 Chapter one of Siddhartha. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Siddhartha by Herman Hesse. Translated by Gunta Olsch, Anki Dreher, Amy Coulter, Stefan Langer and Simeon Chachanetz. And read by Adrian Pretzelis in Santa Rosa, California, April 2008. First Part To Romain Rowland, my dear friend. Chapter one. The Sun of the Brahmin. 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 Brahmin, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahmin. 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, practicing debate with Govinda, practicing 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 into his father's heart for his son who was quick to learn, thirsty for knowledge. He saw him growing up to become a great wise man and priest, a priest among the Brahmins. Bliss leapt into 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 Brahmins 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 Brahmin. 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 Brahmin, 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 these, not one of those tens of thousands of Brahmins. He wanted to follow Siddhartha, the beloved, the splendid, and in days to come when Siddhartha would become a god, when he would join the glorious, then Govinda wanted to follow him as his friend, his companion, his servant, his spear carrier, his shadow. Siddhartha was thus loved by everyone. He was a source of joy for everybody. He was a delight for them all. But he, Siddhartha, was not a source of joy for himself. He found no delight in himself. Walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden, sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation, washing his limbs daily in the bath of repentance, sacrificing in the dim shade of the mango forest, his gestures of perfect decency, everyone's love and joy, he still lacked all joy in his heart. Dreams and restless thoughts came into his mind, flowing from the water of the river, sparkling from the stars of the night. Melting from the beams of the sun, dreams came to him and a restlessness of the soul, fuming from the sacrifices, breathing forth from the verses of the Rig Veda, being infused into him, drop by drop from the teachings of the old Brahmins. Siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself. He had started to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother and also the love of his friend Govinda would not bring him joy forever and ever, would not nurse him, feed him, satisfy him. He had started to suspect that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the wise Brahmins had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom, that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness, and the vessel was not full, the spirit was not content, the soul was not calm, the heart was not satisfied. The ablutions were good, but they were water, they did not wash off the sin, they did not heal the spirit's thirst, they did not relieve the fear in his heart. The sacrifices in 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 created the world? Was it not the Atman, he, the only one, the singular one? Were the gods not creations, creators like me and you, subject to time, mortal? Was it therefore good, was it right, was it meaningful, and the highest occupation to make offerings to the gods? For whom else were offerings to be made? Who else was to be worshipped but him, the only one, the Atman? And where was Atman to be found? Where did he reside? Where did his eternal heart beat? Where else but in one's own self? In its innermost part, in its indestructible part, which everyone had in himself, and where, where was this self? This innermost part, this ultimate part. It was not flesh and bone, it was neither thought nor consciousness. Thus the wisest ones taught. So where was it? To reach this place, the self, myself, the Atman, there was another way which was worthwhile looking for? Alas, but nobody showed this way, nobody knew it, not the father, and not the teachers and the wise men, not the holy sacrificial songs. They knew everything, the Brahmans and their holy books, they knew everything, they had taken care of everything, and of more than everything, the creation of the world, the origin of speech, of food, of inhaling, of exhaling, the engagement of the senses, the acts of the gods. They knew infinitely much, but was it valuable to know all this? Not knowing that one and only thing, the most important thing, the solely important thing. Surely, many verses of the holy books, particularly in the Upanishads of Samaveda, spoke of this innermost and ultimate thing, wonderful verses. Your soul is the whole world was written there, and it was written that man in his sleep, in his deep sleep, would meet with his innermost part, and would reside in the Atman. Marvelous wisdom was in these verses all knowledge of the wisest ones had been collected there in magic words, pure as honey collected from bees. No, not to be looked down upon was the tremendous amount of enlightenment which lay here collected and preserved by innumerable generations of wise Brahmans. But where were the Brahmans, where the priests, where the wise men or penitents, 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, into the life, into every step of the way, into word and deed? Siddhartha knew many venerable Brahmans, chiefly his father, the pure one, the scholar, the most venerable one. His father was to be admired, quiet and noble were his manners, pure his life, wise his words, delicate and noble thoughts lived behind its brow. But even he, who knew so much, did he live in blissfulness, did he have peace? Was he not also just a searching man, a thirsty man? Did he not again and again have to drink from holy sources as a thirsty man from the offerings, from the books, from the disputes of the Brahmans? Why did he, the irreproachable one, have to wash off sins every day, strive for a cleansing every day, over and over every day? Was not Atman in him, did not the pristine source spring from his heart? It had to be found, the pristine source in one's own self, it had to be possessed. Everything else was searching, was a detour, was getting lost. Thus were Siddhartha's thoughts. This was his thirst, this was his suffering. Thus he spoke to himself from a Chandogaya Upanishad, the words, truly the name of the Brahman is Satcham, verily he who knows such a thing will enter the heavenly world every day. Often it seemed near the heavenly world, but never he had reached it completely, never he had quenched the ultimate thirst. And among the wise and wisest men he knew and whose instructions he had received among all of them there was no one who had reached it completely, the heavenly world, who had quenched it completely, the eternal thirst. Govinda, Siddhartha spoke to his friend, Govinda my dear, come with me under the banyan tree, let's practice meditation. They went to the banyan tree, they sat down, Siddhartha right here, Govinda twenty paces away. While putting himself down, ready to speak the om, Siddhartha repeated, murmuring the verse, Om is the bow, the arrow is soul, the Brahman is the arrow's target, that one should incessantly hit. After the usual time of the exercise in meditation had passed, Govinda rose. The evening had come, it was time to perform the evening's ablution. He called Siddhartha's name. Siddhartha did not answer. Siddhartha sat there lost in thought, his eyes were rigidly focused towards a very distant target, the tip of his tongue was protruding a little between the teeth, he seemed not to breathe. Thus sat he, wrapped up in contemplation thinking Om, his soul sent after the Brahman as an arrow. Once Samanas had travelled through Siddhartha's town, aesthetics on a pilgrimage, three skinny withered men, neither old nor young, with dusty and bloody shoulders, almost naked, scorched by the sun, surrounded by loneliness, strangers and enemies to the world, strangers and lank jackholes in the realm of humans. Behind them blew a hot scent of quiet passion, of destructive service, of merciless self-denial. In the evening, after the hour of contemplation, Siddhartha spoke to Govinda. Early tomorrow morning, my friend, Siddhartha will go to the Samanas. He will become a Samana. Govinda turned pale when he heard these words and read the decision in the motionless face of his friend, unstoppable like the arrow shot from the bow. Soon, and with the first glance, Govinda realised, now it is beginning, now Siddhartha is taking his own way, now his fate is beginning to sprout, and with his, my own. And he turned pale like a dry banana skin. Oh, Siddhartha, he exclaimed, will your father permit you to do that? Siddhartha looked over as if he was just waking up. Arrow fast, he read in Govinda's soul, read the fear, read the submission. Oh, Govinda, he spoke quietly, let's not waste words. Tomorrow at daybreak, I will begin the life of the Samanas, speak no more of it. Siddhartha entered the chamber where his father was sitting on a mat of baste, and stepped behind his father and remained standing there until his father felt that someone was standing behind him. Quoth the Brahmin, is that you, Siddhartha? Then say what you came to say. Quoth Siddhartha, with your permission, my father, I came to tell you that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the aesthetics. My desire is to become a Samana, may my father not oppose this. The Brahmin fell silent and remained silent for so long that the stars in the small window wandered and changed their relative positions ere the silence was broken. Silent and motionless stood the son with his arms folded, silent and motionless sat the father on the mat, and the stars traced their paths in the sky. Then spoke the father. Not proper is it for a Brahmin to speak harsh and angry words, but indignation is in my heart. I wish not to hear this request for a second time from your mouth. Slowly the Brahmin rose. Siddhartha stood silently, his arms folded. What are you waiting for? asked the father. Quoth Siddhartha, you know what? Indignant the father left the chamber. Indignant he went to his bed and lay down. After an hour, since no sleep had come over his eyes, the Brahmin stood up, haste to and fro and left the house. Through the small window of the chamber he looked back inside, and there he saw Siddhartha standing, his arms folded, not moving from his spot. Pale shimmied his bright robe. With anxiety in his heart the father returned to his bed. After another hour, since no sleep had come over his eyes, the Brahmin stood up again, haste to and fro, walked out of the house and saw that the moon had risen. Through the window of the chamber he looked back inside. There stood Siddhartha, not moving from his spot, his arms folded, moonlight reflecting from his bare shins. With worry in his heart the father went back to bed. And he came back after an hour, he came back after two hours, looked through the small window, saw Siddhartha standing in the moonlight by the light of the stars in the darkness. And he came back hour after hour silently. He looked into the chamber, saw him standing in the same place, filled his heart with anger, filled his heart with unrest, filled his heart with anguish, filled it with sadness. And in the night's last hour, before the day began, he returned, stepped into the room, saw the young man standing there, who seemed tall and like a stranger to him. Siddhartha, he spoke, what are you waiting for? You know what. Will you always stand that way and wait, until it becomes morning, noon and evening? I will stand and wait. You will become tired, Siddhartha. I will become tired. You will fall asleep, Siddhartha. I will not fall asleep. You will die, Siddhartha. I will die. And would you rather die than obey your father? Siddhartha has always obeyed his father. So will you abandon your plan? Siddhartha will do what his father will tell him to do. The first light of day shone into the room. The Brahmin saw that Siddhartha was trembling softly in his knees. In Siddhartha's face he saw no trembling. His eyes were fixed on a distant spot. Then his father realized that even now Siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in his home, that he had already left him. The father touched Siddhartha's shoulder. You will, he spoke, go into the forest and be a Samana. When you'll have found blissfulness in the forest, then come back and teach me to be blissful. If you'll find disappointment, then return and let us once again make offerings to the gods together. Go now and kiss your mother. Tell her where you are going. But for me it is time to go to the river and to perform the first ablution. He took his hand from the shoulder of his son and went outside. Siddhartha wavered to the side as he tried to walk. He put his limbs back under control, bowed to his father, and went to his mother to do as his father had said. As he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day, the still quiet town, a shadow rose near the last hut who had crouched there and joined the pilgrim. Govinda, you have come, said Siddhartha, and smiled. I have come, said Govinda. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Siddhartha This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, translated by Gunta Olsh, Ankhidreya, Amy Kulta, Stefan Lange, and Semyon Chachanetz, and read by Adrian Pretzelis. Chapter 2 with the Samanas In the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics, the skinny Samanas, and offered them their companionship and obedience. They were accepted. Siddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahmin in the street. He wore nothing more than the loincloth and the earth-colored, unsone cloak. He ate only once a day and never something cooked. He fasted for fifteen days. He fasted for twenty-eight days. The flesh waned from his thighs and cheeks. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged eyes. Long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers, and a dry, shaggy beard grew on his chin. His glance turned to ice when he encountered women. His mouth twitched with contempt when he walked through a city of nicely dressed people. They saw merchants trading, princes hunting, mourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians trying to heal the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for ceding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children, and all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye. It all lied. It all stank. It all stank of lies. It all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tasted bitter. Life was torture. A goal stood before Siddhartha, a single goal, to become empty, empty of thirst, empty of wishing, empty of dreams, empty of joy and sorrow, dead to himself, not to be a self any more, to find tranquility with an emptied heart, to be open to miracles in unselfish thoughts. That was his goal. Once all of myself was overcome and had died, once every desire and every urge was silent in the heart, then the ultimate part of me had to awake the innermost of my being, which is no longer myself, the great secret. Silently Siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun directly above, glowing with pain, glowing with thirst, and stood there until he neither felt any pain nor thirst any more. Silently he stood there in the rainy season. From his hair the water was dripping over freezing shoulders, over freezing hips and legs, and the penitent stood there until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs any more, until they were silent, until they were quiet. Silently he cowered in the thorny bushes, blood dripped from the burning skin, from festering wounds dripped past, and Siddhartha stayed rigidly, stayed motionless, until no blood flowed any more and nothing stung any more, until nothing burned any more. Siddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly, learned to get along with only few breaths, learned to stop breathing. He learned, beginning with the breath, to calm the beat of his heart, learned to reduce the beats of his heart, until they were only a few and almost none. Instructed by the oldest of the Samanas, Siddhartha practiced self-denial, practiced meditation according to new Samana rules. A heron flew over the bamboo forest and Siddhartha accepted the heron into his soul, flew over forest and mountains was a heron, ate fish, felt the pangs of a heron's hunger, spoke the heron's croak, died a heron's death. A dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank and Siddhartha's soul slipped inside the body was the dead jackal, lay on the banks, got bloated, stank, decayed and was dismembered by hyenas, was skinned by vultures, turned into a skeleton, turned to dust, was blown across the fields and Siddhartha's soul returned, had died, had decayed, was scattered as dust, had tasted the gloomy intoxication of the cycle, awaited in new thirst like a hunter in the gap where he could escape from the cycle, where the end of the causes, where an eternity without suffering began. He killed his senses, he killed his memory, he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms, was an animal, was carrion, was stone, was wood, was water and awoke every time to find his old self again. Sunshine or moon was his own self again, turned round in the cycle, felt thirst, overcame the thirst, felt new thirst. Siddhartha learned a lot when he was with the Samanas many ways leading away from the self he learned to go. He went the way of self-denial by means of pain through voluntary suffering and overcoming pain, hunger, thirst, tiredness. He went the way of self-denial by means of meditation through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions. These and other ways he learned to go a thousand times he left his self for hours and days he remained in the non-self. But though the ways led away from the self their end nevertheless always led back to the self. Though Siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times in nothingness stayed in the animal, in the stone. The return was inevitable, inescapable was the hour when he found himself back in the sunshine or in the moonlight in the shade or in the rain and was once again his self and Siddhartha and again felt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him. By his side lived Govinda, his shadow, walked the same paths, undertook the same efforts. They rarely spoke to one another than the service of the exercises required. Occasionally the two of them went through the villages to beg for food for themselves and their teachers. How do you think, Govinda? Siddhartha spoke one day while begging this way. How do you think we progress? Do we reach any goals? Govinda answered, We have learned and will continue learning. You'll be a great Samana, Siddhartha. Quickly you've learned every exercise. Often the old Samanas have admired you. One day you'll be a holy man, oh Siddhartha. Quote Siddhartha, I can't help but feel that it is not like this, my friend. What I've learned being among the Samanas up to this day, this, oh Govinda, I could have learned more quickly and by simpler means in every tavern of that part of a town where the whorehouses are, my friend. Among carters and gamblers I could have learned it. Quote Govinda, Siddhartha is putting me on. How could you have learned meditation, holding your breath, insensitivity against hunger and pain there among these wretched people? And Siddhartha said quietly as if he were 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. It is a short escape of the agony of being a self. It is a short numbing of the senses against the pain and the pointlessness of life. The same escape, the same short numbing, is what the driver of the ox cart finds in the inn, drinking a few bowls of rice wine or fermented coconut milk. Then he won't feel his self any more, he won't feel the pains of life any more, then he finds a short numbing of the senses. When he falls asleep over his bowl of rice wine he'll find the same as what Siddhartha and Govinda find when they escape their bodies through long exercises, staying in the non-self. This is how it is, oh Govinda. Quote Govinda, say so, oh friend. Yet you know that Siddhartha is no driver of an ox cart and a Samana is no drunkard. It's true that a drinker numbs his senses, it's true that he briefly escapes and rests, but he'll return from the delusion, finds everything to be unchanged, has not become wiser, has gathered no enlightenment, hasn't risen several steps. And Siddhartha spoke with a smile, I do not know, I have never been a drunkard, but that I, Siddhartha, find only a short numbing of the senses in my exercises and meditation and that I am just as far removed from wisdom, from salvation, as a child in the mother's womb, this I know, oh Govinda, this I know. And once again, another time, when Siddhartha left the forest together with Govinda to beg for some food in the village for their brothers and teachers, Siddhartha began to speak and said, what now, oh Govinda, 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? Maybe who have thought we were escaping the cycle? Quote Govinda, we have learned a lot, Siddhartha. There is still much to learn. We are not going around in circles. We are moving up. The circle is a spiral. We have already ascended many a level. Siddhartha answered, how old would you think our oldest Samana, our venerable teacher? Quote Govinda, our oldest one might be about 60 years of age. And Siddhartha, he has lived for 60 years and has not reached the nirvana. He'll turn 70 and 80 and you and me will grow just as old and will do our exercises and will fast and will meditate. But we will not reach the nirvana. He won't and we won't. Oh, Govinda, I believe out of all the Samanas out there, perhaps not a single one. Not a single one will reach the nirvana. We find comfort. We find numbness. We learn feats to deceive others. But the most important thing, the path of paths we will not find. If you only, spoke Govinda, wouldn't speak such terrible words, Siddhartha, how could it be that among so many learned men, among so many Brahmins, among so many austere and venerable Samanas, among so many who are searching, so many who are eagerly trying, so many holy men, no one will find the path of paths? But Siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness as mockery with a quiet, a slightly sad, a slightly mocking voice. Soon, Govinda, your friend will leave the path of the Samanas. He has walked along your side for so long. I am suffering of thirst, though, Govinda, and on this long path of a Samana my thirst has remained as strong as ever. I always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions, I have asked the Brahmins year after year, I have asked the holy Vedas year after year, I have asked the devoted Samanas year after year. Perhaps, so, Govinda, it has been just as well, had been just as smart and just as profitable if I had asked the hornbill bird or the chimpanzee. It took me a long time, and I am not finished learning this yet, oh, Govinda, that there is nothing to be learned. There is indeed no such thing, so I believe as what we refer to as learning. There is, oh, my friend, just one knowledge. This is everywhere. This is Atman. This is within me and within you and within every creature. So I am starting to believe that this knowledge has no worse enemy than the desire to know it and learning. At this, Govinda stopped on the path, rose his hands, and spoke. If you, Siddhartha, only would not bother your friend with this kind of talk, truly your words stir up fear in my heart. And just consider what would become of the sanctity of prayer, what of the venerability of the Brahman's caste, what of the holiness of the Samanas if it was, as you say, if there was no learning. What, oh, Siddhartha, would become of all of this what is holy, what is precious, what is venerable on earth? And Govinda mumbled a verse to himself, a verse from an Upanishad. He, who ponderingly of a purified spirit, loses himself in the meditation of Atman, unexpressible by words, is his blissfulness of his heart. But Siddhartha remains silent. He thought about the words which Govinda had said to him, and thought the words through to their ends. Yes, he thought, standing there with his head low, 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. At one time, when the two young men lived among the Samanas for about three years and had shared their exercises, some news, a rumour, a myth, reached them after being retold many times. A man had appeared, Gotama by name, the exalted