Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Siddhartha
    Siddhartha
    Siddhartha
    Ebook141 pages2 hours

    Siddhartha

    By Hermann Hesse and Mint Editions

    4/5

    ()

    Switch to audiobook
    Read preview

    About this ebook

    What does it mean to live a life of completeness? And how far must one go to understand the pain of others? Is change truly possible? This is the story that proves that it is. In what could be described as equal parts self-help book and a novelistic guide to spiritual awakening, Siddhartha has been hailed as prolific and unlike any other.

    Growing up, Siddhartha never experienced true pain. He was sheltered, as many are, turning a blind eye when the hardships of daily life made itself visible to the peasantry around him. Awakening from a hazy reverie that has shielded Siddhartha from the inevitable, he vows to make a change. With the hope of finding a deeper and resounding life’s purpose, Siddhartha, a young man living in the ancient Indian kingdom of Kapilavastu, embarks on a journey of self-discovery and actualization. Accompanied by his best friend Govinda, the pair abandon the comfort of their old life by trading their material possessions for what they hope will be eternal enlightenment. Ridding themselves completely of the comforts of their previous life, the duo vow to a life of attempted purity. In a world where suffering is inevitable, Siddhartha hopes that by experiencing the pain so many face, only then will he find the true meaning of life.

    Siddhartha, written by German author Hermann Hesse in 1951, is a tale of self-discovery and spiritual awakening. The novel as a whole explores the totality of the human experience, of what it means to abandon the parameters of comfort and routine in search for a higher calling.

    Since our inception in 2020, Mint Editions has kept sustainability and innovation at the forefront of our mission. Each and every Mint Edition title gets a fresh, professionally typeset manuscript and a dazzling new cover, all while maintaining the integrity of the original book.

    With thousands of titles in our collection, we aim to spotlight diverse public domain works to help them find modern audiences. Mint Editions celebrates a breadth of literary works, curated from both canonical and overlooked classics from writers around the globe.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMint Editions
    Release dateApr 7, 2020
    ISBN9781513263816
    Author

    Hermann Hesse

    Hermann Hesse (1877-1962) was a German poet and novelist. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1962. He was the author of numerous works including Siddhartha, Steppenwolf, and Demian.

    Read more from Hermann Hesse

    Related to Siddhartha

    Related ebooks

    Philosophy For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Magic of Radical Attention

      Nov 3, 2020

      The Magic of Radical Attention
      13 min read

    • Article

      Siddhartha’s Son

      May 23, 2023

      Siddhartha’s Son
      3 min read

    • Article

      Bring Fear Close

      Sep 18, 2018

      Bring Fear Close
      4 min read

    • Article

      The Buddha Was Here

      Nov 20, 2018

      The Buddha Was Here
      11 min read

    • Article

      Love of All A PARABLE

      Feb 24, 2022

      Love of All A PARABLE
      4 min read

    • Article

      Truth In Fiction

      Mar 23, 2021

      Truth In Fiction
      4 min read

    • Article

      Inspiration from Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha

      Feb 28, 2019

      Hermann Hesse’s timeless book, Siddhartha, should be required reading for any spiritual seeker. The book is about Siddhartha’s journey as a respected son of a Brahmin. Everyone expects that he will follow in his father’s footsteps. He enjoys an idyll

      3 min read

    • Article

      Grandma’s Riddle

      Mar 19, 2019

      AT 6 A.M., A SINGLE RING of the shrine bell would wake me up. In this bedroom we shared, Grandma would breathe in, a very determined, deliberate breath, and I would hear: “Bussetsu ma-ka-han-nya-ha-ra-mi-ta-shingyo…” As she sang the Heart Sutra in Ja

      2 min read

    • Article

      The Zen Of Jane Hirshfield

      Sep 19, 2023

      The Zen Of Jane Hirshfield
      10 min read

    • Article

      Derrida in Lahore

      Mar 19, 2024

      On the cold night of November 24, 1997, before Shahid disappeared forever, I thought I was his closest friend, his only confidant. We had known each other since we were children, attended primary and high school together, even gone to the same colleg

      26 min read

    • Article

      La Globalizzazione In Versi / Globalisation In Verses

      Nov 25, 2022

      Non dico: sono uscito, se ho camminato. Se cammino, cammina con me il mio interno. Il mio interno è esterno, il mio esterno è interno – quando cammino. È l'unità del volto, del cuore e dei piedi: un'altra inclinazione senza come o dove? La magia del

