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01 - Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse · Classic Adventure Books Library

• First part to Romayne Rowland, My Dear Friend, Chapter one, The son of the Brahman, in the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the river bank, near the boats, in the shade of the salward forest, in the shade of the fig tree, is where Siddartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young Falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings in the mango grove. Shade poured into his black eyes when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddartha 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 olm 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 utman 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 Brahmans. 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, Siddarthur, strong, handsome, he who was walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect respect. Love touched the hearts of the Brahman's young daughters when Siddartha walked through the lanes of the town, with the luminous forehead, with the eye of a king, with his slim hips. But more than all the others, he was loved by Govinda, his friend, the son of a Brahman. He loved Siddartha's eye and sweet voice. He loved his walk and the perfect decency of his movements. He loved everything Siddartha did and said, And what he loved most was his spirit, his transcendent, fiery thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling. Govinda knew he would not become a common Brahman, not a lazy official in charge of offerings, not a greedy merchant with magic spells, not a vain, vacuous speaker, not a mean, deceitful priest, and also not a decent, stupid sheep in the herd of the many. No, and he, Govinda as well, did not want to become one of these, not one of those tens of thousands of Brahmans. He wanted to follow sid Arthur, the beloved, the splendid, And in days to come, when sid Arthur 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. Siddarthur was thus loved by everyone. He was a source of joy for everybody. He was a delight for them all. But he, Siddarthur, was not a source of joy for himself. He found no delight in him 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 Rigvader, being infused into him, drop by drop, from the teachings of the old Brahmans. Siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself. He had started to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother, and also the love of his friend Govinda would not bring him joy 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 sacrifice vices give a happy fortune? And what about the gods? Was it really Prajapati who created the world? Was it not the Utman? He the only one, the singular one. Were the gods not creations? Created like me and you? Subject to time mortal? Was it therefore good? Was it right? Was it meaningful? And the highest occupation? To make offerings to the gods? For whom else were offerings to be made? Who else was to be worshiped but him, the only one, the Utman? And where was Utman 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 elf, 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 utman. 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 ivaluable 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 Apanishads of samar Vada, 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 penitence 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. SidD Arthur 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 Brahmins. 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 said Arthur's thoughts. This was his thirst, this was his suffering. Thus he spoke to himself from a chandogaya, a punishad, the words, truly the name of the Brahman is such a verily. Ye 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 said. Arthur 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, Sir Darthur right here, Govinda twenty paces away, while putting himself down, ready to speak the olm, Si Darthur 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 Siddarthur's name. Siddarthur did not answer. Sadd Arthur sat there, lost in thought. His eyes were rigidly focussed 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, Olm his soul sent after the brahmin as an arrow. Once Samanas had traveled through Siddartha's town Esthetics on a pilgrimage, Three skinny withered men, neither old nor young, with dust, usty and bloody shoulders almost naked, scorched by the sun, surrounded by loneliness, strangers and enemies to the world, strangers and lank jackals 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, Siddartha spoke to Govinda early tomorrow morning, my friend Siddarthur 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 realized, now it is beginning. Now Siddarthur 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, sir Darthur, he exclaimed, Will your father permit you to do that? Siddartha 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. Siddartha entered the chamber where his father was sitting on a mat of bast 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 said, Arthur? Then say what you came to say, quoth Siddartha, with your permission, my father, I came to tell you that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the esthetics. 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. Sid Arthur stood silently, his arms folded. What are you waiting for, asked the father. Quoth Siddartha, 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 Brahman stood up, paced 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 shimmered 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 Brahman stood up again, paced 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 said Arthur, 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 Siddarthur 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, sid d Arthur. 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, said Arthur. I will become tired. You will fall asleep, said Arthur. I will not fall asleep. You will die, said Arthur. I will die. And would you rather die than obey your father? Said d Arthur has always obeyed his father, So will you abandon your plan? Sid d Arthur will do what his father will tell him to do. The first light of day shone into the room. The Brahmans saw that Siddartha was trembling softly in his knees. In Si d Arthur's face, he saw no trembling. His eyes were fixed on a distant spot. Then his father realized that he even now, said Arthur no longer dwelt with him in his home, that he had already left him. The father touched said d Arthur'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. SidD Arthur 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 said Arthur, and smiled. I have come, said Govinda. End of Chapter one