one, the Buddha. He had overcome the suffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths. He was said to wander through the land teaching surrounded by disciples without possession, without home, without a wife, in the yellow cloak of an aesthetic. But with a cheerful brow, a man of bliss, and brahmanas and princes would bow down before him and will become his students. This myth, this rumour, this legend resounded. The frequencies rose up here and there. In the towns, the brahmanas spoke of it and in the forest, the Samanas. Again and again, the name of Gotama, the Buddha, reached the ears of the young men with good and with bad talk, with praise and with defamation. It was as if the plague had broken out in a country and news had been spreading around that in one place or another there was a man, a wise man, a knowledgeable one whose word and breath was enough to heal everyone who had been infected with the pestilence. And as such news would go through the land and everyone would talk about it, many would believe, many would doubt, but many would get on their way as soon as possible to seek the wise man, the helper. Just like this myth ran through the land, that fragrant myth of Gotama, the Buddha, the wise man of the family of Sakya. He possessed, so the believers said, the highest enlightenment. He remembered his previous lives. He had reached the nirvana and never returned into the cycle, was never again submerged in the murky river of physical forms. Many wonderful and unbelievable things were reported of him. He had performed miracles, had overcome the devil, had spoken to the gods. But his enemies and disbelievers said, this Gotama was a vain seducer. He would spend his days in luxury, scorned the offerings, was without learning and knew neither exercises nor self-castigation. The myth of Buddha sounded sweet. The scent of magic flowed from these reports. After all, the world was sick. Life was hard to bear and behold, here a source seemed to spring forth. Here a messenger seemed to call out, comforting, mild, full of noble promises. Everywhere where the rumour of Buddha was heard, everywhere in the lands of India, the young men listened up, felt a longing, felt hope. And among the Brahmins' sons of the towns and villages, every pilgrim and stranger was welcome when he brought news of him, the exalted one, the Sakya Mundi. The myth had also reached the Samanas in the forest and also Siddhartha and also Govinda slowly drop by drop, every drop laden with hope, every drop laden with doubt. They rarely talked about it because the oldest one of the Samanas did not like this myth. He had heard that this alleged Buddha used to be an ascetic before and had lived in the forest but had then turned back to luxury and worldly pleasures and he had no higher opinion of this Gotama. Oh, Siddhartha! Govinda spoke one day to his friend. Today I was in the village and a Brahmin invited me into his house and in his house there was the son of a Brahmin from Magadha who has seen the Buddha with his own eyes and has heard him teach. Verily this made my chest ache when I breathed and thought to myself, if only I would too, if only we both would too, Siddhartha and me lived to see the hour when we will hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfected man. Speak, friend, wouldn't we want to go there too and listen to the teachings from the Buddha's mouth? Quote Siddhartha. Always, oh Govinda, I had thought Govinda would stay with the Samanas. Always I had believed his goal was to live to be sixty and seventy years of age and to keep on practicing those feats and exercises which are becoming to a Samana. But behold, I had not known Govinda well enough. I knew little of his heart. So now you, my faithful friend, want to take a new path and go there where the Buddha spreads his teachings. Quote Govinda. You're mocking me. Mock me if you like Siddhartha and have you not also developed a desire and eagerness to hear these teachings? Have you not at one time said to me you would not walk the path of the Samanas for much longer? At this Siddhartha laughed in his very own manner in which his voice assumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery and said, well Govinda, you've spoken well. You've remembered correctly. If you only remembered the other thing as well you've heard from me which is that I have grown distrustful and tired against teachings and learnings and that my faith in words which are brought to us by teachers is small. But let's do it, my dear. I am willing to listen to these teachings though in my heart I believe we've already tasted the best fruit of these teachings. Quote Govinda. Your willingness delights my heart. But tell me, how should this be possible? How should the Gautama's teachings even before we have heard them have already revealed their best fruit to us? Quote Siddhartha. Let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest of Govinda. But this fruit which we already now received thanks to the Gautama consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas. Whether he has also other and better things to give us, oh friend let us await with calm hearts. On this very same day Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the Samanas of his decision that he wanted to leave him. He informed the oldest one with all the courtesy and modesty becoming to a younger one and a student but the Samana became angry because the two young men wanted to leave him and talked loudly and used crude swear words. Govinda was startled and became embarrassed but Siddhartha put his mouth close to Govinda's ear and whispered to him now I want to show the old man that I've learned something from him. Positioning himself closely in front of the Samana with a concentrated soul he captured the old man's glance his glances deprived him of his power made him mute took away his free will subdued him under his own will commanded him to do silently whatever he demanded him to do. The old man became mute his eyes became motionless his will was paralyzed his arms were hanging down his heart power he had fallen victim to Siddhartha's spell but Siddhartha's thoughts brought the Samana under their control he had to carry out what they commanded and thus the old man made several bows performed gestures of blessing spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey and the young men returned the bows with thanks returned the wish went on their way with salutations on the way Govinda said oh Siddhartha you have learned more from the Samanas than I knew it is hard it is very hard to cast a spell on an old Samana truly if you had stayed there you would soon have learned to walk on water I do not seek to walk on water said Siddhartha let old Samanas be content with such feats end of chapter 2 chapter 3 of Siddhartha this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by Dr. Olsch, Anke Dreher, Amy Coulter Stefan Langer and Simeon Chachanetz and read by Adrian Pretzelis chapter 3 Gautama in the town of Savathi every child knew the name of the exalted Buddha and every house was prepared to fill the arms dish of Gautama's disciples the silently begging ones near the town was Gautama's favourite place to stay the Grove of Jatavana which the rich merchant Anathapindika an obedient worshipper of the exalted one had given him and his people for a gift all tales and answers which the two young ascetics had received in their search for Gautama's abode had pointed them towards this area and arriving at Savathi in the very first house before the door of which they stopped to beg food has been offered to them and they accepted the food and Siddhartha asked the woman who handed them the food we would like to know O charitable one where the Buddha dwells the most venerable one for we are two samanas from the forest and have come to see him the perfected one and to hear the teachings from his mouth quote the woman here you have truly come to the right place you samanas from the forest you should know in Jatavana in the garden of Anathapindika is where the exalted one dwells there you pilgrims shall spend the night for there is enough space for the innumerable who flock here to hear the teachings from his mouth this made Govinda happy and full of joy he exclaimed well so thus we have reached our destination and our path has come to an end but tell us O mother of the pilgrims do you know him the Buddha have you seen him with your own eyes quote the woman many times I have seen him the exalted one on many days I have seen him walking through the alleys in silence wearing his yellow cloak presenting his arms dish in silence at the doors of the houses leaving with a filled dish delightedly Govinda listened and wanted to ask and hear much more but Siddhartha urged him to walk on they thanked and left and hardly had to ask for directions for rather many pilgrims and monks as well from Gautama's community went on their way to the Jetavana and since they reached it at night there were constant arrivals shouts and talk of those who sought shelter and got it the two samanas are accustomed to life in the forest found quickly and without making any noise a place to stay and rested there until the morning at sunrise they saw with astonishment what a large crowd of believers and people had spent the night here on all paths of the marvellous grove monks walked in yellow robes under the trees they sat here and there in deep contemplation or in a conversation about spiritual matters the shady gardens looked like a city full of people bustling like bees the majority of the monks went out with their arms dish to collect food in town for their lunch and a meal of the day the Buddha himself the enlightened one was also in the habit of taking his walk to beg in the morning Siddhartha saw him and he instantly recognised him as if a god had pointed him out to him he saw him a simple man in a yellow robe bearing the arms dish in his hand walking silently look here Siddhartha said quietly to Govinda this one is the Buddha attentively Govinda looked at the monk in the yellow robe who seemed to be in no way different from the hundreds of other monks and soon Govinda also realised this is the one and they followed him and observed him the Buddha went on his way modestly and deep in his thoughts his calm face was neither happy nor sad it seemed to smile gently and inwardly with a hidden smile quiet, calm somewhat resembling a healthy child the Buddha walked wore the robe and placed his feet just as all of his monks did according to a precise rule but his face and his walk his quietly lowered glance his quietly dangling hand and even every finger of his quietly dangling hand expressed peace expressed perfection did not search did not imitate breathed softly in an unwithering calm in an unwithering light an untouchable peace thus Gotama walked toward the town to collect arms and the two samanas recognised him solely by the perfection of his calm by the quietness of his appearance in which there was no searching no desire, no imitation no effort to be seen only light and peace today we'll hear the teachings from his mouth said Govinda Siddhartha did not answer he felt little curiosity for the teachings he did not believe that they would teach him anything new but he had just as Govinda had heard the contents of this Buddha's teachings again and again though these reports only represented second or third hand information but attentively he looked at Gotama's head his shoulders his feet his quietly dangling hand and it seemed to him as if every joint of every finger of this hand was of these teachings spoke of breathed of inhaled the fragrance of glistened of the truth this man, this Buddha was truthful down to the gesture of his last finger this man was holy never before Siddhartha had venerated a person so much, never before he had loved a person as much as this one they both followed the Buddha until they reached the town and then returned in silence for they themselves intended to abstain from food on this day they saw Gotama returning what he ate could not even have satisfied a bird's appetite and they saw him retiring into the shade of the mango trees but in the evening when the heat cooled down and everyone in the camp started to bustle about and gathered around they heard the Buddha teaching they heard his voice and it was also perfected was of perfect calmness was full of peace Gotama taught the teachings of suffering of the origin of suffering of the way to relieve suffering calmly and clearly his quiet speech flowed on suffering was life full of suffering was the world but salvation from suffering had been found salvation was obtained by him who would walk the path of the Buddha with a soft yet firm voice the exalted one spoke taught the four main doctrines the eightfold path patiently he went the usual path of the teachings of the examples of the repetitions brightly and quietly his voice hovered over the listeners like a light, like a starry night when the Buddha night had already fallen ended his speech many a pilgrim stepped forward and asked to be accepted into the community sought refuge in the teachings and Gotama accepted them by saying you have heard the teachings well it has come to you well ask join us and walk in holiness to put an end to all suffering behold then Govinda the shy one also stepped forward and spoke I also take my refuge in the exalted one and his teachings and he asked to be accepted into the community of the disciples and was accepted right afterwards when the Buddha had retired for the night Govinda turned to Siddhartha and spoke eagerly Siddhartha it is not my place to scold you we have both heard the exalted one and we have both perceived the teachings Govinda has heard the teachings he has taken refuge in it but you my honoured friend don't you also want to walk the path of salvation would you want to hesitate do you want to wait any longer Siddhartha awakened as if he had been asleep when he heard Govinda's words for a long time he looked into Govinda's face then he spoke quietly in a voice without mockery Govinda my friend now you have taken this step now you have chosen this path always oh Govinda you've been my friend you've always walked one step behind me often I have thought won't Govinda for once also take a step by himself without me out of his own soul behold now you've turned into a man and are choosing your path for yourself I wish that you would go it up to its end oh my friend that you shall find salvation Govinda not completely understanding it yet repeated his question in an impatient tone speak up I beg you my dear tell me since it could not be any other way that you also my learned friend 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 oh Govinda I am repeating it I wish that you would go this path up to its end that you shall find salvation in this moment Govinda realized that his friend had left him and he started to weep Siddhartha he exclaimed lamentingly Siddhartha kindly spoke to him don't forget Govinda that you are now one of the Samanas of the Buddha you've renounced your home and your parents renounced your birth and possessions renounced your free will renounced all friendship this is what the teachings require this is what the exalted one wants this is what you wanted for yourself tomorrow oh Govinda I'll leave you for a long time the friends continued walking in the grove for a long time they lay there and found no sleep and over and over again Govinda urged his friend he should tell him why he would not want to seek refuge in Gautama's teachings what fault he would find in these teachings but Siddhartha turned him away every time and said be content Govinda very good are the teachings of the exalted one how could I find a fault in them very early in the morning a follower of Buddha one of his oldest monks went through the garden and called all those to him who had as novices taken their refuge in the teachings to dress them up in the yellow robe and to instruct them in the first teachings and duties of their position then Govinda broke loose embraced once again his childhood friend and left with the novices but Siddhartha walked through the grove lost in thought then he happened to meet Gautama the exalted one and when he greeted him with respect and the Buddha's glance was so full of kindness and calm the young man summoned his courage and asked the venerable one for the permission to talk to him silently the exalted one nodded his approval Quoth Siddhartha yesterday, oh exalted one, I had been privileged to hear your wondrous teachings together with my friend I had come from afar to hear your teachings and now my friend is going to stay with your people he has taken his refuge with you but I will again start on my pilgrimage as you please the venerable one spoke politely too bold is my speech Siddhartha continued but I do not want to leave the exalted one without having honestly told him my thoughts does it please the venerable one to listen to me for one moment longer? silently the Buddha nodded his approval Quoth Siddhartha one thing, oh most venerable one I have admired in your teaching most of all everything in your teachings is perfectly clear is proven you are presenting the world as a perfect chain a chain which is never and nowhere broken an eternal chain the links of which are causes and effects never before this has been seen so clearly never before this has been presented so irrefutably truly the heart of every Brahman has to be stronger with love once he has seen the world through your teachings perfectly connected without gaps clear as a crystal not depending on chance not depending on gods whether it may be good or bad whether living according to it would be suffering or joy I do not wish to discuss possibly this is not essential but the uniformity of the world that everything which happens is connected that the great and the small things are all encompassed by the same forces of time by the same law of causes of coming into being and of dying this is what shines brightly out of your exalted teachings oh perfected one but according to your very own teachings this unity and necessary sequence of all things is nevertheless broken in one place through a small gap this world of unity is invaded by something alien something new something which had not been there before and which cannot be demonstrated and cannot be proven these are your teachings of overcoming the world of salvation but with this small gap with this small breach the entire eternal and uniform law of the world is breaking apart again and becomes void please forgive me for expressing the subjection quietly Gautama had listened to him unmoved now he spoke the perfected one with his kind with his polite and clear voice you've heard the teachings oh son of a Brahmin and good for you that you've thought about it thus deeply you found a gap in it an error you should think about this further but be warned oh seeker of knowledge of the thicket of opinions and of arguing about words there is nothing to opinions they may be beautiful or ugly smart or foolish everyone can support them or discard them but the teachings you've heard from me are no opinion and their goal is not to explain the world to those who seek knowledge they have a different goal their goal is salvation from suffering this is what Gautama teaches nothing else I wish that you oh exalted one would not be angry with me said the young man I have not spoken to you like this to argue with you to argue about words you are truly right there is little to opinions but let me say this one more thing I have not doubted in you for a single moment I have not doubted for a single moment that you are Buddha that you have reached the goal the highest goal towards which so many thousands of Brahmins and the sons of Brahmins are on their way you have found salvation from death it has come to you in the course of your own search on your own path through thoughts through meditation, through realizations through enlightenment it has not come to you by means of teachings and thus is my thought oh exalted one nobody will obtain salvation by means of teachings you will not be able to convey and say to anybody oh venerable one in words and through teachings what has happened to you in the hour of enlightenment the teachings of the enlightened Buddha contain much it teaches many to live righteously to avoid evil but there is one thing that these so clear these so venerable teachings do not contain they do not contain the mystery of what the exalted one has experienced for himself he alone among hundreds of thousands this is what I have thought and realized when I have heard the teachings this is why I am continuing my travels not to seek other better teachings for I know there are none to depart from all teachings and all teachers and to reach my goal by myself or to die but often I'll think of this day oh exalted one and of this hour when my eyes beheld a holy man the Buddha's eyes quietly looked to the ground quietly in perfect equanimity his inscrutable face was smiling I wish the venerable one spoke slowly that your thoughts shall not be an error that you shall reach the goal but tell me have you seen the multitude of my samanas my many brothers who have taken refuge in the teachings and do you believe oh stranger oh samana do you believe that it would be better for them to abandon the teachings and to return into the life of the world far is such a thought from my mind exclaimed Siddhartha I wish that they shall stay with the teachings that they shall reach their goal it is not my place to judge another person's life only for myself for myself alone I must decide I must choose I must refuse salvation from the self is what we samanas search for oh exalted one if I merely were one of your disciples oh venerable one I'd fear that it might happen to me that only seemingly only deceptively myself would be calmed and be redeemed but that in truth it would live on and grow for then I had replaced myself with the teachings my duty to follow you my love for you and the community of the monks with half of a smile with an unwavering openness and kindness Gautama looked into the stranger's eyes and bid him to leave with a hardly noticeable gesture you are wise oh samana the venerable one spoke you know how to talk wisely my friend but be aware of too much wisdom the Buddha turned away and his glance and half of a smile remained forever etched in Siddhartha's memory I have never before seen such a person glance and smile sit and walk this way he thought truly I wish to be able to glance and smile sit and walk this way too thus free thus venerable thus concealed thus open thus childlike and mysterious truly only a person who has succeeded in reaching the innermost part of his self would glance and walk this way well so I also will seek to reach the innermost part of myself I saw a man Siddhartha thought a single man before whom I would have to lower my glance I do not want to lower my glance before any other not before any other no teachings will entice me any more since this man's teachings have not enticed me I am deprived by the Buddha thought Siddhartha I am deprived and even more he has given to me he has deprived me of my friend the one who had believed in me and now believes in him had been my shadow and is now Gautama's shadow but he has given me Siddhartha myself End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Siddhartha This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by Chapter 4 Awakening When Siddhartha left the Grove where the Buddha the perfected one stayed behind where Govinda stayed behind then he felt that in this Grove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him he pondered about the sensation which filled him completely as he was slowly walking along he pondered deeply like diving into a deep water he let himself sink down to the ground of the sensation down to the place where the causes lie because to identify the causes so it seemed to him is the very essence of thinking and by this alone sensations turn into realizations and are not lost but become entities and start to emit like rays of light what is inside of them Slowly walking along Siddhartha pondered he realized that he was no youth anymore but had turned into a man he realized that one thing had left him as a snake is left by its old skin that one thing no longer existed in him which had accompanied him throughout his youth and used to be a part of him the wish to have teachers and to listen to teachings he had also left the last teacher who had appeared on his