      6 min read

    • Article

      Someone Who Listens

      Jul 18, 2023

      Someone Who Listens
      4 min read

    • Article

      Our Staff Picks

      Nov 20, 2018

      Associate Art Director of Lion’s Roar The subtitle of Sallie Tisdale’s book, Advice for Future Corpses and Those Who Love Them (Touchstone), is A Practical Perspective on Death and Dying, and she really is not kidding about it being practical. Tisdal

      4 min read

    • Article

      Ask The Teachers

      Sep 20, 2023

      ROSHI JOAN HALIFAX is the abbot and head teacher of Upaya Institute and Zen Center in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Her most recent book is Standing at the Edge: Finding Freedom Where Fear and Courage Meet, which explores how we can face the challenges of ou

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Spirit of Plum Village

      Mar 22, 2022

      The Spirit of Plum Village
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Boundless Energy of No-Self

      Mar 7, 2023

      The Boundless Energy of No-Self
      11 min read

    • Article

      Low Flying Planes

      Feb 20, 2023

      Low Flying Planes
      3 min read

    • Article

      Ride The Waves

      Mar 21, 2023

      Ride The Waves
      4 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Sep 1, 2023

      This poem is for everyperson who will neverread it either by choiceor circumstance I writeit in silence wherethe most realparts of our liveslive like a shoe lostin an alley or an emptyboat in a black sea butmore like the fallenleaf on the other sideo

      2 min read

    • Article

      Guests of Honor

      Feb 27, 2024

      AS WE ENTER Namdapha National Park and Tiger Reserve in Arunachal Pradesh, where sunlight first touches the Indian subcontinent, we begin to see them: butterflies, mostly solitary, sometimes in a tiny group, indifferent to us but also quick to levita

      12 min read

    • Article

      TELL ME A Story

      Mar 31, 2023

      TELL ME A Story
      21 min read

    • Article

      Biting My Tongue

      Jul 9, 2019

      Biting My Tongue
      10 min read

    • Article

      The World of Bibhutibhushan

      Feb 1, 2023

      The World of Bibhutibhushan
      14 min read

    • Article

      It’s All Pure Dharma

      Jun 1, 2021

      WHEN I ARRIVED at Buddhadharma eight years ago, I was stepping between two worlds. For twelve years, I had been living in Japan, where I trained as a Soto Zen monk. Not all those years were in the monastery, but I was rarely far from it. So when I fi

      3 min read

    • Article

      From Brilliant Scholar to Wandering Yogi

      Mar 7, 2023

      From Brilliant Scholar to Wandering Yogi
      12 min read

    • Article

      The Writing Wisdom of Derek Walcott

      Mar 20, 2017

      “The future happens,” says the philosopher in Derek Walcott’s stage retelling of Homer’s Odyssey, “No matter how much we scream.” Walcott died on Friday at the age of 87—and instead of screaming, I’m feeling grateful towards this great poet, playwrig

      7 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Siddhartha

    4/5

    7,134 ratings140 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 2/5
      Such a slog.
    • 4/5
      Fantastic book.
    • 4/5
      Prachtige parabel, zij het soms iets te pathetisch. Ook Bildungsroman: alle stadia en ervaringen van het menselijke leven komen aan bod. Centrale boodschap aan ons westerlingen: "Zoeken is niet vinden".
    • 5/5
      This book has been on my shelves for quite some time, but I became even more interested in it when I learned that it is one of the few books Andrew has read that I have not! So it was an easy inclusion for my TBR pile challenge, and to be the first I read from that list.

      My livejournal friends predicted I would like this book, and they were right. Really, what I knew about Buddhism is mostly limited to what I read in a year's subscription to Tricycle magazine, and reading the first two books in Osamu Tezuka's Buddha series. (I really need to get the next one!) That is to say -- not much.

      Siddhartha is a very enjoyable, fairly quick read. Like the title character, I've come from an intellectual background and would like to believe that the secret of life could be taught by book or by some great teacher, but suspect also that it must be lived. Though as a mother, I am frustrated by the repeated teachings of detachment by Western Buddhist men. Perhaps I should seek out a Buddhist mother as an example. Or I could simply acknowledge that I am not Buddhist and move on. Or perhaps, like Siddhartha, I need to live in the muck of attachment a while longer, and hope that lesson is realized in my life at a later date.

