Siddhartha | Page 4

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 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 moon light, 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'll 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 Brahman 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 to. 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.

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 Brahman in the street. He wore nothing more than
the loincloth and the earth-coloured, unsown 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 icy when he encountered women; his mouth twitched with contempt,
when he walked through a city of nicely dressed people. He saw merchants trading,
princes hunting, mourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians
trying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for seeding, 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 heard, to be open to miracles in unselfish
thoughts, that was his goal. Once all of my self 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 my self, the great