path even him, the highest and wisest teacher the most holy one, Buddha he had left him, had to part with him was not able to accept his teachings slower he walked along in his thoughts and asked himself what is all this what you have sought to learn from teachings and from teachers and what they who have taught you much were still unable to teach you and he found it was the self and essence of which I sought to learn it was the self I wanted to free myself from which I sought to overcome but I was not able to overcome it could only deceive it could only flee from it only hide from it truly no thing in this world has kept my thoughts thus busy as this, my very own self this mystery of me being alive of me being one and being separated and isolated from all others of me being Siddhartha and there is no thing in this world I know less about than me about Siddhartha having been pondering while slowly walking along he now stopped as these thoughts caught hold of him another thought sprang forth from these a new thought which was that I know nothing about myself that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me that I know nothing about myself that Siddhartha has remained thus alien and unknown to me stems from one cause a single cause I was afraid of myself I was fleeing from myself I searched Atman I searched Brahman I was willing to dissect myself and peel off all its layers to find the core of all peels in its unknown interior the Atman life the divine part the ultimate part but I have lost myself in the process Siddhartha opened his eyes and looked around a smile filled his face and a feeling of awakening from long dreams flowed through him from his head down to his toes and it was not long before he walked again walked quickly like a man who knows what he has got to do oh he thought taking a deep breath now I would not let Siddhartha escape from me again no longer I want to begin my thoughts and my life with Atman and with the suffering of the world I do not want to kill and dissect myself any longer to find a secret behind the ruins neither Yoga Veda shall teach me any more nor Athara Veda nor the ascetics nor any kind of teachings I want to learn from myself want to be my student want to get to know myself the secret of Siddhartha he looked around as if he was seeing the world for the first time beautiful was the world colourful was the world strange and mysterious was the world here was blue here was yellow here was green the sky and the river flowed the forest and the mountains were rigid all of it was beautiful all of it was mysterious and magical and in its midst was he Siddhartha the awakening one on the path to himself all of this all this yellow and blue river and forest entered Siddhartha the first time through the eyes was no longer a spell of Mara was no longer the veil of Maya was no longer a pointless and coincidental diversity of mere appearances despicable to the deeply thinking Brahman who scorns diversity who seeks unity blue was blue river was river and if also in the blue and the river in Siddhartha the singular and divine lived hidden so it was still that very divinity's way and purpose to be here yellow here blue their sky their forest and here Siddhartha the purpose and essential properties were not somewhere behind the things they were in them in everything how deaf and stupid have I been he thought walking swiftly along when someone reads a text wants to discover its meaning he will not scorn the symbols and letters and call them deceptions coincidence and worthless hull but he will read them he will study and love them letter by letter but I who wanted to read the book of the world and the book of my own being I have for the sake of a meaning I had anticipated before I read scorn the symbols and letters I called the visible world a deception called my eyes and my tongue coincidental and worthless forms without substance no this is over I have awakened I have indeed awakened I have not been born before this very day in thinking these thoughts Siddhartha stopped once again suddenly as if there was a snake lying in front of him on the path because suddenly he had also become aware of this he who was indeed like someone who had just woken up or like a newborn baby he had to start his life anew and start again at the very beginning when he had left in this very morning from the Grove Jetavana the Grove of that exalted one already awakening already on the path towards himself he had every intention regarded as natural and took for granted that he after years as an ascetic would return to his home and his father but now only in this moment when he stopped as if a snake was lying on his path he also awoke to this realisation but I am no longer the one I was I am no ascetic anymore I am not a priest anymore I am no Brahmin anymore what should I do at home and at my father's place study, make offerings practice meditation but all this is over all of this is no longer alongside my path motionless Siddhartha remained standing there and for the time of one moment and breath his heart felt cold he felt a cold in his chest as a small animal a bird or a rabbit would when seeing how alone he was for many years he had been without home and had felt nothing now he felt it still even in the deepest meditation he had been his father's son had been a Brahmin of a high caste a cleric now he was nothing but Siddhartha the awoken one nothing else was left deeply he inhaled and for a moment he felt cold and shivered nobody was thus alone as he was there was no nobleman who did not belong to the nobleman no worker that did not belong to the workers and found refuge with them shared their life spoke their language no Brahmin who would not be regarded as Brahmins and lived with them no ascetic who would not find Brahmanas and even the most forlorn hermit in the forest was not just one and alone he was also surrounded by a place he belonged to he also belonged to a caste in which he was at home Govinda had become a monk and a thousand monks were his brothers wore the same robe as he believed in his faith spoke his language but he Siddhartha belonged to with whom would he share his life whose language would he speak out of this moment when the world melted away all around him when he stood alone like a star in the sky out of this moment of cold and despair Siddhartha emerged more a self than before more firmly concentrated he felt this had been the last tremor of the awakening the last struggle of this birth and it was not long until he walked again in long strides started to proceed swiftly and impatiently heading no longer for home no longer to see his father no longer back End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Siddhartha This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are available in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by Gunta Olsch Anki Dreher Amy Coulter Stefan Langer and Simeon Chachinetz and read by Adrian Pretzellis Second part Chapter 5 Cousin in Japan Chapter 5 Kamala Siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path for the world was transformed and his heart was enchanted He saw the sun rising over the mountains with their forests and setting over the distant beach with its palm trees At night he saw the stars in the sky in their fixed positions and the crescent of the moon floating like a boat in the blue He saw trees, stars animals, clouds, rainbows rocks, herbs flowers stream and river the glistening dew in the bushes in the morning distant high mountains which were blue and pale birds sang and bees wind silverishly blew through the rice field all of this a thousand fold and colourful had always been there always the sun and the moon had shone always the rivers had roared and the bees had buzzed but in former times all of this had been nothing more to Siddhartha than a fleeting deceptive veil before his eyes upon indistrust destined to be penetrated and destroyed by thought since it was not the essential existence since this essence lay beyond on the other side of the visible but now his liberated eyes stayed on this side he saw and became aware of the visible sought to be at home in this world did not seek for the true essence did not aim at a world beyond beautiful was this world looking at it thus without searching thus simply thus childlike beautiful were the moon and the stars beautiful was the stream and the banks the forest and the rocks the goat and the gold beetle the flower and the butterfly beautiful and lovely it was thus to walk through the world thus childlike thus awoken thus open to what is near thus without distrust differently the sun burnt the head differently the shade of the forest cooled him down differently the stream and the cistern the pumpkin and the banana tasted short were the days short the nights every hour sped away like a sail on the sea and under the sail was a ship of treasures full of joy Siddhartha saw a group of apes moving through the high canopy of the forest high in the branches and heard their savage greedy song Siddhartha saw a male sheep following a female one and mating with her in a lake of reeds he saw the pike hungry hunting for its dinner propelling themselves away from it in fear wriggling and sparkling the young fish jumped in droves out of the water the scent of strength and passion came forcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water which the pike stirred up virtuously hunting all of this had always existed and he had not seen it he had not been with it now he was with it he was part of it light and shadow ran through his eyes stars and moon ran through his heart on the way Siddhartha also remembered everything he had experienced in the garden Jetavana he had heard there the divine Buddha the farewell to Govinda the conversation with the exalted one again he remembered his own words he had spoken to the exalted one every word 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 what he had said to Gotama his the Buddha's treasure the secret was not the teaching but the unexpressible and not teachable which he had experienced in the hour of his enlightenment it was nothing but this very thing what he now began to experience now he had to experience his self it is true that he had already known for a long time that his self was Atman in its essence bearing the same eternal characteristics as Brahman but never had he really found this self because he had wanted to capture it in the net of thought with the body definitely not being the self and not the spectacle of the senses so it also was not the thought not the rational mind not the learned wisdom not the learned ability to draw conclusions and to develop previous thoughts into new ones no this world of thought was also still on this side and nothing could be achieved by killing the random self of the senses if the random self of the thoughts and learned knowledge was fattened on the other hand both the thoughts as well as the senses were pretty things the ultimate meaning was hidden behind both of them both had to be listened to both had to be played with both neither had to be scorned nor overestimated from both the secret voices of the innermost truth had to be attentively perceived he wanted to strive for nothing except for what the voice commanded him to strive for dwell on nothing except where the voice would advise him to do so why had Gotama at that time in the hour of all hours sat down under the bow-tree where the enlightenment hit him he had heard a voice a voice in his own heart which had commanded him to seek rest under this tree and he had neither preferred self-castigation offerings ablutions nor prayer neither food nor drink neither sleep nor dream he had obeyed the voice to obey like this not to an external command only to the voice to be ready like this this was good this was necessary nothing else was necessary in the night when he slept in the straw heart of a ferryman by the river Siddhartha had a dream Govinda was standing in front of him dressed in the yellow robe of an ascetic sad was how Govinda looked like sadly he asked why have you forsaken me at this he embraced Govinda wrapped his arms around him and as he was pulling him close to his chest and kissed him it was not Govinda anymore but a woman and a full breast popped out of the woman's dress at which Siddhartha lay and drank sweetly and strongly tasted the milk from this breast it tasted of woman of man of son and forest of animal and flower of every fruit of every joyful desire it intoxicated him and rendered him unconscious when Siddhartha woke up the pale river shimmered through the door of the heart and in the forest a dark call of an owl resounded deeply and pleasantly Siddhartha asked his host the ferryman to get him across the river the ferryman got him across the river on his bamboo raft the wide water shimmered redishly in the light of the morning this is a beautiful river he said to his companion yes said the ferryman a very beautiful river I love it more than anything often I have listened to it often I have looked into its eyes and always I have learned from it much can be learned from a river I thank you my benefactor spoke Siddhartha disembarking on the other side of the river I have no gift I could give you for your hospitality my dear and also no payment for your work I am a man without a home a son of a Brahman and a Samana I did see it spoke the ferryman and I haven't expected any payment from you and no gifts which would be the custom for guests to bear you will give me the gift another time you think so? asked Siddhartha amusedly surely this too I have learned from the river everything is coming back you too Samana will come back now farewell let your friendship be my reward commemorate me when you'll make your offerings to the gods smiling they parted smiling Siddhartha was happy about the friendship and the kindness of the ferryman he is like Govinda he thought with a smile all I meet on my path are like Govinda all are thankful though they are the ones who would have a right to receive thanks all are submissive all would like to be friends like to obey think little like children are all people at about noon he came through a village in front of the mud cottages children were rolling about in the street playing with pumpkin seeds and seashells screamed and wrestled but they all timidly fled from the unknown Samana in the end of the village the path led through a stream and by the side of the stream a young woman was kneeling and washing clothes when Siddhartha greeted her she lifted her head and looked up to him with a smile so that he saw the white in her eyes glistening he called out a blessing to her as is the custom among travellers and asked how far he still had to go to reach the large city then she got up and came to him beautifully her wet mouth was shimmering in her young face she exchanged humorous banter with him asked whether he had eaten already and whether it was true that the Samanas slept alone in the forest at night and were not allowed to have any women with them while talking 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 which the textbooks call climbing a tree Siddhartha felt his blood heating up and since in this moment he had to think of his dream again he bent slightly down to the woman and kissed with his lips the brown nipple of her breast looking up he saw her face smiling full of lust and her eyes with contracted pupils begging with desire Siddhartha also felt desire and felt the source of his sexuality moving but since he had never touched a woman before he hesitated for a moment while his hands were already prepared to reach out for her and in this moment he heard shuddering with awe the voice of his innermost self and this voice said no then all charms disappeared from the young woman's smiling face he no longer saw anything else but the damp glance of a female in heat politely he petted her cheek turned away from her and disappeared from the disappointed woman with light steps into the bamboo wood on this day he reached the large city before the evening and was happy for he felt the need to be among people for a long time he had lived in the forest and the straw hut of the ferry man in which he slept that night had been the first roof for a long time he had had over his head before the city in a beautifully fenced grove the traveller came across a small group of servants both male and female carrying baskets in their midst carried by four servants in an ornamental sedan chair sat a woman the mistress on red pillows under a colorful canopy Siddhartha stopped at the entrance to the pleasure garden and watched the parade saw the servants the maids the baskets saw the sedan chair and saw the lady in it under black hair which made to tower high on her head he saw a very fair very delicate very smart face a brightly red mouth like a freshly cracked fig eyebrows which were well tended and painted in a high arch smart and watchful dark eyes a clear tall neck rising from a green and golden garment resting fair hands long and thin with wide golden bracelets over the wrists Siddhartha saw how beautiful she was his heart rejoiced he bowed deeply when the sedan chair came closer and straightening up again he looked at the fair charming face read for a moment in the smart eyes with the high arcs above breathed in a slight fragrance he did not know with a smile the beautiful woman nodded for a moment and disappeared into the grove then the servant as well thus I am entering this city Siddhartha thought with a charming omen he instantly felt drawn into the grove and he thought about it and only now he became aware of how the servants and maids had looked at him at the entrance how despicable how distrustful how rejecting I am still a Samana he thought I am still an ascetic and beggar I must not remain like this I will not be able to enter the grove like this and he laughed the next person who came along this path he asked about the grove and for the name of the woman and was told that this was the grove of Kamala the famous courtesan and that aside from the grove she owned a house in the city then he entered the city now he had a goal pursuing his goal he allowed the city to suck him in drifted through the flow of the streets stood still on the squares rested on the stairs of stone by the river when the evening came he made friends with a barber's assistant whom he had seen working in the shade of an arch in the building whom he had found again praying in a temple of Vishnu whom he had told about stories of Vishnu and the Lakshmi among the boats by the river he slept this night and early in the morning before the first customers came into his shop he had the barber's assistant shave his beard and cut his hair comb his hair and anoint it with fine oil to take his bath in the river when late in the afternoon beautiful Kamala approached her grove in her sedan chair Siddhartha was standing at the entrance made a bow and received the courtesan's greeting 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 after a while the servant returned asked him who had been waiting to follow him conducted him who was following him without a word into a pavilion where Kamala was lying on a couch and left him alone with her weren't you already standing out there yesterday greeting me asked Kamala it's true you were already seen and greeted you yesterday and didn't you yesterday wear a beard and long hair and dust in your hair you have observed well you have seen everything you have seen Siddhartha the son of a Brahman who has left his home to become a Samana and who has been a Samana for three years but now I have left that path to enter this city and the first one I met even before I had entered the city was you to say this I have come to you O Kamala you are the first woman whom Siddhartha is not addressing with his eyes turned to the ground never again I want to turn my eyes to the ground when I am coming across a beautiful woman Kamala smiled and played with her fan of peacock's feathers and asked and only to tell me this Siddhartha has come to me to tell you this and to thank you for being so beautiful and if it doesn't displease you Kamala I would like to ask you to be my friend and teacher for I know nothing yet of that art which you have mastered in the highest degree at this Kamala after loud never before this has happened to me my friend that a Samana from the forest came to me and wanted to learn from me never before this has happened to me that a Samana came to me with long hair and an old torn loincloth many young men come to me and there are also sons of Brahmins among them but they come in beautiful clothes they come in fine shoes they have perfume in their hair and money in their pouches this is a Samana how the young men are like who come to me Quoth Siddhartha already I am starting to learn from you even yesterday I was already learning I have already taken off my beard have combed to the hair have oil in my hair there is little which is still missing in me oh excellent one fine clothes fine shoes money in my pouch you shall know Siddhartha has set harder goals for himself than such trifles and he has reached them how shouldn't I reach that goal 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 Kamala I have already learned harder things than what you're supposed to teach me and now let's get to it you aren't satisfied with Siddhartha as he is with oil in his hair but without clothes without shoes without money laughing Kamala exclaimed no my dear he doesn't satisfy me yet clothes are what he must have pretty clothes and shoes pretty shoes and lots of money in his pouch and gifts for Kamala do you know it now Samana from the forest do you mark my words yes I have marked your words Siddhartha exclaimed how should I not mark words which are coming from such a mouth your mouth is like a cracked fig Kamala my mouth is red and fresh as well it will be a suitable match for yours you'll see but tell me beautiful Kamala aren't you at all afraid of the Samana from the forest who has come to learn how to make love whatever should I be afraid of a Samana a stupid Samana from the forest who is coming from the jackals and doesn't even know yet women are oh he's strong the Samana and he isn't afraid of anything he could force you beautiful girl he could kidnap you he could hurt you no Samana I am not afraid of this did any Samana or Brahman ever fear someone might come and grab him and steal his learning and his religious devotion and his depth of thought no they are his very own and he would only give away from those whatever he is willing to give and to whomever he is willing to give like this it is precisely like this it is also with Kamala and with the pleasures of love beautiful and red is Kamala's mouth but just try to kiss it against Kamala's will and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from it which knows how to give so many sweet things you are learning easily Siddhartha thus you should also learn this love can be obtained by begging buying receiving it as a gift finding it in the street but it cannot be stolen in this you have come up with the wrong path no it would be a pity if a pretty young man like you would want to tackle it in such a wrong manner Siddhartha bowed with a smile it would be a pity Kamala you are so right it would be such a great pity no I shall not lose a single drop of sweetness from your mouth nor you from mine so it is settled Siddhartha will return once he has what he still lacks clothes shoes, money but speak lovely Kamala couldn't you still give me one small advice an advice why not who wouldn't like to give an advice to a poor ignorant Samana who is coming from the jackals of the forest dear Kamala thus advise me where I should go that I'll find these three things most quickly friend many would like to know this you must do what you've learned and ask for money clothes and shoes in return there is no other way for a poor man to obtain money what might you be able to do I can think I can wait I can fast nothing else nothing but yes I can also write poetry would like to give me a kiss for a poem I would like to if I like your poem what would be its title Siddhartha spoke after he had thought about it for a moment these verses into her shady grove stepped the pretty Kamala at the grove's entrance stood the brown Samana deeply seeing the lotus's blossom bowed that man smiling Kamala thanked more lovely thought the young man than offerings for gods more lovely is offering to pretty Kamala Kamala loudly clapped her hands so that the golden bracelets clanged beautiful are your