Siddhartha

OF THE

cred offerings. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection, the se

o learn, thirsty for knowledge; he saw him growing up to be

lking, when she saw him sit down and get up, Siddhartha, strong, handsom

n Siddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the l

, 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 b

ne. He was a source of joy for ever

icing 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 o

n of the gods were excellent-but was that all? Did the sacrifices give a happy fortune? And what about the gods? Was it really Prajapati who had created the world? Was it not the Atman, He, 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 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? But where, where was this self, this innermost part, this ultimate part? I

ut 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 -

oughts, this was his thir

ay." Often, it seemed near, the heavenly world, but never he had reached it completely, never he had quenched the ultimate thirst. And among all the wise and wisest men, he knew

, "Govinda, my dear, come with me under t

here, Govinda twenty paces away. While putting himself down, r

The Brahman is the arrow's targe

tha'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

dusty and bloody shoulders, almost naked, scorched by the sun, surrounded by loneliness, strangers and enemies to the world, strangers

a spoke to Govinda: "Early tomorrow morning, my friend, Si

ke the arrow shot from the bow. Soon and with the first glance, Govinda realized: Now it is beginning, now Siddhartha is

aimed, "will your fathe

waking up. Arrow-fast he read in Govinda'

te words. Tomorrow, at daybreak I will begin

behind his father and remained standing there, until his father felt that someone was stand

that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the asce

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 f

e; Siddhartha stood sil

aiting for?" as

artha: "You

the chamber; indignant, he

rough the small window of the chamber he looked back inside, and there he saw Siddhartha standing, his arms folded,

e and saw that the moon had risen. Through the window of the chamber he looked back inside; there stood Siddhartha, not moving

ght, by the light of the stars, in the darkness. And he came back hour after hour, silently, he looked into the chamber, saw him stand

returned, stepped into the room, saw the young man stan

spoke, "what are

know

y and wait, until it'll become

stand

come tired,

become

all asleep,

not fall

die, Sid

ill

ather die, than

s always obeye

ou abandon

what his father wi

knees. In Siddhartha's face he saw no trembling, his eyes were fixed on a distant spot. Then his fathe

uched Siddhar

ach me to be blissful. If you'll find disappointment, then return and let us once again make offerings to the gods together. Go now

wavered to the side, as he tried to walk. He put his limbs back under contr

y the still quiet town, a shadow rose near the last hut,

," said Siddha

said Govinda.