also learned from him. and spend the night in my hut. yes. Be welcome. Nevertheless. my friend. When in the next morning the time had come to start the day's journey. as if he had been the object of a magic spell. permit me to ask one more question. the monk looked into the ferryman's eyes." . he was no thinker.

you love a bit to mock people. there is no other way for him who wants to teach. my dear Govinda. A person or an act is never entirely Sansara or entirely Nirvana. you still found certain thoughts. 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. Wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to someone always sounds like foolishness. he had to divide it into Sansara and Nirvana. But haven't you found something by yourself. even as a young man. It does really seem like this. what exists around us and inside of us. sometimes suspected. as it seems to me. Everything is one-sided which can be thought with thoughts and said with words. Look. Govinda. as if time was something real. but it would be hard for me to convey them to you.Govinda said: "Still. which are your own and which help you to live? If you would like to tell me some of these. When the exalted Gotama spoke in his teachings of the world. it is possible to be carried by it. Sometimes. But the world itself. Knowledge can be conveyed. I have found a thought. miracles can be performed with it. because we are subject to deception. is never one-sided. roundness." Quoth Siddhartha: "I've had thoughts. oh Siddhartha." "Are you kidding?" asked Govinda. a person is never entirely holy or entirely sinful. as one would feel life in one's heart. what has driven me away from the teachers. it's all one-sided. I'm telling you what I've found. oneness. for an hour or for an entire day. though you've found no teachings. yes. again and again. "I'm not kidding. Time is . into suffering and salvation. all lacks completeness. but it cannot be expressed in words and taught. and insight. but which is my best thought. you would delight my heart. It can be found. which you'll again regard as a joke or foolishness. certain insights. This was what I. I believe in you and know that you haven't followed a teacher. all just one half. There have been many thoughts. which I have found: wisdom cannot be passed on. this is one of my thoughts. it can be lived. into deception and truth. I have felt knowledge in me. but not wisdom. It cannot be done differently.

No. the robber is waiting. my loving agreement. in order to learn how to love the world. though our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things. In deep meditation. wisdom like foolishness. all small children already have the old person in themselves. the desire for possessions. is not imperfect. to do nothing but work for my benefit. death is to me like life. to be good for me. in the Brahman. I have experienced this often and often again. and will be as if it was simultaneous. only my willingness. are only a parable! The sinner is not on his way to become a Buddha. everything has to be as it is. will be Buddha—and now see: these 'times to come' are a deception. everything is Brahman. everything is perfect.not real. sin like holiness. in the robber and dice-gambler. Govinda. you have to worship in him. is a sinner. then the gap which seems to be between the world and the eternity. Therefore. It is not possible for any person to see how far another one has already progressed on his path. The world. all dying people the eternal life. there is the possibility to put time out of existence. "Listen well. to see all life which was. within the sinner is now and today already the future Buddha." "How come?" asked Govinda timidly. I see whatever exists as good. all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself. the possible. And if time is not real. which I am and which you are. I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I needed sin very much. all infants already have death. between suffering and blissfulness. he will reach the Nirvana. it is perfect in every moment. I needed lust. his future is already all there. in everyone the Buddha which is coming into being. and needed the most shameful despair. the Buddha is waiting. but in times to come he will be Brahma again. he is not in the process of developing. is. or on a slow path towards perfection: no. between evil and good. in you. everything only requires my consent. my dear. my friend Govinda. the hidden Buddha. and there everything is good. in order to stop comparing it to some world I . vanity. in order to learn how to give up all resistance. to be unable to ever harm me. listen well! The sinner. is also a deception.

and every one is special and prays the Om in its own way. But today I think: this stone is a stone. as soon as it is put into words. oh Govinda. and will. and this is also very good. this is why I love it and see worth and purpose in each of its veins and cavities. in the hardness. I imagined. a bit silly—yes. is oily or juicy. "Why have you told me this about the stone?" he asked hesitantly after a pause. and will turn from soil into a plant or animal or human being. I also very much agree with this. I would perhaps have thought in the past. in the sound it makes when I knock at it. others like sand. it is also animal. it is also Buddha. it is also god. Thus." he said playing with it. but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy being a part of it.—But let me speak no more of this. . gets distorted a bit. picked up a stone from the ground. each one is Brahman. that this what is one man's treasure and wisdom always sounds like foolishness to another person. that it is a stone. There are stones which feel like oil or soap. in the yellow. The words are not good for the secret meaning. but because it might be able to become also a human being and a spirit in the cycle of transformations.wished. I do not venerate and love it because it could turn into this or that. but simultaneously and just as much it is a stone. are some of the thoughts which have come into my mind. and this is this very fact which I like and regard as wonderful and worthy of worship. after a certain time. but rather because it is already and always everything— and it is this very fact. and others like leaves. "is a stone.—These. it belongs to the world of the Maja. in the gray. it is worthless. some kind of perfection I had made up. that it appears to me now and today as a stone." Siddhartha bent down. and weighed it in his hand. I would have said: This stone is just a stone. therefore I also grant it importance. in the dryness or wetness of its surface." Govinda listened silently. In the past. and I like it a lot. "This here. perhaps turn into soil. everything always becomes a bit different.