verses though brown Samana I'm losing nothing when I am giving you a kiss for them she beckoned him with her eyes tilted his head so that his face touched hers and placed his mouth on that mouth which was like a freshly cracked fig for a long time Kamala kissed him and with a deep astonishment Siddhartha felt how she taught him how wise she was how she controlled him rejected him lured him and how after this first one he along a well-ordered well-tested sequence of kisses everyone different from the others he was still to receive breathing deeply he remained standing where he was and was in this moment astonished like a child about a corner copier of knowledge and things worth learning which revealed itself before his eyes very beautiful are your verses exclaim Kamala if I was rich I would give you pieces of gold for them but it will be difficult for you to earn thus much money with verses as you need for you need a lot of money if you want to be Kamala's friend the way you're able to kiss Kamala stammered Siddhartha yes this I am able to do therefore I do not lack clothes shoes bracelets and all beautiful things but what will become of you aren't you able to do anything else but thinking fasting making poetry I also know the sacrificial songs said Siddhartha but I do not want to sing them anymore I also know magic spells but I do not want to speak them anymore I have read the scriptures stop Kamala interrupted him you're able to read and write certainly I can do this many people can do this most people can't I also can't do it it is very good that you're able to read and write very good you will also still find use for the magic spells in this moment a maid came running in and whispered a message into her mistress's ear there's a visitor for me exclaimed Kamala hurry and get yourself away Siddhartha nobody may see you in here remember this tomorrow I'll see you again but to the maid she gave the order to give the pious Brahmin white upper garments without fully understanding what was happening to him Siddhartha found himself being dragged away by the maid brought into a garden house avoiding the direct path being given upper garments as a gift led into the bushes and urgently admonished to get himself out of the grove as soon as possible without being seen contentedly he did as he had been told being accustomed to the forest he managed to get out of the grove and over the hedge without making a sound contentedly he returned to the city carrying the rolled up garments under his arm at the inn where travelers stay he positioned himself by the door without words he asked for food without a word he accepted a piece of rice cake perhaps as soon as tomorrow he thought I will ask no one for food any more suddenly pride flared up in him he was a samana no more it was no longer becoming to him to beg he gave the rice cake to a dog and remained without food simple is the life which people lead in this world here thought Siddhartha it presents no difficulties everything was difficult, toilsome and ultimately hopeless when I was still a samana now everything is easy easy like that lessons in kissing which Kamala is giving me I need clothes and money nothing else this is a small near goal they won't make a person lose any sleep he had already discovered Kamala's house in the city long before there he turned up the following day things are working out well she called out to him they are expecting you at Kamaswamis he is the richest merchant of the city if he'll like you he'll accept you into his service be smart brown samana I had others tell him about you be polite towards him he is very powerful but don't be too modest I do not want you to become his servant you shall become his equal or else I won't be satisfied with you Kamaswami is starting to get old and lazy if he'll like you he'll entrust you with a lot Siddhartha thanked her and laughed and when she found out that he had not eaten anything yesterday and today she sent for bread and fruits and treated him to it you've been lucky when they parted I'm opening one door after another for you how come do you have a spell Siddhartha said yesterday I told you I knew how to think to wait and to fast and you thought this was of no use but it is useful for many things Kamala you'll see you'll see that the stupid samanas are learning and able to do many pretty things in the forest which the likes of you aren't capable of the day before yesterday I was still a shaggy beggar as soon as yesterday I have kissed Kamala and soon I'll be a merchant and have money and all those things you insist upon well yes she admitted but where would you be without me what would you be if Kamala wasn't helping you dear Kamala said Siddhartha and straightened up to his full height when I came to you in your grove I did the first step it was my resolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman from that moment on when I made this resolution I also knew that I would carry it out I knew that you would help me at your first glance at the entrance to the grove I already knew it but what if I hadn't been willing you were willing look Kamala when you throw a rock into the water it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water this is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal a resolution Siddhartha does nothing he waits he thinks he fasts but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water without doing anything without stirring he is drawn he lets himself fall his goal attracts him because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal this is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas this is what fools call magic and of which they think it would be affected by means of the demons nothing is affected by demons there are no demons everyone can perform magic everyone can reach his goals if he is able to think if he is able to wait if he is able to fast Kamala listened to him she loved his voice she loved the look of his eyes perhaps it is so she said quietly as you say friend but perhaps it is also like this that Siddhartha is a handsome man that his glance pleases the women and that therefore good fortune is coming towards him with one kiss Siddhartha bid his farewell I wish that it should be this way my teacher that my glance shall please you that always good fortune shall come to me out of your direction end of chapter 5 chapter 6 of Siddhartha this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by chapter 6 with the childlike people Siddhartha went to Kamaswami the merchant he was directed into a rich house servants led him between precious carpets into a chamber where he awaited the master of the house Kamaswami entered a swiftly smoothly moving man with very grey hair with very intelligent cautious eyes with a greedy mouth politely the host and the guest greeted one another I have been told the merchant began that you were a Brahmin a learned man but that you seek to be in the service of a merchant might you have become destitute Brahmin so that you seek to serve no said Siddhartha I have not become destitute and have never been destitute you should know that I am coming from the Samanas with whom I have lived for a long time if you're coming from the Samanas would you be anything but destitute aren't the Samanas entirely without possessions I am without possessions said Siddhartha if this is what you mean surely I am without possessions but I am so voluntarily and therefore I am not destitute but what are you planning to live of being without possessions I haven't thought of this yet sir for more than three years I have been without possessions and have never thought of what I should live so you've lived of the possessions of others presumably this is how it is after all a merchant also lives of what other people own well said but he wouldn't take anything from another person for nothing he would give his merchandise in return so it seems to be indeed everyone takes everyone gives such is life but if you don't mind me asking being without possessions what would you like to give everyone gives what he has a warrior gives strength the merchant gives merchandise the teacher teachings rice the fisher fish yes indeed and what is it now that you've got to give what is it that you've learned what you're able to do I can think I can wait I can fast that's everything I believe that's everything and what's the use of that for example the fasting what is it good for it is very good sir when a person has nothing to eat fasting is the smartest thing he could do when for example Siddhartha hadn't learned to fast he would have to accept any kind of service before this day is up whether it may be with you or wherever because hunger would force him to do so but like this Siddhartha can wait calmly he knows no impatience he knows no emergency for a long time he can allow hunger to besiege him and can laugh about it this sir is what fasting is good for your right Samana wait for a moment Kamaswami left the room and returned with a scroll which he handed to his guest while asking can you read this Siddhartha looked at the scroll on which a sales contract had been written down and began to read out its contents 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 what 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 dealer's house from now on clothes were brought to him shoes and every day a servant prepared a bath for him twice a day a plenty film 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 this as if it was a game the rules of which he tried hard to learn precisely but the contents of which he did not touch his heart he was not in Kamaswami's house for long when he already took part in his landlord's 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 read a smart mouth much he learned from her tender forehand 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 from the basics about that school of thought which teaches that pleasure cannot be taken without giving pleasure and that every gesture every caress every spot of the body however small it was had its secret which would bring happiness to those who knew 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 or get that 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 knit with the business of Kamaswami the merchant passed to duties of writing important letters and contracts onto 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 Brahmin he said to a friend there 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 amongst Samanas he always seems to be merely playing with our 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 Hammerswamy 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 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 Hammerswamy 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'm very satisfied with this trip I've gotten to know many kinds of people a Brahmin 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 Hammerswamy 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've gotten to know people and places I've received kindness and trust I have found friendship look my dear if I had been Hammerswamy I would have travelled back been 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 they 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 Hammerswamy's worries and Hammerswamy had many worries whether there was a business deal going on which was in danger of failing or whether a shipment of merchandise seemed to have been lost or a debtor seemed to be unable to pay Hammerswamy could never convince his partner that it would be useful to utter a few words of worry or anger to have wrinkles on the forehead to sleep badly when one day Hammerswamy held against him that he had learned everything he knew from him 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 can be charged on loaned money these are your areas of expertise I haven't learned to think from you my dear Hammerswamy you ought to be the one seeking to learn from me indeed his soul was not with the trade the business was good enough to provide him with the money for Kamala and it earned him much more than he needed besides from this Siddhartha's interest and curiosity was only concerned with the people whose businesses, crafts worries, pleasures and acts of foolishness used to be as alien and distant to him as the moon however easily he succeeded in talking to all of them and living with all of them in learning from all of them he was still aware that there was something which separated him from them and this separating factor was him being a Samana he saw a mankind going through life in a childlike or animal like manner which he loved and also despised at the same time he saw them toiling saw them suffering and becoming gray for the sake of things which seemed to him entirely unworthy of this price for money for little pleasures for being slightly honoured he saw them scolding and insulting each other he saw them complaining about a pain at which a Samana would only smile and suffering because of deprivations which a Samana would not feel he was open to everything his people brought his way welcome was the merchant who offered him linen for sale welcome was the debtor who sought another loan 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 did not treat the rich foreign merchant any different than the servant who shaved him whom he let cheat him out of some small change when buying bananas when Kamaswami came to him to complain about his worries or to reproach him concerning his business he listened curiously and happily was puzzled by him tried to understand him consented that he was a little bit right only as much as he considered indispensable and turned away from him towards the next person who would ask for him and there were many who came to him many to do business with him many to cheat him many to draw some secret out of him many to appeal to his sympathy many to get his advice he gave advice he pitied he made gifts he let them cheat him a bit and this entire game and the passion with which all people played this game occupied his thoughts just as much as the gods and Brahmins used to occupy them at times he felt deep in his chest a dying quiet voice which admonished him quietly lamented quietly he hardly perceived it and then for an hour he became aware of the strange life he was leading of him doing lots of things which were only a game of though being happy and feeling joy at times real life still passing him by and not touching him as a ball player plays with his balls he played with his business deals with the people around him watched them found amusement in them with his heart with the source of his being he was not with them he ran somewhere far away from him ran and ran invisibly had nothing to do with his life anymore 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 really to live really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator but again and again he came back to beautiful Kamala learned the art of love practiced the cult of lust in which more than anything else giving and taking becomes one chatted with her learned from her gave her advice received advice she understood him better than Govinda used to understand him she was more similar to him once he said to her you are like me you are different from most people you are Kamala nothing else and inside you there is a peace and refuge to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home at yourself as I can also do few people have this and yet all could have it not all people are smart said Kamala no said Siddhartha that's not the reason why Kamaswamy is just as smart as I and still has no refuge in himself others have it who are small children with respect to their mind most people Kamala are like a falling leaf which is blown and is turning around through the air and waivers and tumbles to the ground but others a few are like stars they go on a fixed course no wind reaches them in themselves they have their law and their course among all the learned men and samanas of which I knew many there was one of this kind a perfected one I'll never be able to forget him it is that Gotama the exalted one who is spreading that teachings thousands of followers are listening to his teachings every day follow his instructions every hour but they are all falling leaves not in themselves they have teachings and a law Kamala looked at him with a smile again you're talking about him she said again you're having a samanas thoughts Siddhartha said nothing and they played the game of love one of the 30 or 40 different games Kamala knew her body was flexible like that of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter he who had learned from her how to make love was knowledgeable of many forms of lust many secrets for a long time she played with Siddhartha enticed him rejected him forced him embraced him enjoyed his masterful skills until he was defeated and rested exhausted by her side the courtesan bent over him took a long look at his face at his eyes which had grown tired you are the best lover she said thoughtfully I ever saw you're stronger than others more supple more willing you've learned my art well Siddhartha at some time when I'll be older I'll want to bear your child and yet my dear you've remained a samana and yet you do not love me you love nobody isn't it so it might very well be so Siddhartha said tiredly I am like you you also do not love how else could you practice love as a craft perhaps people of our kind can't love the childlike people can that's their secret end of chapter 6 chapter 7 of Siddhartha this is a LibriVox recording are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by Gunta Olsch, Anke Dreher Amy Coulter, Stefan Langer and Simeon Chachinetz and read by Adrian Pretzellis chapter 7 Sansara for a long time Siddhartha had lived the life of the world and of lust though without being a part of it his senses which he had killed off in hot years as a samana had awoken again he had tasted riches had tasted lust had tasted power nevertheless he had still remained in his heart for a long time a samana Kamala being smart had realized this quite right it was still the art of thinking of waiting of fasting which guided his life still the people of the world the childlike people had remained alien to him as he was alien to them years passed surrounded by the good life Siddhartha hardly felt them fading away he had become rich for quite a while he possessed a house his own and his own servants and a garden before the city by the river the people liked him they came to him whenever they needed money or advice but there was no one close to him except Kamala that high, bright state of being awake which he had experienced that one time at the height of his youth in those days after Gautama's sermon after the separation that tender that tense expectation that proud state of standing alone without teachings and without teachers that supple willingness to listen to the divine voice in his own heart had slowly become a memory had been fleeting distant and quiet the holy source murmured which used to be near which used to murmur within himself and nevertheless many things he had learned from the Samanas he had learned from Gautama he had learned from his father the Brahman had remained within him for a long time afterwards moderate living joy of thinking hours of meditation secret knowledge of the self and of his eternal entity which is neither body nor consciousness many a part of this he still had but one part after another had been submerged and had gathered dust just as a potter's wheel once it has been set in motion will keep on turning for a long time and only slowly lose its vigor and come to a stop thus Siddhartha's soul had kept on turning the wheel of asceticism the wheel of thinking the wheel of differentiation for a long time still turning but it turned slowly and hesitantly and was close to coming to a stand still slowly like humidity entering the dying stem of a tree filling it slowly and making it rot the world and sloth had entered Siddhartha's soul slowly it filled his soul made it heavy made it tired put it to sleep on the other hand his senses had become alive there was much they had learned much they had experienced Siddhartha had learned to trade to use his power over people to enjoy himself with a woman he had learned to wear beautiful clothes to give orders to servants to bathe in perfumed waters he had learned to eat tenderly and carefully prepared food even fish even meat and poultry spices and sweets and to drink wine which causes sloth and forgetfulness he had learned to play with dice and on a chess board to watch dancing girls to have himself carried about in a sedan chair to sleep on a soft bed he felt different from and superior to the others always he had watched them with some mockery some mocking disdain with the same disdain which a Samana constantly feels for the people of the world when Kamaswami was ailing when he was annoyed when he felt insulted when he was vexed by his wiries as a merchant Siddhartha had always watched it just slowly and imperceptibly as the harvest seasons and rainy seasons passed by his mockery had become more tired his superiority had become more quiet just slowly among his growing riches Siddhartha had assumed something of the childlike people's ways for himself something of their childlikeness and of their fearfulness and yet he envied them envied them just the more the more similar he became to them he envied them for the one thing that was missing from him and that they had the importance they were able to attach to their lives the amount of passion in their joys and fears the fearful but sweet happiness of being constantly in love these people were all of the time in love with themselves with women with their children with honours or money with plans or hopes but he did not learn this from them this out of all things this joy of a child and this foolishness of a child he learned from them out of all things the unpleasant ones which he himself despised it happened more and more but in the morning after having had company the night before he stayed in bed for a long time felt unable to think and tired it happened that he became angry and impatient when Kamaswamy bored him with his worries it happened that he laughed just too loud when he lost a game of dice his face was still smarter and more spiritual than others he barely laughed and assumed one after another those features which are so often found in the faces of rich people those features of discontent of sickliness of ill humour of sloth of a lack of love slowly the disease of the soul which rich people have grabbed hold of him like a veil like a thin mist tiredness came over Siddhartha slowly getting a bit denser every day a bit murkier every month a bit heavier every year as a new dress becomes old in time loses its beautiful colour in time gets stains gets wrinkles gets worn off at the seams and starts to show threadbare spots here and there thus Siddhartha's new life which he had started after his separation from Govinda had grown old lost colour and splendour as the years passed by was gathering wrinkles and stains and hidden at bottom already showing its ugliness here and there disappointment and disgust were waiting and hidden at bottom already showing its ugliness here and there disappointment and disgust were waiting Siddhartha did not notice it he only noticed that this bright and reliable voice inside of him which had awoken in him at that time and had ever guided him in his best times had become silent he had been captured by the world by lust covetousness and finally also by that vice which he had used to despise and mock the most as the most foolish one of all vices greed property possessions and riches also had finally captured him they were no longer a game and trifles to him had become a shackle and a burden in a strange and devious way Siddhartha had gotten into this final and most base of all dependencies by means of the game of dice it was since that time when he had stopped being a samana in his heart that Siddhartha began to play the game for money and precious things which he at other times only joined with a smile and casually as a custom of the childlike people with an increasing rage and passion he was a feared gambler few dared to take him on so high and audacious were his stakes he played the game due to a pain of his heart losing and wasting his wretched money in the game that brought him an angry joy in no other way could he demonstrate his disdain for wealth the merchant's false god more clearly and more mockingly thus he gambled