      It is a beautiful book with lovely ideas. I will definitely keep it on my shelf to reread at a later date.
    • 4/5
      Most religions know of it as "Enlightenment" - when the individual transcends himself and sees himself as one with the ultimate reality. It can be theistic (the Aham Brahma Asmi - "I am the Brahman" or Tat Tvam Asi - "Thou Art That" of Hinduism) or atheistic (the Buddhist Nirvana, based on the Anatman - "non-soul"); but the person who achieves it, according to all sources, is caught up in profound rapture. To reach this stage, one has to tread an arduous path. Carl Gustav Jung called the process "individuation": Joseph Campbell called it "the hero's journey". Herman Hesse's eponymous protagonist of Siddhartha is a man who embarks on this enterprise.

      Siddhartha, the handsome Brahmin youth who apparently has everything, is dissatisfied with life: with the whole pointlessness of it. He leaves home with his friend Govinda and joins a group of ascetics (the Samanas) who have made renunciation a way of life. However, the true seeker he is, Siddhartha finds that simple renunciation does not work for him: he joins the Buddha in pursuit of enlightenment. However, he soon understands that whatever knowledge he must possess, must be experiential.

      Leaving Govinda to become a Buddhist ascetic, Siddhartha buries himself in the sensual world across the river, where Kamala the courtesan trains him up in the pleasures of the flesh and Kamaswami the merchant instructs him in the secrets of commerce. Siddhartha soon tires of these too: he returns to the river in penury (not knowing that his child is growing within Kamala), and is taken up by the aged boatman Vasudeva as a helper.

      Here, ferrying people across the river, Siddhartha finally attains enlightenment - not from a great teacher, not from years of penanace and not even from the kindly Vasudeva (even though he points the way) - but from the river. Kamala's death and his son's abandonment of the stranger father completes his education, as distress turns to peace. Then it's time for Vasudeva, the mentor, to disappear - leaving his student alone with the river.

      What the river told Siddhartha

      The river flows, and becomes one with the ocean. The vapour from the ocean form into clouds, and descend on the mountains, becoming the river. The river keeps on flowing: it is inconstant, ever-renewing, never the same - yet it is eternal. The river flows, and the river is. On its surface, you can see the faces of all your loved ones: whether alive, dead or yet to be born. In the roar of the river, if you listen carefully, you can hear the sacred AUM - the first syllable outward, the second one inward, the third one silence...and the fourth one, the all encompassing silence which bears the sound of the cosmic ocean in its womb.

      Highly recommended.
    • 4/5
      The journey to enlightenment travelled by Siddhartha as demonstrated through living his life rather than learning about enlightenment.
    • 3/5
      Considered a classic, but very repetitive in English. Perhaps it is better in the original German. It touches on the paradoxes of life and is difficult to truly understand, which I guess is the point.
    • 2/5
      I seem to remember writing a book report for this in junior high or high school, but I don't recall that I ever actually read it. I wonder what the then me, being naive and impressionable, would have thought if I had read it. I know that I couldn't then, as now, read into a book and pull out what the author was thinking - or at least make up some nonsense about what I think the author was thinking. Regardless, the current me found this to be rather simple and preachy...with yet another, "oh, please" ending.
    • 4/5
      I liked this much more than I expected to. As a young man the Brahmin Siddhartha leaves his father to be a samana, a monk of sorts, searching for truth and enlightenment. He then begins to follow one man known as a Buddha. After much time with him, he decides he is ready for something else, knowing nothing of women or the ways of the world. He becomes a successful businessman and a lover--and years later realizes how much of his wisdom and skill has been lost (how to wait, how to fast...). He leaves his lover and business and becomes a ferryman, with the man who ferried him years before. There he gains happiness and wisdom, and knowledge of the cycle and sameness of all life and time.
    • 3/5
      Siddhartha, a young man, leaves his life of wealth and comfort in search of enlightenment. He tries many different paths from living his life in abject poverty as an ascetic to becoming a wealthy merchant and living with a beautiful courtesan. But discouraged that his life still has no meaning he wanders eventually reaching a beautiful calm river. By listening to the water and living a simple life as a ferryman, he achieves nirvana.