"I did it without any specific intention. Or perhaps what I meant was, that love this very stone, and the river, and all these things we are looking at and from which we can learn. I can love a stone, Govinda, and also a tree or a piece of bark. This are things, and things can be loved. But I cannot love words. Therefore, teachings are no good for me, they have no hardness, no softness, no colours, no edges, no smell, no taste, they have nothing but words. Perhaps it are these which keep you from finding peace, perhaps it are the many words. Because salvation and virtue as well, Sansara and Nirvana as well, are mere words, Govinda. There is no thing which would be Nirvana; there is just the word Nirvana." Quoth Govinda: "Not just a word, my friend, is Nirvana. It is a thought." Siddhartha continued: "A thought, it might be so. I must confess to you, my dear: I don't differentiate much between thoughts and words. To be honest, I also have no high opinion of thoughts. I have a better opinion of things. Here on this ferry-boat, for instance, a man has been my predecessor and teacher, a holy man, who has for many years simply believed in the river, nothing else. He had noticed that the river's spoke to him, he learned from it, it educated and taught him, the river seemed to be a god to him, for many years he did not know that every wind, every cloud, every bird, every beetle was just as divine and knows just as much and can teach just as much as the worshipped river. But when this holy man went into the forests, he knew everything, knew more than you and me, without teachers, without books, only because he had believed in the river." Govinda said: "But is that what you call `things', actually something real, something which has existence? Isn't it just a deception of the Maja, just an image and illusion? Your stone, your tree, your river— are they actually a reality?" "This too," spoke Siddhartha, "I do not care very much about. Let the things be illusions or not, after all I would then also be an illusion, and thus they are always like me. This is what makes them so dear

and worthy of veneration for me: they are like me. Therefore, I can love them. And this is now a teaching you will laugh about: love, oh Govinda, seems to me to be the most important thing of all. To thoroughly understand the world, to explain it, to despise it, may be the thing great thinkers do. But I'm only interested in being able to love the world, not to despise it, not to hate it and me, to be able to look upon it and me and all beings with love and admiration and great respect." "This I understand," spoke Govinda. "But this very thing was discovered by the exalted one to be a deception. He commands benevolence, clemency, sympathy, tolerance, but not love; he forbade us to tie our heart in love to earthly things." "I know it," said Siddhartha; his smile shone golden. "I know it, Govinda. And behold, with this we are right in the middle of the thicket of opinions, in the dispute about words. For I cannot deny, my words of love are in a contradiction, a seeming contradiction with Gotama's words. For this very reason, I distrust in words so much, for I know, this contradiction is a deception. I know that I am in agreement with Gotama. How should he not know love, he, who has discovered all elements of human existence in their transitoriness, in their meaninglessness, and yet loved people thus much, to use a long, laborious life only to help them, to teach them! Even with him, even with your great teacher, I prefer the thing over the words, place more importance on his acts and life than on his speeches, more on the gestures of his hand than his opinions. Not in his speech, not in his thoughts, I see his greatness, only in his actions, in his life." For a long time, the two old men said nothing. Then spoke Govinda, while bowing for a farewell: "I thank you, Siddhartha, for telling me some of your thoughts. They are partially strange thoughts, not all have been instantly understandable to me. This being as it may, I thank you, and I wish you to have calm days." (But secretly he thought to himself: This Siddhartha is a bizarre person, he expresses bizarre thoughts, his teachings sound foolish. So differently