with high stakes and mercilessly hating himself mocking himself thousands, threw away thousands lost money, lost jewelry lost a house in the country won again lost again that fear that terrible and petrifying fear which he had felt while he was rolling the dice while he was worried about losing high stakes that fear he loved and sought to always renew it always increase it always get it to a slightly higher level for in this feeling alone he still felt something like happiness something like an intoxication something like an elevated form of life in the midst of his saturated lukewarm dull life and after each big loss his mind was set on new riches pursued the trade more zealously forced his debtors more strictly to pay because he wanted to continue gambling he wanted to continue squandering continued demonstrating his disdain of wealth Siddhartha lost his calmness when losses occurred lost his patience when he was not paid on time lost his kindness towards beggars lost his disposition for giving away and loaning money to those who petitioned him he who gambled away tens of thousands at one roll of the dice and laughed at it became more strict and more petty in his business occasionally dreaming at night about money and whenever he woke up from this ugly spell whenever he found his face in the mirror at the bedroom's wall to have aged and become more ugly whenever embarrassment and disgust came over him he continued fleeing fleeing into a new game fleeing into a numbing of his mind brought on by sex by wine and from there he fled back into the urge to pile up and obtain possessions in this pointless cycle he ran growing tired growing old growing ill then the time came when a dream warned him he had spent the hours of the evening with Kamala in her beautiful pleasure garden they had been sitting under the trees talking and Kamala had said thoughtful words words behind which a sadness and a tiredness lay hidden she had asked him to tell her about Gotama and could not hear enough of him how clear his eyes how still and beautiful his mouth how kind his smile how peaceful his walk had been for a long time he had to tell her about the exalted Buddha and Kamala had sighed and had said one day perhaps soon I'll also follow that Buddha I'll give him my pleasure garden for a gift and take my refuge in his teachings but after this she had aroused him and had tied him to her in the act of making love with painful fervour biting and in tears as if once more she wanted to squeeze the last sweet drop out of this vain fleeting pleasure never before it had become so strangely clear to Siddhartha how closely lust was akin to death then he had lain by her side and Kamala's face had been close to him and under her eyes and next to the corners of her mouth he had as clearly as never before read a fearful inscription an inscription of small lines of slight grooves an inscription reminiscent of autumn and old age just as Siddhartha himself who was only in his forties had already noticed here and there grey hairs among his black ones tiredness was written on Kamala's beautiful face tiredness from walking a long path which has no happy destination tiredness and the beginning of withering and concealed still unsaid perhaps not even conscious anxiety fear of old age fear of the autumn fear of having to die with a sigh he had bid his farewell to her the soul full of reluctance and full of concealed anxiety then Siddhartha had spent the night in his house with dancing girls and wine had acted as if he was superior to them towards the fellow members of his caste though this was no longer true had drunk much wine and gone to bed a long time after midnight being tired and yet excited close to weeping and despair and had for a long time sought to sleep in vain his heart full of misery which he thought he could not bear any longer full of a disgust which he felt penetrating his entire body like the lukewarm repulsive taste of the wine the just too sweet dull music the just too soft smile of the dancing girls the just too sweet sense of their hair and breasts but more than by anything else he was disgusted by himself by his perfumed hair by the smell of wine from his mouth by the flabby tiredness and listlessness of his skin like when someone who has eaten and drunk far too much vomits it back up again with agonizing pain and is nevertheless glad about the relief thus this sleepless man wished to free himself of these pleasures these habits and all of this pointless life and himself in an immense burst of disgust not until the light of the morning and the beginning of the first activities in the street before his city-house he had slightly fallen asleep had found for a few moments a half-consciousness a hint of sleep in these moments he had a dream Kamala owned a small rare singing bird in a golden cage of this bird he dreamt he dreamt this bird had become mute who at other times always used to sing in the morning and since this arose his attention he stepped in front of the cage and looked inside there the small bird was dead and lay stiff on the ground he took it out weighed it for a moment in his hand and then threw it away out in the street and in the same moment he felt terribly shocked and his heart hurt as if he had thrown away from himself all value and everything good by throwing out this dead bird starting up from this dream he felt encompassed by a deep sadness worthless so it seemed to him worthless and pointless was the way he had been going through life nothing which was alive nothing which was in some way delicious or worth keeping he had left in his hands alone he stood there and empty like a castaway on the shore with a gloomy mind Siddhartha went to the pleasure garden he owned locked the gate sat down under a mango tree felt death in his heart and horror in his chest sat and sensed how everything died in him withered in him came to an end in him by and by he gathered his thoughts and in his mind he once again went the entire path starting with the first days he could remember when was there ever a time when he had experienced happiness felt a true bliss oh yes several times he had experienced such a thing in his years as a boy he has had a taste of it when he had obtained praise from the Brahmans 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 in the disputes with the learned ones as an assistant in the offerings then he had felt it in his heart there is a path in front of you you are destined for the gods are awaiting you and again as a young man when the ever rising upward fleeing goal of all thinking had ripped him out of and up from the multitude of those seeking the same goal when he wrestled in pain for the purpose of Brahman when every obtained knowledge only kindled new thirst in him then again he had in the midst of the thirst 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 and again when he had gone away from the Samanas to that perfected one and also when he had gone away from him to the uncertain for how long had he not heard this voice anymore for how long had he reached no height anymore how even in dull was the manner in which his path had passed through life for many long years without a high goal without thirst without elevation content with small lustful pleasures and yet never satisfied for all of these many years without knowing it himself he had tried hard and long to become a man like those many like those children and in all this his life had been much more miserable and poorer than theirs and their goals were not his nor their worries after all that entire world of the Kamaswami people had only been a game to him a dance he would watch a comedy only Kamala had been dear had been valuable to him but was she still thus did he still need her or she him did they not play a game without ending was it necessary to live for this no it was not necessary the name of this game was Sansara a game for children a game which was perhaps enjoyable to play once twice ten times but forever and ever over again then Siddhartha knew that the game was over that he could not play it anymore shivers ran over his body inside of him so he felt something had died that entire day he sat under the mango tree thinking of his father thinking of Govinda thinking of Gotama did he have to leave them to become a Kamaswami he still sat there when the night had fallen when looking up he caught sight of the stars here I'm sitting under my mango tree in my pleasure garden he smiled a little was it really necessary was it right was it not a foolish game that he owned a mango tree that he owned a garden he also put an end to this this also died in him he rose bid his farewell to the mango tree his farewell to the pleasure garden since he had been without food this day he felt strong hunger and thought of his house in the city of his chamber and bed of the table with the meals on it he smiled tiredly shook himself and bid his farewell to these things in the same hour of the night Siddhartha left his garden left the city and never came back for a long time Kamaswami had people look for him thinking that he had fallen into the hands of robbers Kamala had no one look for him when she was told that Siddhartha had disappeared she was not astonished did she not always expect it was he not a Samana a man who was at home nowhere a pilgrim and most of all she had felt this the last time they had been together and she was happy in spite of all the pain of the loss that she had pulled him so affectionately to her heart for this last time that she had felt one more time to be so completely possessed and penetrated by him when she received the first news of Siddhartha's disappearance she went to the window where she held a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage she opened the door of the cage took the bird out and let it fly for a long time she gazed after it the flying bird from this day on she received no more visitors and kept her house locked but after some time she became aware that she was pregnant from the last time she was together with Siddhartha End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of Siddhartha This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by Gunta Olsch, Anke Dreher Amy Coulter, Stefan Langer and Simeon Chachanetz and read by Adrian Pretzellis Chapter 8 by The River Siddhartha walked through the forest was already far from the city and knew nothing but that one thing that there was no going back for him that this life, as he had lived it for many years until now was over and done away with and that he had tasted all of it sucked everything out of it until he was disgusted with it Ed was the singing bird he had dreamt of dead was the bird in his heart deeply he had been entangled in sansara he had sucked up disgust and death from all sides into his body like a sponge that sucks up water until it is full and full he was full of the feeling of being sick of it full of misery full of death there was nothing left in this world which could have attracted him given him joy given him comfort passionately he wished to know nothing about himself any more to have rest to be dead if there was only a lightning bolt to strike him dead if there was only a tiger to devour him if there was only a wine a poison which could numb his senses bring him forgetfulness from that was there still any kind of filth he had not soiled himself with a sin or foolish act he had not committed a dreariness of the soul he had not brought upon himself was it still at all possible to be alive was it possible to breathe in again and again to breathe out to feel hunger to eat again to sleep again 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 the same river over which a long time ago when he had still been a young man and came from the town of Gotama the ferryman had conducted him by this river he stopped hesitatingly he stood at the bank tiredness and hunger had weakened him and whatever he should walk on wherever to to whichever goal no, there were no more goals there was nothing left but the deep painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream to spit out this stale wine to put an end to this miserable and shameful life a hang bent over the bank of the river a coconut tree Siddhartha leaned against its trunk with his shoulder embraced the trunk with one arm and looked down into the green water which ran and ran under him looked down and found himself to be entirely filled with the wish to go and to drown in these waters a frightening emptiness was reflected back at him by the water answering to the terrible emptiness in his soul yes, he had reached the end there was nothing left for him except to annihilate himself except to smash the failure into which he had shaped his life to throw it away before the feet of mockingly laughing gods this was the great vomiting he had longed for death, the smashing to bits of the form he hated let him be food for fishes this dog, Siddhartha this lunatic this depraved and rotten body this weakened and abused soul let him be food for fishes and crocodiles let him be chopped to bits by the demons with a distorted face he stared into the water saw the reflection of his face and spit at it in deep tiredness he went away from the trunk of the tree and turned a bit in order to let himself fall straight down in order to finally drown with his eyes closed he slipped towards death then out of remote areas of his soul out of past times of his now weary life a sound stirred up it was a word a syllable which he without thinking this slurred voice spoke to himself the old word which is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the Brahmins the holy om which roughly means that what is perfect or the completion and in the moment when the sound of om touched Siddhartha's ear his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness of his actions Siddhartha was deeply shocked so this was how things were with him so doomed was he so much had he lost his way and was forsaken by all knowledge that he had been able to seek death that this wish this wish of a child had been able to grow up in him to find rest by annihilating his body what all agony of these recent times all sobering realizations all desperation had not brought about 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 om he spoke to himself om and again he knew about Brahman knew about the indestructibility of life knew about all that is divine which he had forgotten that this was only a moment flash by the foot of the coconut tree Siddhartha collapsed struck down by tiredness mumbling om placed his head on the roots of the tree and fell into a deep sleep deep was his sleep and without dreams for a long time he had not known such a sleep anymore when he woke up after many hours he felt as if ten years had passed he heard the water quietly flowing did not know where he was and who had brought him there opened his eyes saw with astonishment that there were trees and the sky above him and he remembered where he was and how he got there but it took him a long while for this and the past seemed to him as if it had been covered by a veil infinitely distant infinitely far away infinitely meaningless he only knew that his previous life in the first moment when he thought about it this past life seemed to him like a very old previous incarnation like an early pre-birth of his present self that this previous life had been abandoned by him that full of disgust and wretchedness he had even intended to throw his life away but that by a river under a coconut tree he has come to his senses the holy word om on his lips that he had fallen asleep and had now woken up looking at the world as a new man quietly he spoke the word om to himself speaking which he had fallen asleep and it seemed to him as if his entire long sleep had been nothing but a long meditative recitation of om a thinking of om a submergence and complete entering into om into the nameless that have affected what a wonderful sleep had this been never before by sleep he had been thus refreshed thus renewed thus rejuvenated perhaps he had really died had drowned and was reborn in a new body ah no he knew himself he knew his hand and his feet knew the place where he lay knew this self in his chest sadhatha the eccentric the weird one but this sadhatha was nevertheless transformed was renewed was strangely well rested strangely awake joyful and curious sadhatha straightened up then he saw a person sitting opposite to him an unknown man a monk in a yellow robe he observed the man who had neither hair on his head nor a beard and he had not observed him for long when he recognized this monk as Govinda, the friend of his youth Govinda who had taken his refuge with the exalted Buddha Govinda had aged he too but still his face bore the same features expressed zeal faithfulness timidness but when Govinda now sensing his gaze opened his eyes and looked at him sadhatha saw that Govinda did not recognize him Govinda was happy to find him awake apparently he had been sitting here for a long time and had been waiting for him to wake up though he did not know him I have been sleeping said sadhatha however did you get here you have been sleeping answered Govinda it is not good to be sleeping in such places where snakes often are and the animals of the forest have their paths I, oh sir, am a follower of the exalted Gautama, the Buddha the Sakya Mundi and have been on a pilgrimage together with several of us on this path when I saw you lying and sleeping in a place where it is dangerous to sleep therefore I thought to wake you up, oh sir and since I saw that your sleep was very deep I strayed behind from my group and sat with you and then, so it seems I have fallen asleep myself I who wanted to guard your sleep badly I have served you tiredness has overwhelmed me and now that you are awake let me go catch up with my brothers I thank you, Samana for watching out over my sleep spoke Siddhartha you're friendly, you followers of the exalted one now you may go then I'm going, sir may you, sir, always be in good health I thank you, Samana Govinda made the gesture of a salutation and said farewell farewell, Govinda, said Siddhartha the monk stopped and moved me to ask, sir how do you know my name? now Siddhartha smiled I know you, oh Govinda from your father's hut and from the school of the Brahmins and from the offerings and from our walk to the Samanas and from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in the Grove, Jatavana you're Siddhartha Govinda exclaimed loudly now I'm recognising you and don't comprehend any more how I couldn't recognise you right away be welcome, Siddhartha my joy is great to see you again it also gives me joy to see you again you've been the guard of my sleep again I thank you for this though I wouldn't have required any guard where are you going to, oh friend? I am going nowhere we monks are always travelling whenever it is not the rainy season we always move from one place to another live according to the rules of the teachings passed on to us except alms, move on it is always like this but you Siddhartha where are you going to? quotes Siddhartha it is as it is with you I am going nowhere I'm just travelling you're on a pilgrimage Govinda spoke you're saying you're on a pilgrimage and I believe in you but forgive me oh Siddhartha you do not look like a pilgrim you're wearing a rich man's garments you're wearing the shoes of a distinguished gentleman and your hair and the fragrance of perfume is not a pilgrim's hair nor the hair of a Samana right so my dear you've observed well your keen eyes see everything but I haven't said to you that I was a Samana I said I'm on a pilgrimage and so it is I'm on a pilgrimage you're on a pilgrimage said Govinda but few would go on a pilgrimage in such clothes few in such shoes few with such hair never I have met such a pilgrim for many years I believe you my dear Govinda but now today you've met a pilgrim just like this wearing such shoes such a garment remember my dear not eternal is the world of appearances not eternal anything but eternal are our garments and the style of our hair and our hair and our bodies themselves I'm wearing a rich man's clothes you've seen this quite right I'm wearing them because I have been a rich man and I'm wearing my hair like the worldly and lustful people because I have been one of them and now Siddhartha what are you now I don't know it I don't know it just like you I'm travelling I was a rich man and am no rich man anymore and what I'll be tomorrow I don't know you've lost your riches I've lost them or they me they somehow happened to slip away from me the wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly Govinda where is Siddhartha the Brahman where is Siddhartha the Samana where is Siddhartha the rich man non-eternal things change quickly Govinda you know it Govinda looked at the friend of his youth for a long time with doubt in his eyes after that he gave him the salutation which one would use on a gentleman and went on his way with a smiling face Siddhartha watched him leave he loved him still this faithful man this fearful man and how could he not have loved everybody and everything in this moment in the glorious hour after his wonderful sleep filled with om the enchantment which had happened inside of him in his sleep and by means of the om was this very thing that he loved everything that he was full of joyful love for everything he saw and it was this very thing so it seemed to him now which had been his sickness before that he was not able to love anybody or anything with a smiling face Siddhartha watched the leaving monk the sleep had strengthened him much but hunger gave him much pain for now he had not eaten for two days and the times were long past when he had been tough against hunger with sadness and yet also with a smile he thought of that time in those days so he remembered he had boasted of three things to Kamala had been able to do three noble and undefeatable feats fasting waiting thinking these had been his possession his power and strength his solid staff in the busy laborious years of his youth he had learned these three feats nothing else and now he had abandoned him none of them was his anymore neither fasting nor waiting nor thinking for the most wretched things he had given them up for what fades most quickly for sensual lust for the good life for riches his life had indeed been strange and now so it seemed now he had really become a person Siddhartha thought about his situation thinking was hard on him he did not really feel like it but he forced himself now he thought since all these most easily perishing things have slipped from me again now I'm standing here under the sun again just as I have been standing here a little child nothing is mine what it is there is nothing I could bring about I have learned nothing how wondrous is this now that I am no longer young that my hair is already half grey that my strength is fading now I'm starting again at the beginning and as a child again he had to smile yes his fate had been strange things were going downhill with him now he was again facing the world void and naked and stupid but he could not feel sad about this no he even felt a great urge to laugh to laugh about himself to laugh about the strange foolish world things are going downhill with you he said to himself and laughed about it and as he was saying it he happened a glance at the river and he also saw the river was going downhill always moving on downhill and singing and being happy through it all he liked this well kindly he smiled at the river was this not the river in which he had intended to drown himself in past times a hundred years ago or had he dreamed this wondrous indeed was my life so he thought wondrous detours has it taken as a boy I had only to do with gods and offerings as a youth I had only to do with asceticism with thinking and meditation was searching for Brahman worshipped the eternal in the atman but as a young man I followed the penitents lived in the forest suffered of heat and frost learned to hunger and become dead wonderfully soon afterwards insight came towards me in the form of the great Buddha's teachings I felt the knowledge of the oneness of the world circling in me like my own blood but I also had to leave Buddha and the great knowledge I went and learned the art of love with Kamala learned trading with Kamaswami piled up money wasted money learned to love my stomach learned to please my senses I had to spend many years losing my spirit to unlearn thinking again to forget the oneness isn't it just as if I had turned slowly and on a long detour from a man into a child from a thinker into a childlike person and yet this path has been very good and yet the bird in my chest has not died but what a path has this been I had to pass through so much stupidity through so much vices through so many errors through so much disgust and disappointments and woe just to become a child again and to be able to start over but it was right so my heart says yes to it my eyes smile to it I've had to experience despair I've had to sink down to the most foolish one of all thoughts to the thought of suicide in order to be able to experience divine grace to hear Olm again to be able to sleep properly and to awake properly again I had to become a fool to find Atman in me again I had to sin to be able to live again where else might my path lead me to it is foolish this path it moves in loops perhaps it is going around in a circle let it go as it likes I want to take it wonderfully he felt joy rolling like waves in his chest wherever from he asked his heart where did you get this happiness might it come from that long good sleep which has done me so good or from the word Olm which I said or from the fact that I have escaped that I have completely fled that I am finally free again and am standing like a child under the sky oh how good it is to have fled to have become free and beautiful is the air here how good to breathe there where I ran away from there everything smelled of ointment of spices of wine of excess of sloth how did I hate this world of the rich of those who revel in fine food of the gamblers how did I hate myself for staying in this terrible world for so long how did I hate myself have deprived poisoned tortured myself have made myself old and evil no never again I will as I used to like doing so much delude myself into thinking that Siddhartha was wise but this one thing I have done well this I like this I must praise but there is now an end to that hatred against myself to that foolish and dreary life I praise you Siddhartha after so many years of foolishness you have once again had an idea have done something have heard the bird in your chest singing and have followed it thus he praised himself found joy in himself he listened curiously to his stomach which was rumbling with hunger he had now so he felt in those recent times and days completely tasted and spit out devoured up to the point of desperation and death a piece of suffering a piece of misery like this it was good for much longer he could have stayed with Kamaswami made money filled his stomach and let his soul die of thirst for much longer he could have lived in this soft well upholstered hell if this had not happened the moment of complete hopelessness and despair that most extreme moment when he hung over the rushing waters and was ready to destroy himself that he had felt this despair this deep disgust that he had not succumbed to it that the bird the joyful source and voice in him was still alive after all this was why he felt joy this was why he laughed this was why his face was smiling brightly under his hair which had turned gray it is good he thought to get a taste of everything for oneself which one needs to know that lust for the world and riches do not belong to the good things I have already learned as a child I have known it for a long time but I have experienced only now and now I know it don't just know it in my memory but in my eyes in my heart in my stomach good for me to know this for a long time he pondered his transformation to the bird as it sang for joy had not this bird died in him had he not felt his death no something else from within him had died something which already for a long time had yearned to die was it not this what he intended to kill in his ardent years as a penitent was it not his self his small frightened and proud self he had wrestled with for so many years which had defeated him again and again which was back again after every killing prohibited joy felt fear was it not this which today had finally come to its death here in the forest by this lovely river was it not due to this death that he was now like a child so full of trust so without fear so full of joy now Siddhartha also got some idea of why he had fought this self in vain as a Brahman as a penitent too much knowledge had held him back too many holy verses too many sacrificial rules too much self-castigation so much doing and striving for that goal full of arrogance he had been always the smartest always working the most always one step ahead of all others always the knowing and spiritual one always the priest or wise one into being a priest into this arrogance into this spirituality his self had retreated there it sat firmly and grew kill it by fasting and penance now he saw it and saw the secret voice had been right that no teacher would ever have been able to bring about his salvation therefore he had to go out into the world lose himself to lust and power to women and money had to become a merchant a dice gambler a drinker until the priest and Samana in him was dead therefore he had to continue bearing these ugly years bearing the disgust the teachings the pointlessness of a dreary and wasted life up to the end up to bitter despair until Siddhartha the lustful Siddhartha the greedy could also die he had died Siddhartha had woken up from the sleep he would also grow old he would also eventually have to die mortal was Siddhartha mortal was every physical form but today he was young was a child the new Siddhartha and was full of joy he thought these thoughts listened with a smile to his stomach listened gratefully to a buzzing bee cheerfully he looked into the rushing river never before he had liked a water so well as this one never before he had perceived the voice and the parable of the moving water thus strongly and beautifully it seemed to him as if the river had something special to tell him something he did not know yet which was still awaiting him in this river Siddhartha had intended to drown himself in it the old tired desperate Siddhartha had drowned today but the new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing water and decided for himself not to leave it very soon End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Siddhartha this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by Chapter 9 The Ferryman by this river I want to stay thought Siddhartha it is the same which I have crossed a long time ago on my way to the childlike people a friendly ferryman had guided me then he is the one I want to go to starting out from his hut my path had led me at that time into a new life which had now grown old and is dead my present path my present new life shall also take its start there tenderly he looked into the rushing water into the transparent green into the crystal lines of its drawing so rich in secrets bright pearls he saw rising from the deep quiet bubbles of air floating on the reflecting surface the blue of the sky being depicted in it with a thousand eyes the river looked at him with green ones with white ones with crystal ones with sky blue ones how did he love this water how did it delight him how grateful was he to it in his heart he heard the water talking which was newly awakening and it told him love this water stay near it learn from it oh yes he wanted to learn from it he wanted to listen to it he who would understand this water and its secrets so it seemed to him would also understand many other things many secrets all secrets but out of all secrets of the river he today only saw one this one touched his soul he saw this water ran and ran incessantly it ran and was nevertheless always there was always at all times the same and yet new in every moment great be he who would grasp this understand this he understood and grasped it not only felt some idea of it stirring a distant memory divine voices Siddhartha rose the workings of hunger in his body became unbearable in a days he walked on up the path by the river up river listen to the current listen to the rumbling hunger in his body when he reached the ferry the boat was just ready the ferryman who had once transported the young Samana across the river stood in the boat Siddhartha recognized him he had also aged very much would you like to ferry me over he asked the ferryman being astonished to see such an elegant man walking along and on foot took him into his boat and pushed it off the bank it is a beautiful life you have chosen for yourself the passenger spoke it must be beautiful to live by this water every day and to cruise on it with a smile the man at the oar moved from side to side it is beautiful sir it is as you say but isn't every life isn't every work beautiful this may be true I envy you yours ah you would soon stop enjoying it this is nothing for people wearing fine clothes Siddhartha laughed once before I have been looked upon today because of my clothes I have been looked upon with distrust wouldn't you ferryman like to accept these clothes which are a nuisance to me from me I must know I have no money to pay your fare you are joking sir the ferryman laughed I'm not joking friend behold once before you have ferried me across this water in your boat for the immaterial reward of a good deed thus do it today as well and accept my clothes for it and you sir intend to continue travelling your clothes ah most of all I wouldn't want to continue travelling at all most of all I would like you ferryman to give me an old loin cloth and keep me as your assistant or rather as your trainee for I'll have to learn first how to handle the boat for a long time the ferryman looked at the stranger searching now I recognise you finally said at one time you slept in my hut this was a long time ago possibly more than 20 years ago and you've been ferried across the river by me and we parted like good friends haven't you been a samana I can't think of your name anymore my name is Siddhartha and I was a samana when you last saw me so be welcome Siddhartha my name is Vasudeva you will, so I hope be my guest today as well and sleep in my hut and tell me where you're coming from and why these beautiful clothes are such a nuisance to you they'd reached the middle of the river and Vasudeva pushed the oar with more strength in order to overcome the current he worked calmly his eyes fixed on the front of the boat with brawny arms Siddhartha sat and watched him and remembered how once before on that last day of his time as a samana love for this man had stirred in his heart gratefully he accepted Vasudeva's invitation when they had reached the bank he helped him to tie the boat to the stakes after this the ferryman asked him to enter the hut offered him bread and water and Siddhartha ate with eager pleasure and also ate with eager pleasure of the mango fruits Vasudeva offered him afterwards it was almost the time of the sunset they sat on a log by the bank and Siddhartha told the ferryman about where he originally had come from and about his life as he had seen it before his eyes today in that hour of despair until late at night lasted his tale Vasudeva listened with great attention listened carefully he let everything enter his mind birthplace and childhood all that learning all that searching all joy all distress this was among the ferryman's virtues one of the greatest like only a few he knew how to listen without him having spoken a word the speaker sensed how Vasudeva let his words enter his mind quiet open waiting how he did not lose a single word awaited not a single one with impatience did not add his phrase or rebuke was just listening Siddhartha felt what a happy fortune it is to confess to such a listener to bury in his heart his own life his own search his own suffering but in the end of Siddhartha's tale when he spoke of the tree by the river deep fall of the holy home and how he had felt such a love for the river after his slumber the ferryman listened with twice the attention entirely and completely absorbed by it with his eyes closed and when Siddhartha felt silent and a long silence had occurred then Vasudeva said it is as I thought the river has spoken to you it is your friend as well it speaks to you as well that is good that is very good stay with me Siddhartha my friend I used to have a wife her bed was next to mine but she has died a long time ago for a long time I have lived alone now you shall live with me there is space and food for both I thank you said Siddhartha I thank you and accept and I also thank you for this Vasudeva for listening to me so well these people are rare who know how to listen and I did not meet a single one who knew it as well as you did I will also learn in this respect from you you will learn it spoke Vasudeva but not from me the river has taught me to listen from it you will learn it as well it knows everything the river everything can be learned from it see you've already learned this from the river too that it is good to strive downwards to sink deep the rich and elegant Siddhartha is becoming an osman servant the learned Brahman Siddhartha becomes a fairy man this has also been told to you by the river you'll learn that other thing from it as well quote Siddhartha after a long pause what other thing Vasudeva Vasudeva rose it is late he said let's go to sleep I can't tell you that other thing oh friend you'll learn it or perhaps you already know it see I'm no learned man I have no special skill in speaking I also have no special skill in thinking all I'm able to do is to listen and to be godly and nothing else if I was able to say and to teach it I might be a wise man but like this I am only a fairy man and it is my task to ferry people across the river I have transported many thousands and to all of them my river has been nothing but an obstacle on their travels they travel to seek money and business and on pilgrimages and the river was obstructing their path and the ferryman's job was to get them quickly across that obstacle but for some among the thousands a few four or five the river has stopped being an obstacle they have heard its voice they have listened to it and the river has become sacred to them as it has become sacred to me let's rest now Siddhartha Siddhartha stayed with the ferryman and learned to operate the boat and when there was nothing to do at the ferry he worked with Vasudeva in the rice field gathered wood plucked the fruit off the banana trees he learned to build an ore and learned to mend the boat and to weave baskets and was joyful because of everything he learned and the days and months passed quickly but more than Vasudeva could teach him he was taught by the river incessantly he learned from it most of all he learned from it to listen to pay close attention with a quiet heart with a waiting opened soul without passion without wish without judgment without an opinion in a friendly manner he lived side by side with Vasudeva and occasionally they exchanged some words few and at length thought about words Vasudeva was no friend to words rarely Siddhartha succeeded in persuading him to speak did you? at one time did you too learn that secret from the river that there is no time? Vasudeva's face was filled with a bright smile yes Siddhartha he spoke it is this what you mean isn't it that the river is everywhere at once at the source and at the mouth at the waterfall at the rapids in the sea in the mountains everywhere at once and that there is only the present for it not the shadow of the past not the shadow of the future this it is said Siddhartha and when I had learned it I looked at my life and it was also a river and the boy Siddhartha was only separated from the man Siddhartha the old man Siddhartha by a shadow not something real also Siddhartha's previous births were no past and his death and his return to Brahma was no future nothing was nothing will be everything is everything has existence and is present Siddhartha spoke with ecstasy deeply this enlightenment had delighted him oh was not all suffering time were not all forms of tormenting oneself and being afraid time was not everything hard everything hostile in the world gone and overcome as soon as one had overcome time as soon as time would have been put out of existence by one's thoughts in ecstatic delight he had spoken but Vasudeva smiled at him brightly and nodded in confirmation silently he nodded brushed his hand over Siddhartha's shoulder turned back to his work and once again when the river had just increased its flow in the rainy season and made a powerful noise then said Siddhartha isn't it so oh friend the river has many voices many many voices hasn't it the voice of a king and of a warrior and of a bull and of a bird of the night and a woman giving birth and of a sighing man and a thousand other voices more so it is Vasudeva nodded all voices of the creature are in its voice and do you know Siddhartha continued what word it speaks when you succeed in hearing all of its ten thousand voices at once happily Vasudeva's face was smiling he bent over to Siddhartha and spoke the holy om in his ear and this had been the very thing which Siddhartha had also been hearing and time after time his smile became more similar to the ferryman's became almost just as bright almost just as thoughtfully glowing with bliss just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles just as a like to a child's just as a like to an old man's many travellers seeing the two ferrymen thought they were brothers often they sat in the evening together by the bank on the log said nothing and both listened to the water which was no water to them but the voice of life the voice of what exists of what is eternally taking shape and it happened from time to time that both when listening to the water thought of the same things of a conversation from the day before yesterday of one of their travellers the face and fate of whom had occupied their thoughts of death of their childhood and that they both in the same moment when the weaver had been saying something good to them looked at each other both thinking precisely the same thing both delighted about the same answer to the same question there was something about this ferry and the two ferrymen which was transmitted to others which many of the travellers felt it happened occasionally that a traveller having looked to the face of one of the ferrymen started to tell the story of his life told about pains confessed evil things asked for comfort and advice it happened occasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with them to listen to the river it also happened that curious people came who had been told that there were two wise men sorcerers or holy men living by that ferry the curious people asked many questions but they got no answers and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men they only found two friendly little old men who seemed to be mute and to have become a bit strange and gaga and the curious people laughed and were discussing how foolishly gullibly the common people were spreading such empty rumours the years passed by and nobody counted them then at one time monks came by on a pilgrimage followers of Gautama the Buddha who were asking to be ferried across the river and by then the ferrymen were told that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher for the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon die his last human death in order to become one with the salvation it was not long until a new flock of monks came along on their pilgrimage and another one and the monks as well as most of the other travellers and people walking through the land spoke of nothing else than of Gautama and his impending death and as people are flocking from everywhere and from all sides when they are going to war or to the coronation of a king and are gathering like ants in droves thus they flocked like being drawn on by a magic spell to where the great Buddha was awaiting his death where the huge event was to take place and the great perfected one of an era was to become one with the glory often Siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man the great teacher whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken hundreds of thousands whose voice he had also once heard whose holy face he had also once seen with respect kindly he thought of him saw his path to perfection before his eyes and remembered with a smile those words which he had once as a young man said to him the exalted one they had been so it seemed to him proud and precocious words with a smile he remembered them for a long time he knew that there was nothing standing between Gautama and him anymore though he was still unable to accept his teachings no there was no teaching a truly searching person someone who truly wanted to find could accept but he who had found he could approve of any teachings every path every goal there was nothing standing between him and all the other thousand people anymore who lived in that what is eternal who breathed what is divine on one of these days when so many went on a pilgrimage to the dying Buddha Kamala also went to him who used to be one of the most beautiful of the courtesans a long time ago she had retired from her previous life had given her garden to the monks of Gautama as a gift had taken her refuge in the teachings was among the friends and benefactors of the pilgrims together with Siddhartha the boy her son she had gone on her way due to the news of the near death of Gautama in simple clothes on foot with her little son she was travelling by the river but the boy had soon grown desired desired to go back home desired to rest desired to eat became disobedient and started whining Kamala often had to take a rest with him he was accustomed to having his way against her she had to feed him had to comfort him had to scold him he did not comprehend his exhausting and sad pilgrimage with his mother to an unknown place to a stranger who was holy and about to die so what if he died how did this concern the boy the pilgrims were getting close to Vasudeva's ferry when little Siddhartha once again forced his mother to rest she, Kamala herself had also become tired and while the boy was chewing a banana she crouched down on the ground closed her eyes a bit and rested but suddenly she uttered a wailing scream the boy looked at her in fear and saw her face having grown pale from horror and from under her dress a small black snake fled by which Kamala had been bitten hurriedly they now both ran along the path in order to reach people and got near the ferry there Kamala collapsed and was not able to go any further but the boy started crying miserably only interrupting it to kiss and hug his mother and she also joined his loud screams for help until the sound reached Vasudeva's ears to the ferry quickly he came walking took the woman on his arms carried her into the boat the boy ran along and soon they all reached the hut where Siddhartha stood by the stove and was just lighting the fire he looked up and first saw the boy's face which wondrously reminded him of something like a warning to remember something he had forgotten then he saw Kamala whom he instantly recognized though she lay unconscious in the ferryman's arms and now he knew that it was his own son whose face had been such a warning reminder to him and the heart stirred in his chest Kamala's wound was washed but had already turned black and her body was swollen she was made to drink a healing potion her consciousness returned she lay on Siddhartha's bed in the hut and bent over her stood Siddhartha who used to love her so much it seemed like a dream to her with a smile she looked at her friend's face just slowly she realized her situation remembered the bite called timidly for the boy he's with you don't worry said Siddhartha Kamala looked into his eyes she spoke with a heavy tongue paralyzed by the poison you've become old my dear she said you've become grey but you are like the young Samana who at one time came without clothes dusty feet to me into the garden you are much more like him than you were like him at the time when you had left me and Kamaswami in the eyes you're like him Siddhartha alas I have also grown old old could you still recognize me Siddhartha smiled instantly I recognized you Kamala my dear Kamala pointed to her boy and said did you recognize him as well he is your son her eyes became confused and fell shocked the boy wept Siddhartha took him on his knees let him weep petted his hair and at the sight of the child's face a Brahman prayer came to his mind which he had learned a long time ago when he had been a little boy himself slowly with a