sound the exalted one's pure teachings, clearer, purer, more comprehensible, nothing strange, foolish, or silly is contained in them. But different from his thoughts seemed to me Siddhartha's hands and feet, his eyes, his forehead, his breath, his smile, his greeting, his walk. Never again, after our exalted Gotama has become one with the Nirvana, never since then have I met a person of whom I felt: this is a holy man! Only him, this Siddhartha, I have found to be like this. May his teachings be strange, may his words sound foolish; out of his gaze and his hand, his skin and his hair, out of every part of him shines a purity, shines a calmness, shines a cheerfulness and mildness and holiness, which I have seen in no other person since the final death of our exalted teacher.) As Govinda thought like this, and there was a conflict in his heart, he once again bowed to Siddhartha, drawn by love. Deeply he bowed to him who was calmly sitting. "Siddhartha," he spoke, "we have become old men. It is unlikely for one of us to see the other again in this incarnation. I see, beloved, that you have found peace. I confess that I haven't found it. Tell me, oh honourable one, one more word, give me something on my way which I can grasp, which I can understand! Give me something to be with me on my path. It it often hard, my path, often dark, Siddhartha." Siddhartha said nothing and looked at him with the ever unchanged, quiet smile. Govinda stared at his face, with fear, with yearning, suffering, and the eternal search was visible in his look, eternal notfinding. Siddhartha saw it and smiled. "Bent down to me!" he whispered quietly in Govinda's ear. "Bend down to me! Like this, even closer! Very close! Kiss my forehead, Govinda!" But while Govinda with astonishment, and yet drawn by great love and expectation, obeyed his words, bent down closely to him and touched his forehead with his lips, something miraculous happened to him. While his thoughts were still

loving it. naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love—he saw corpses stretched out. kneeling and his head being chopped off by the executioner with one blow of his sword—he saw the bodies of men and women. Govinda. and yet none of them died. with fading eyes— he saw the face of a new-born child. was always reborn. saw Krishna. each one helping the other. a shell or mold or mask of water. which all constantly changed and renewed themselves. saw Agni—he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships with one another. in the same second. a long sequence. and this mask was smiling. cold. He saw the face of a fish. while even a certain contempt for the words of his friend was fighting in him against an immense love and veneration. while he was still struggling in vain and with reluctance to think away time. and which were still all Siddhartha. received evermore a new face. destroying it. without individuality of its own. to imagine Nirvana and Sansara as one. this criminal in bondage. of crocodiles. but yet existing. motionless.dwelling on Siddhartha's wondrous words. which all came and disappeared. which he. of bulls. a flowing river of faces. without any time having passed between the one and the other face—and all of these figures and faces rested. generated themselves. the face of a dying fish. a passionately painful confession of transitoriness. distorted from crying—he saw the face of a murderer. hating it. of thousands. void— he saw the heads of animals. giving re-birth to it. And. and this mask was Siddhartha's smiling face. a carp. flowed. with an infinitely painfully opened mouth. floated along and merged with each other. in this very same moment touched with his lips. and they were all constantly covered by something thin. and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously. like a thin glass or ice. of hundreds. each one only transformed. this smile of the mask. red and full of wrinkles. many. each one was a will to die. this smile of oneness above the flowing . instead he saw other faces. of birds—he saw gods. like a transparent skin. of elephants. Govinda saw it like this. of boars. he saw him plunging a knife into the body of another person—he saw. this happened to him: He no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha.

after under its surface the depth of the thousandfoldness had closed up again. Chandra Yenco.htm or 2500-h. so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. all transformations. whose smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in his life.forms. Like this. a Gotama. Govinda bowed. Govinda knew. perhaps very mockingly.gutenberg. Deeply. touching the ground. the perfected ones are smiling. . all Produced by Michael Pullen. The face was unchanged. the humblest veneration in his heart. perhaps benevolent. delicate. impenetrable. whether the vision had lasted a second or a hundred years. not knowing any more whether there existed a Siddhartha. Govinda still stood for a little while bent over Siddhartha's quiet face. as he had seen it himself with great respect a hundred times. by Herman Hesse *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIDDHARTHA *** ***** This file should be named 2500-h. perhaps very benevolently. this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths. smiled quietly and softly. Isaac Jones Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. which had just been the scene of all manifestations. he bowed. this smile of Siddhartha was precisely the same. what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life. wise. like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love. tears he knew nothing of. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Siddhartha. Special rules. being enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self. the exalted one. which he had just kissed. perhaps mocking. Deeply. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works. feeling in his innermost self as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow. he smiled silently. precisely as he used to smile. a me and a you. Not knowing any more whether time ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www. was precisely of the same kind as the quiet. the Buddha. ran down his old face. the injury of which tasted sweet. thousand-fold smile of Gotama. before him who was sitting motionlessly.

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