singing voice he started to speak from his past and childhood the words came flowing to him and with that sing-song the boy became calm was only now and then uttering a sob and fell asleep Siddhartha placed him in Vasudeva's bed Vasudeva stood by the stove and cooked rice Siddhartha gave him a look which he returned with a smile she'll die Siddhartha said quietly Vasudeva nodded over his friendly face ran the light of the stove's fire once again Kamala returned to consciousness pain distorted her face Siddhartha's eyes read the suffering on her mouth on her pale cheeks quietly he read it attentively waiting his mind becoming one with her suffering Kamala felt it her gaze sought his eyes looking at him she said now I see that your eyes have changed as well they've become completely different but what do I still recognize that you're Siddhartha it's you and it's not you Siddhartha said nothing quietly his eyes looked at hers you have achieved it she asked you have found peace he smiled and placed his hand on hers seeing it she said I'm seeing it I too will find peace you have found it Siddhartha spoke in a whisper Kamala never stopped looking into his eyes she thought about her pilgrimage to Gautama which wanted to take in order to see the face of the perfect one to breathe his peace and she thought that she had now found him in his place and that it was good just as good as if she had seen the other one she wanted to tell this to him but the tongue no longer obeyed her will without speaking she looked at him and he saw the life fading from her eyes when the final pain filled her eyes and made them grow dim when the final shiver ran through her limbs his finger closed her eyelids for a long time he sat and looked at her peacefully dead face for a long time he observed her mouth her old tired mouth with those lips which had become thin and he remembered that he used to in the spring of his years compare this mouth with a freshly cracked fig for a long time he sat red in the pale face in the tired wrinkles filled himself with this sight saw his own face lying in the same manner just as white just as quenched out and saw at the same time his face and hers being young with red lips with fiery eyes feeling of this both being present and at the time real the feeling of eternity completely filled every aspect of his being deeply he felt more deeply than ever before in this hour the indestructibility of every life the eternity of every moment when he rose Vasudeva had prepared rice for him but Siddhartha did not eat in the stable where their goat stood the two old men prepared beds of straw for themselves and Vasudeva lay himself down to sleep but Siddhartha went outside and sat this night before the hut listening to the river surrounded by the past touched and encircled by all times of his life at the same time but occasionally he rose stepped to the door of the hut and listened whether the boy was sleeping early in the morning even before the sun could be seen Vasudeva came out of the stable and walked over to his friend you haven't slept he said no Vasudeva I sat here I was listening to the river a lot it has told me deeply it has filled me with the healing thought with the thought of oneness you've experienced suffering Siddhartha but I see no sadness has entered your heart no my dear how should I be sad I who have been rich and happy I am even richer and happier now my son has been given to me your son shall be welcome to me as well but now Siddhartha let's get to work there is much to be done Kamala has died on the same bed on which my wife had died a long time ago let us also build Kamala's funeral pile on the same hill on which I had then built my wife's funeral pile while the boy was still asleep they built the funeral pile end of chapter nine chapter ten of Siddhartha this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Herman Hesse translated by Gupta Olsh, Anke Dreya Amy Coulter, Stefan Langer and Semyon Chachanetz and read by Adrian Pretzelis chapter ten the son timid and weeping the boy had attended his mother's funeral glue me and shy he had listened to Siddhartha who greeted him as his son and welcomed him at his place in Vasadeva's hut Hale he sat for many days by the hill of the dead did not want to eat gave no open look did not open his heart met his fate with resistance and denial Siddhartha spared him and let him do as he pleased he honoured his morning Siddhartha understood that his son did not know him that he could not love him like a father slowly he also saw and understood that the eleven-year-old was a pampered boy a mother's boy and that he had grown up in the habits of rich people accustomed to finer food to a soft bed accustomed to giving orders to servants Siddhartha understood that the morning pampered child could not only and willingly be content with a life among strangers and in poverty he did not force him he did many a chore for him always picked the best piece of the meal for him slowly he hoped to win him over by friendly patience rich and happy he had called himself when the boy had come to him since time had passed on in the meanwhile and the boy remained a stranger with a gloomy disposition since he displayed a proud and stubbornly disobedient heart did not want to do any work did not pay his respect to the old men stole from Vasudeva's fruit trees then Siddhartha began to understand that his son had not brought him happiness and peace but suffering and worry but he loved him and he preferred the suffering of love over happiness and joy without the boy since young Siddhartha was in the hut the old man had split the work Vasudeva had again taken on the job of the ferryman all by himself and Siddhartha in order to be with his son did the work in the hut and in the field for a long time for long months Siddhartha waited for his son to understand him to accept his love to perhaps reciprocated for long months Vasudeva waited watching, waited and said nothing one day 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 Vasudeva took in the evening his friend aside and talked to him pardon me he said from a friendly heart I am talking to you I am seeing that you are tormenting yourself I am seeing that you are in grief your son my dear is worrying you and he is also worrying me that young bird is accustomed to a different life to a different nest he has not like you run away from riches to a different city being disgusted and fed up with it against his will he had to leave all this behind I asked the river friend many times I have asked it at the river laughs it laughs at me it laughs at you and me and is shaking with laughter at our foolishness water wants to join water youth wants to join youth your son is not in the place where he can prosper you too should ask the river you too should listen to it Siddhartha looked into his friendly face in the many wrinkles of which there was an incessant cheerfulness how could I part with him he said quietly ashamed give me some more time my dear see I am fighting for him I can win his heart with love and with friendly patience I intend to capture it one day the river shall also talk to him he also is called upon Vasudeva's smile flourished more warmly oh yes he too is called upon he too is of the eternal life but do we you and me are called upon to do what path to take what actions to perform what pain to endure not a small one his pain will be after all his heart is proud and hard people like this have to suffer a lot err a lot do much injustice burden themselves with much sin tell me 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 Vasudeva I don't do anything of this I knew it you don't force him, don't beat him don't give him orders because you know that soft is stronger than hard water stronger than rocks love stronger than force very good I praise you you're mistaken in thinking that you wouldn't force him wouldn't punish him don't you shackle him with your love don't you make him feel inferior every day and don't you make it even harder on him with your kindness and patience don't you force him the arrogant and pampered boy to live in a hut with two old banana eaters to whom even rice is a delicacy whose thoughts can't be his his hearts are old and quiet and beats in a different pace than his isn't forced isn't he punished by all this troubled Siddhartha looked to the ground quietly he asked what do you think I should do quote Vasudeva bring him into the city bring him into his mother's house there'll still be servants around bring him to them and when there aren't any around anymore bring him to a teacher not for the teaching's sake but so that he shall be among other boys and among girls and in the world which is his own have you never thought of this you're seeing into my heart Siddhartha spoke sadly often I have thought of this but look how shall I put him who had no tender heart anyhow into this world won't he become exuberant won't he lose himself to pleasure and power won't he repeat all of his father's mistakes won't he perhaps get entirely lost in sansara brightly the ferryman smile lit up softly he touched his Arthur's arm and said ask the river about it 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 prayer admonition my dear have you entirely forgotten that story that story containing so many lessons that story about Siddhartha a Brahman son which you once told me here on this very spot who has kept the Samana Siddhartha's shape from sansara from sin from greed from foolishness were his father's religious devotion his teachers warnings his own knowledge his own search able to keep him safe which father which teacher had been able to protect him from living his life for himself from soiling himself with life from burdening himself with guilt from drinking the bitter drink for himself from finding his path for himself would you think my dear anybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path that perhaps your little son would be spared because you love him because you would like to keep him safe because you would like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment but even if you would die ten times for him you would not be able to take the slightest part of his destiny upon yourself never before Vazudeva had spoken so many words kindly Siddhartha thanked him went troubled into the heart could not sleep for a long time Vazudeva had told him nothing he had not already thought and known for himself but this was a knowledge he could not act upon stronger than the knowledge was his love for the boy stronger was his tenderness his fear to lose him had he ever lost his heart so much to something had he ever loved any person thus thus blindly thus sufferingly thus unsuccessfully and yet thus happily Siddhartha could not heed his friend's advice he could not give up the boy he let the boy give him orders he let him disregard him he said nothing and waited daily he began the mute struggle of friendliness the silent war of patience Vazudeva said nothing and waited friendly knowing patient they were both masters of patience at one time when the boy's face reminded him very much of Kamala Siddhartha suddenly had to think of a line which Kamala a long time ago in the days of their youth had once said to him you cannot love and he had agreed with her and had compared himself to a star while comparing the childlike people with falling leaves and nevertheless he had also sensed an accusation in that line indeed he had never been able to lose or devote himself completely to another person to forget himself to commit foolish acts for the love of another person never he had been able to do this and this was as it seemed to him at that time the great distinction which set him apart from the childlike people but now since his son was here now he, Siddhartha had become completely a childlike person suffering for the sake of another person loving another person lost to a love having become a fool on account of love now he too felt late once in his lifetime this strongest and strangest of all passions suffered from it suffered miserably and was nevertheless in bliss was nevertheless renewed in one respect enriched by the one thing he did sense very well that his love this blind love for his son was a passion something very human that it was sansara a murky source dark waters nevertheless he felt at the same time it was not worthless it was necessary came from the essence of his own being this pleasure also had to be atoned for this pain also had to be endured these foolish acts also had to be committed through all this let him commit his foolish acts let him court for his affection let him humiliate himself every day by giving in to his moods this father had nothing which could have delighted him and nothing which he would have feared he was a good man this father a good kind soft man perhaps a very devout man perhaps a saint all these were no attributes which could win the boy over he was bored by his father who kept him prisoner here in this miserable hut of his he was bored by him and for him to answer every naughtiness with a smile every insult with friendliness every viciousness with kindness this very thing was the hated trick of this old sneak more the boy would have liked it if he had been threatened by him if he had been abused by him a day came when what young Siddhartha had on his mind came bursting forth and he openly turned against his father the latter had given him a task he had told him to gather brushwood but the boy did not leave the hut in stubborn disobedience and rage he stayed where he was thumped on the ground with his feet clenched his fists and screamed in a powerful outburst his hatred and contempt into his father's face get the brushwood for yourself he shouted foaming at the mouth I'm not your servant I do know that you won't hit me you don't dare I do know that you constantly want to punish me and put me down with your religious devotion and your indulgence you want me to become like you just as devout just as soft just as wise but I listen up just to make you suffer I rather want to become a highway robber and a murderer and to go to hell than to become like you I hate you you're not my father as fornicator rage and grief boiled over in him foamed at the father in a hundred savage and evil words then the boy ran away and only returned late at night but the next morning he had disappeared what had also disappeared was a small basket woven out of bast of two colours in which the ferriman kept those copper and silver coins the boat had also disappeared Siddhartha sorted lying by the opposite bank the boy had run away I must follow him said Siddhartha who had been shivering with grief since those ranting speeches the boy had made yesterday a child can't go through the forest all alone he'll perish we must build a raft, Vasudeva to get over the water we will build a raft said Vasudeva to get our boat back which the boy has taken away but him you shall let run along my friend he is no child anymore he knows how to get around he's looking for the path to the city and he is right don't forget that he's doing what you failed to do yourself he's taking care of himself he's taking his course alas Siddhartha I see you suffering but you're suffering a pain at which one would like to laugh at which you'll soon laugh for yourself Siddhartha did not answer he already held the axe in his hands and began to make a raft of bamboo and Vasudeva helped him to tie the canes together with ropes of grass then they crossed over drifted far off their course pulled the raft up river on the opposite bank why did you take the axe along asked Siddhartha Vasudeva said it might have been possible that the ore of our boat got lost but Siddhartha knew what his friend was thinking he thought the boy would have thrown away or broken the ore in order to get even and in order to keep them from following him and in fact there was no ore left in the boat Vasudeva pointed at the bottom of the boat and looked at his friend with a smile as if he wanted to say don't you see what your son is trying to tell you? don't you see that he doesn't want to be followed? but he did not say this in words he started making a new ore but Siddhartha bid his farewell to look for the runaway Vasudeva did not stop him when Siddhartha had already been walking through the forest for a long time the thought occurred to him that his search was useless either so he thought the boy was far ahead and had already reached the city or if he should still be on his way he would conceal himself from him the pursuer as he continued thinking he also found that he on his part was not worried for his son for he knew deep inside that he had neither perished nor was in any danger in the forest nevertheless he ran without stopping no longer to save him just to satisfy his desire just to perhaps see him one more time and he ran up to just outside the city when near the city he reached a wide road he stopped by the entrance of the beautiful pleasure garden which used to belong to Kamala where he had seen her for the first time in her sedan chair the past rose up in his soul again he saw himself standing there young a bearded naked Samana his hair full of dust for a long time Siddhartha stood there and looked through the open gate to the garden seeing monks in yellow robes walking among the beautiful trees for a long time he stood there pondering seeing images listening to the story of his life for a long time he stood there looked at the monks saw young Siddhartha in their place saw young Kamala walking among the high trees clearly he saw himself being served food drink by Kamala receiving his first kiss from her looking proudly and disdainfully back on his Brahmanism beginning proudly and full of desire his worldly life he saw Kamaswamy saw the servants the orgies the gamblers with the dice the musicians saw Kamala's songbird in the cage live through all this once again breathed sansara was once again old and tired felt once again disgust felt once again the wish to annihilate himself was once again healed by the holy om after having been standing at the gate of the garden for a long time Siddhartha realized that his desire was foolish which had made him go up to this place that he could not help his son that he was not allowed to cling him deeply he felt the love for the runaway in his heart like a wound and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it that it had to become a blossom and had to shine that this wound did not blossom yet did not shine yet that this hour made him sad instead of the desired goal which had drawn him here following the runaway son there was now emptiness sadly he sat down felt something dying in his heart experienced emptiness saw no joy anymore no goal he sat lost in thought and waited for the river this one thing waiting having patience listening attentively and he sat and listened in the dust of the road listened to his heart beating tiredly and sadly waited for a voice many an hour he crouched listening saw no images anymore fell into emptiness let himself fall without seeing a path and when he felt the wound burning he silently spoke the ome filled himself with ome the monks in the garden saw him and since he crouched there for many hours and dust was gathering on his grey hair one of them came to him and placed two bananas in front of him the old man did not see him in this petrified state he was awoken by a hand touching his shoulder instantly he recognized this touch this tender bashful touch and regained his senses he rose and greeted Vasudeva who had followed him and when he looked into Vasudeva's friendly face into the small wrinkles which were as if they were filled with nothing but his smile then he smiled too now he saw the bananas lying in front of him picked them up, gave one to the ferryman ate the other one himself after this he silently went back into the forest with Vasudeva returned home to the ferry neither one talked about what had happened today neither one mentioned the boy's name neither one spoke about him running away neither one spoke about the wound in the hut Siddhartha lay down on his bed and when after a while Vasudeva came to him to offer him a bowl of coconut milk he already found him asleep End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Siddhartha This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse translated by Gunter Olsch, Anke Dreher, Amy Coulter Stefan Langer and Simeon Chachanetz and read by Adrian Pretzelis Chapter 11 Olm For a long time the wound continued to burn Many a traveller Siddhartha had to ferry across the river who was accompanied by a son or a daughter and he saw none of them without envying him without thinking so many, so many thousands possess this sweetest of good fortunes why don't I even bad people even thieves and robbers have children and love them and are being loved by them all except for me thus simply thus without reason he now thought thus similar to the childlike people he had become differently than before he now looked upon people less smart less proud but instead warmer, more curious more involved when he ferried travellers of the ordinary kind childlike people businessmen, warriors women people did not seem alien to him as they used to he understood them he understood and shared their life which was not guided by thoughts and insight but solely by urges and wishes he felt like them though he was near perfection and was bearing his final wound it seemed to him as if those childlike people were his brothers their vanities desires for possession and ridiculous aspects were no longer ridiculous to him became understandable became lovable and even became worthy of veneration to him the blind love of a mother for her child the stupid blind pride of a conceited father for his only son the blind wild desire of a young vain woman for jewellery and admiring glances from men all of these urges all of this childish stuff all of these simple foolish but immensely strong, strongly living strongly prevailing urges and desires were now no childish notions for Siddhartha anymore he saw people living for their sake saw them achieving infinitely much for their sake travelling, conducting wars suffering infinitely much and he could love them for it he saw life that, what is alive the indestructible the brahmin in each of their passions each of their acts worthy of love and admiration were these people in their blind loyalty their blind strength and tenacity they lacked nothing there was nothing the knowledgeable one the thinker had put himself above them except for one thing a single, tiny small thing the consciousness the conscious thought of the oneness of all life and Siddhartha even doubted in many an hour whether this knowledge, this thought was to be valued thus highly whether it might also perhaps be a childish idea of the thinking people of the thinking and childlike people in all other respects the worldly people were of equal rank to the wise men were often far superior to them just as animals too can after in some moments seem to be superior to humans in their tough, unrelenting performance of what is necessary slowly blossomed slowly ripened in Siddhartha the realisation the knowledge what wisdom actually was what the goal of his long search was it was nothing but a reddiness of the soul an ability, a secret art to think every moment while living his life the thought of oneness to be able to feel and inhale the oneness slowly this blossomed in him was shining back at him from Vasudeva's old childlike face harmony knowledge of the eternal perfection of the world smiling oneness but the wound still burned longingly and bitterly Siddhartha thought of his son nurtured his love and tenderness in his heart allowed the pain to gnaw at him committed all foolish acts of love not by itself this flame would go out one day when the wound burned violently Siddhartha ferried across the river driven by a yearning got off the boat and was willing to go to the city and to look for his son the river flowed softly and quietly it was the dry season but its voice sounded strange it laughed it laughed clearly the river laughed it laughed brightly and clearly Siddhartha stopped he bent over the water in order to hear even better and he saw his face reflected in the quietly moving waters and in this reflected face there was something which reminded him something he had forgotten and as he thought about it he found it his face resembled another face which he used to know and love and also fear resembled his father's face the Brahmin and he remembered how he a long time ago as a young man had forced his father to let him go to the penitents how he had bared his furwell to him how he had gone and had never come back had his father not also suffered the same pain for him which he now suffered for his son had his father not long without having seen his son again did he not have to expect the same fate for himself was it not a comedy a strange and stupid matter this repetition this running around in a fateful circle the river laughed yes so it was everything came back which had not been suffered and solved up to its end over and over again but Siddhartha went back into the boat and ferried back to the hut thinking of his father thinking of his son laughed at by the river at odds with himself tending towards despair and not less tending towards laughing along at himself and the entire world alas the wound was not blossoming again the hut was still fighting his fate cheerfulness and victory were not yet shining from his suffering nevertheless he felt hope and once he had returned to the hut he felt an undefeatable desire to open up to Vasudeva to show him everything the master of listening to say everything Vasudeva was sitting in the hut and weaving a basket to use the ferry boat his eyes were starting to get weak and not just his eyes his arms and hands as well unchanging and flourishing was only the joy and the cheerful benevolence of his face Siddhartha sat down next to the old man slowly he started talking what they had never talked about he now told him of of his walk to the city at that time of the burning wound of his envy at the sight of happy fathers of his knowledge of the foolishness of such wishes of his futile fight against them he reported everything he was able to say everything even the most embarrassing parts everything could be said everything shown everything he could tell he presented his wound also told how he fled today how he ferried across the water a childlike runaway willing to walk to the city how the river had laughed while he spoke spoke for a long time while Vasudeva was listening with a quiet face Vasudeva's listening gave Siddhartha a stronger sensation than ever before he sensed how his pain his fears flowed over to him how his secret hope flowed over came back at him from his counterpart to show his wound to this listener was the same as bathing it in the river until it had cooled and become one with the river while he was still speaking still admitting and confessing Siddhartha felt more and more that this was no longer Vasudeva no longer a human being who was listening to him that this motionless listener was absorbing his confession into himself like a tree the rain that this motionless man was the river itself that he was God himself that he was the eternal itself and while Siddhartha stopped thinking of himself and his wound this realization of Vasudeva's changed character took possession of him and the more he felt it the less wondrous it became the more he realized that everything was in order and natural that Vasudeva had already been like this for a long time almost forever that only he had not quite recognized it yes that he himself had almost reached the same state he felt that he was now seeing old Vasudeva as the people see the gods could not last in his heart he started bidding his farewell to Vasudeva through all this he talked incessantly when he had finished talking Vasudeva turned his friendly eyes which had grown slightly weak at him said nothing let his silent love and cheerfulness understanding and knowledge shine at him he took Siddhartha's hand led him to the seat of the bank sat down with him smiled at the river you've heard it laugh he said but you haven't heard everything let's listen you'll hear more they listened softly sounded the river singing in many voices Siddhartha looked into the river and images appeared to him in the moving water his father appeared lonely, morning for his son he himself appeared lonely he also being tied with the bondage of yearning to his distant son his son appeared lonely as well the boy greedily rushing along the burning course of his young wishes each one heading for his goal each one obsessed by the goal each one suffering the river sang with a voice of suffering longingly it sang longingly it flowed towards its goal lamentingly its voice sang do you hear Vasudeva's mute gaze asked Siddhartha nodded listen better Vasudeva whispered Siddhartha made an effort to listen better the image of his father his own image of his son merged Kamala's image also appeared and was dispersed and the image of Govinda and other images and they merged with each other turned all into the river headed all being the river for the goal longing, desiring, suffering and the river's voice sounded full of yearning full of burning woe full of unsatisfiable desire for the goal the river was heading Siddhartha saw it hurrying the river which consisted of him and his loved ones and of all people he had ever seen all of these waves and waters were hurrying suffering towards goals many goals the waterfall, the lake the rapids, the sea and all goals were reached and every goal was followed by one and the water turned into vapor and rose to the sky turned into rain and poured down from the sky turned into a source a stream, a river headed forward once again flowed on once again but the longing voice had changed it still resounded full of suffering searching but other voices joined it voices of joy and of suffering good and bad voices laughing and sad ones a hundred voices a thousand voices Siddhartha listened he was now nothing but a listener completely concentrated on listening completely empty he felt that he had now finished learning to listen often before he had heard all this these many voices in the river today it sounded new already he could no longer tell the many voices apart not the happy ones from the weeping ones not the ones of children from those of men they all belong together the lamentation of yearning and the laughter of the knowledgeable one the scream of rage and the moaning of the dying ones everything was one everything was intertwined and connected entangled a thousand times and everything altogether all voices all goals all yearning all suffering all pleasure all that was good and evil all of this together was the world all of it together was the flow of events was the music of life and when Siddhartha was listening attentively to this river singing of a thousand voices when he neither listened to the suffering nor the laughter when he did not tie his soul to any particular voice and submerged himself into it but when he heard them all perceived the whole the oneness then the great song of the thousand voices consisted of a single word which was OM the perfection do you hear these days asked again brightly Vasudeva's smile was shining floating radiantly over all the wrinkles of his old face as the OM was floating in the air above all the voices of the river brightly his smile was shining when he looked at his friend and brightly the same smile was now starting to shine on Siddhartha's face as well his wound blossomed his suffering shining his self had flown into the oneness in this hour Siddhartha stopped fighting his fate stopped suffering on his face flourished the cheerfulness of a knowledge which is no longer opposed by any will which knows perfection which is in agreement with the flow of events with the current of life full of sympathy for the pain of others sympathy for the pleasure of others devoted to the flow belonging to the oneness when Vasudeva rose from the seat by the bank when he looked into Siddhartha's eyes and saw the cheerfulness of the knowledge shining in them he softly touched his shoulder with his hand in his careful and tender manner and said I've been waiting for this hour my dear and now that it has come let me leave for a long time I've been waiting for this hour for a long time I've been Vasudeva the ferryman now it's enough farewell hut farewell river farewell Siddhartha Siddhartha made a deep bow before him who bid his farewell I've known it he said quietly you'll go into the forests I am going into the forests I am going into the oneness spoke Vasudeva with a bright smile with a bright smile he left Siddhartha watched him leaving with deep joy with great solemnity he watched him leave saw his steps full of peace saw his head full of lustre saw his body full of light End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Siddhartha This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse Translated by Gunter Olsch Anke Dreher Amy Coulter Stefan Langer and Simeon Chachanetz and read by Adrian Pretzelis Chapter 12 Govinda Together with other monks Govinda used to spend the time of rest between pilgrimages in the Pleasure Grove which the courtesan Kamala had given to the followers of Gautama for a gift He heard talk of an old ferryman who lived one day's journey away by the river and who was regarded as a wise man by many When Govinda went back on his way he chose the path to the ferry eager to see the ferryman because although he had lived his entire life by the rules though he was also looked upon with veneration by the younger monks on account of his age and modesty the restlessness and the searching still had not perished from his heart He came to the river and asked the old man to ferry him over and when they got off the boat on the other side he said to the old man You're very good to us monks and pilgrims You've already ferried many of us across the river Aren't you too ferryman a searcher for the right path Quoth Siddhartha smiling from his old eyes Do you call yourself a searcher a venerable one though you are already old in years and are wearing the robe of Gautama's monks It's true I am old spoke Govinda but I haven't stopped searching Never I'll stop searching this seems to be my destiny You too so it seems to me have been searching Would you like to tell me something O honourable one Quoth Siddhartha What should I possibly have to tell you O venerable one Perhaps that you're searching far too much that in all that searching you don't find the time for a finding How come asked Govinda When someone is searching said Siddhartha then it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes still see is that which he searches for that he is unable to find anything to let anything enter his mind because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search because he has a goal because he is obsessed by the goal Searching means having a goal and finding means being free being open having no goal You O venerable one are perhaps indeed a searcher because striving for your goal there are many things you don't see which are directly in front of your eyes I don't quite understand yet said Govinda What do you mean by this Quote Siddhartha A long time ago O venerable one many years ago you've once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by the river and have sat down with him to guard his sleep But O Govinda you did not recognize the sleeping man astonished as if he had been the object of a magic spell the monk looked into the ferryman's eyes Are you Siddhartha he asked with a timid voice I wouldn't have recognized you this time as well from my heart I'm greeting you Siddhartha from my heart I'm happy to see you once again you've changed a lot my friend and so you've now become a ferryman in a friendly manner Siddhartha laughed a ferryman yes many people Govinda have to change a lot have to wear many a robe I am one of those my dear be welcome Govinda and spend the night in my heart Govinda stayed the night in the hut and slept on the bed which used to be Vasudeva's bed many questions he posed to the friend of his youth many things Siddhartha had to tell him from his life when in the next morning the time had come to start the day's journey Govinda said not without hesitation these words before I'll continue my path Siddhartha permit me to ask one more question do you have a teaching do you have a faith or a knowledge you follow which helps you to live you're right quote Siddhartha you know my dear that I already as a young man in those days when we lived with the penitents in the forest started distrust teachers and teachings and to turn my back to them I have stuck with this nevertheless I have had many teachers since then a beautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time the merchant was my teacher and some gamblers with dice once even a follower of Buddha travelling on foot has been my teacher he sat with me while I had fallen asleep in the forest on the pilgrimage I've also learned from him I'm also grateful to him very grateful but most of all I've learned here from this river and from my predecessor the ferryman Vasudeva he was a very simple person Vasudeva he was no thinker but he knew what is necessary just as well as Gautama he was a perfect man a saint Govinda said Siddhartha you love a bit to mock people as it seems to me I believe in you and know that you haven't followed a teacher by yourself though you've found no teachings you still found certain thoughts certain insights which are your own and which help you to live if you would like to tell me some of these you would delight my heart both Siddhartha I've had thoughts yes and insight again and again sometimes for an hour or for an entire day it's hard there have been many thoughts but it would be hard for me to convey them to you look my dear Govinda this is one of my thoughts which I have found wisdom cannot be passed on wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to someone always sounds like foolishness are you kidding ask Govinda I'm not kidding it can be found knowledge can be conveyed but not wisdom it can be found it can be lived it is possible to be carried by it miracles can be performed with it but it cannot be expressed in words and taught this was what I even as a young man sometimes suspected what has driven me away from the teachers I have found a thought Govinda which you'll again regard as a joke or foolishness but which is my best thought it says the opposite of every truth is just as true that's like this every truth can only be expressed and put into words when it is one sided everything is one sided which can be thought with thoughts and said with words and said all just one half all lacks completeness roundness oneness when the exalted Gautama spoke in his teachings of the world he had to divide it into sansara and nirvana into deception and truth into suffering and salvation it cannot be done differently there is no other way for him or herself what exists around us inside of us is never one sided a person or an act is never entirely sansara or entirely nirvana a person is never entirely holy or entirely sinful it does really seem like this because we are subject to deception as if time was something real time is not real Govinda I have experienced this often and often again and if time is not real then the gap which seems to be between the world and the eternity between suffering and blissfulness between good and evil is also a deception how come, ask Govinda timidly listen well my dear listen well the sinner which I am and which you are is a sinner when times to come he will be Brahma again he will reach the nirvana will be Buddha and now see these times to come are a deception are only a parable the sinner is not on his way to become a Buddha he is not in the process of developing though our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things no within the sinner is now and today already the future Buddha his future is already all there you have to worship in him in you in everyone the Buddha which is coming into being the possible the hidden Buddha the world my friend Govinda is not imperfect or on a slow path towards perfection no it is perfect in every moment all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself all small children already have the old person in themselves all infants already have death all dying people the eternal life it is not possible for any person to see how far another one has already progressed on his path in the robber and the dice gambler the Buddha is waiting in the Brahman waiting in deep meditation there is the possibility to put time out of existence to see all life which was is and will be as if it was simultaneous and there everything is good everything is perfect everything is Brahman therefore I see whatever exists as good death is to me like life sin like holiness wisdom like foolishness everything has to be as it is everything only requires my consent only my willingness my loving agreement to be good for me to do nothing but work for my benefit to be unable to ever harm me I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I needed sin very much I needed lust for possessions vanity and needed the most shameful despair in order to learn how to give up all resistance in order to learn how to love the world in order to stop comparing it to some world I wished I imagined some kind of perfection I had made up but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy being a part of it these, oh Govinda are some of the thoughts which have come into my mind Siddhartha bent down picked up a stone from the ground and weighed it in his hand this here he said playing with it is a stone and will after a certain time perhaps turn into soil and will turn from soil into a plant or an animal or human being in the past I would have said this stone is just a stone it is worthless it belongs to the world of the Maya but because it might be able to become also a human being and a spirit in the cycle of transformations therefore I also granted importance thus I would perhaps have thought in the past but today I think this stone is a stone it is also animal it is also God it is also Buddha I do not venerate and love it because it could turn into this or that but rather because it is already and always everything and it is this very fact that it is a stone that it appears to me now and today as a stone this is why I love it and see worth and purpose in each of its veins and cavities in the yellow in the sound it makes when I knock at it in the dryness or wetness of its surface there are stones which feel like oil or soap and others like leaves others like sand and everyone is special and praise the om in its own way each one is Brahman but simultaneously and just as much it is a stone it is oily or juicy it is this very fact which I like and regard as wonderful and worthy of worship but let me speak no more of this the words are not good for the secret meaning everything always becomes a bit different as soon as it is put into words gets distorted a bit a bit silly yes and this is also very good and I like it a lot I also very much agree with this that this what is one man's treasure and wisdom always sounds like foolishness to another person Govinda listened silently why have you told me this about the stone he asked hesitantly after a pause I did it without a 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 and which we can learn I can love a stone Govinda and also a tree or a piece of bark these 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 is these which keep you from finding peace perhaps it is 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 quote 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 spoke to him he learned from it it educated and taught him 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 worshiped 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 maya 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 the most important thing of all to thoroughly understand the world to explain it to despise it maybe the thing great thinkers do but I am 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 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 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 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 of Inder 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 wish you to have calm days but secretly he thought to himself this Siddhartha is a bizarre person he expresses bizarre thoughts his teaching sound foolish how differently sound the exalted ones pure teachings clearer purer more comprehensible nothing strange foolish or silly as 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 body his writing 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 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 understand give me something to be with me on my path it is 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 not finding Siddhartha saw it and smiled bend down to me he whispered quietly in Govinda's ear bend down to me like this even closer very closer 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 dwelling on Siddhartha's wondrous words while he was still struggling in vain and with reluctance to think away time to ignore Nirvana and Sansara as one while even a certain contempt for the words of his friend was fighting in him against an immense love and veneration this happened to him he no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha instead he saw other faces many a long sequence a flowing river of faces of hundreds of thousands which all came and disappeared and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously which all constantly changed and renewed themselves all Siddhartha he saw the face of a fish a carp with infinitely painful opened mouth the face of a dying fish with fading eyes he saw the face of a newborn child red and full of wrinkles distorted from crying he saw the face of a murderer he saw him plunging a knife into the body of another person he saw in the same second this criminal in bondage kneeling and his head being chopped off by the executioner with one blow of his sword he saw the bodies of men and women naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love he saw corpses stretched out motionless cold void he saw the heads of animals of boars of crocodiles of elephants of bulls of birds he saw gods he saw Krishna he saw Agni he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships with one another each one helping the other loving it hating it destroying it giving rebirth to it each one was a will to die a passionate painful confession of transitoriness and yet none of them died each one only transformed was always reborn received ever more a new face without any time having passed between the one and the other face and all of these figures and faces rested flowed generated themselves floated along and merged with each other and they were all constantly covered by something thin without individuality of its own but yet existing like a thin glass or ice like a transparent skin a shell or mould or mask of water and this mask was smiling and this mask was Siddhartha's smiling face which he, Govinda, in this very same moment touched with his lips and Govinda saw it like this this smile of the mask this smile of oneness this smile of oneness above the flowing forms this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths this smile of Siddhartha was precisely the same was precisely of the same kind as the quiet, delicate, impenetrable perhaps benevolent perhaps mocking, wise thousandfold smile of Gotama the Buddha as he had seen it himself perfect a hundred times like this, Govinda knew the perfected ones are smiling not knowing any more whether time existed whether the vision had lasted a second or a hundred years not knowing any more whether there existed a Siddhartha, a Gotama a me and a you feeling in his innermost self as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow the injury of which tasted sweet being enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self Govinda stood still for a little while bent over Siddhartha's quiet face which he had just kissed which had just been the scene of all manifestations all transformations all existence the face was unchanged after under its surface the depth of the thousandfoldness had closed up again he smiled sweetly smiled quietly and softly perhaps benevolently perhaps very mockingly precisely as he used to smile the exalted one deeply Govinda bowed tears he knew nothing of ran down his old face like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love the humblest veneration in his heart deeply he bowed touching the ground before him who was sitting motionlessly who smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in his life what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life End of Chapter 12 and End of Siddhartha by Herman Hesse read by Adrian Pretzellis in Santa Rosa, California June 2008