      I remember reading this is high school because it was on all of those lists of books to read before college. I didn't remember that much from the book other than the overall meaning being waaay over my head. Now decades later, I feel like I can just barely grasp some of the wisdom in this story.
    • 4/5
      A man starts his journey to find the meaning and the goal of the life really a great one from herman.
    • 5/5
      A spiritual journey, told with immense poetry. A guide to buddhism. Hesse is a marvelous writer.
    • 5/5
      This one goes on the pile of to be again and again books. What a marvelous book about finding the meaning of life. I immediately thought of at least two friends who need to have this in their libraries.
    • 2/5
      My rating for this book is not reflective of Quality of this book rather my understanding of it. This book left me more confused, I am not sure I understood it all. But, I am not willing to pick it up again either. So there it is, the honest truth.
    • 3/5
      I think that honestly this book was too wise for me. I really, honestly tried to "get it," but I don't think I did. Maybe when I have a few more years on me?
    • 1/5
      Indeed, better than Coelho, but it doesn't mean too much, does it?
    • 3/5
      I love Hesse, one of my favorite authors ever. Not only is the spirtualism/sensualism dichotomy (which forms the major theme of all of his works) one of the more interesting philosophical questions of mankind, but I can't think of any author who has continually revealed his own personal neuroses and self-doubts through their characters. This quality has always provoked a certain empathy, admiration, and even self-recognition when I read his books. As someone concerned with those important questions of life, I can identify with his characters, and, because his characters are so autobiographical, I feel like I can consequently identify with Hesse himself.

      One of the more fascinating thought exercises related to Hesse is studying his works as attempts to reconcile these two aspects of life: the ethereal, divine and ecstatic with the corporeal, material and sensual. As brilliant as he was, he never figured out how to do it completely, which is what makes all of his novels ultimately unsatisfying. The interesting part, however, is that each successive novel comes closer to the answer, so that Demian feels by far the least developed, and while Hesse realizes "Nirvana" in Siddhartha, it never feels authentically earned. Steppenwolf feels altogether more on the right track before devolving into a psychedelic madhouse (perhaps precisely because he didn't know where next to take it?), and then Narcissus and Goldmund and The Journey to the East get even closer to the ultimate reconciliation while still falling short. The Glass Bead Game is by far the most developed of his novels and gets tantalizingly close to a "solution" for this problem, but it still leaves the reader vaguely grasping at the "how" of Hesse's prescription.

      As obsessed as Hesse was with this issue, he was never able to solve it, and it leaves us with the suspicion that it is an insoluble problem, perhaps THE insoluble issue of humanity. His books are so enjoyable, though, precisely because nobody has ever taken up the question with such earnest seriousness. All of his books leave us unsatisfied, but upon further thought one concludes that they are unsatisfactory only because they so unerringly reflect the great human predicament: the paradox of the divine animal. **Full Disclosure: I can no longer remember concretely, but I suspect that I owe a lot of credit for this analysis to Colin Wilson, from his fantastic The Outsider.**
    • 5/5
      If you've come to this novella, you, like Siddhartha, may be a seeker. You, like Siddhartha, may be struggling to discover the meaning of life, looking for enlightenment. Perhaps, you may be required to read it, surely, there is a reason this story is assigned reading, right? Well, truthfully, you may not find all the answers here but consider Hesse's poetic prose as a continuation of your personal journey.Like Odysseus, there is much to lure Siddhartha off his path and which deter him from achieving his goal. Still, his associations with Kamala, Kamaswami and Govinda are not wasted moments in Siddhartha's life, rather they are a piece of his learning experience. Surprisingly, it is when Siddhartha struggles the most, when he is at his lowest, the moment he finds his love is not reciprocated that he finds the answer. This is a book to be read and reread and although each read may be different than the last it will surely leave its impression upon your journey.
    • 4/5
      This is easily one of the most beautifully written books I've ever read.

      Nothing new or amazingly thought provoking (dude leaves his promising life to find meaning as an ascetic, a wealthy and debauched merchant, and then back to a simple living ferryman), but everyone should read it.
    • 3/5
      i hated this book when we read it in high school. and i hated the people who loved it. and i hated the guy who kept saying that Steppenwolf was better.

      But I'm less angry now. It's a good story, though it still feels heavy handed even though it is supposed to be the simple story.

      Oh, and Steppenwolf is pretty darn good.
    • 5/5
      Brilliant. For those on a path of conscious understanding of who and where they are this small book ranks up there with "The alchemist" and "The Prophet". It is beautifully crafted and if you are like me you will return to this book time and time again. In fact, as I have followed my path I have changed and so what I find in the book changes and so reflecting my changed state.

      This book is one of those rare gifts that will last and endear itself not for just one but many lifetimes.
    • 4/5
      A short book, this story relates how a young man leaves his home to try and find his place in the world, to find a place of peace. Along the way he learns how to control his body, he meets the Buddha, separates from his childhood friend, learns about physical love from a courtesan, about business, and how to listen to the river from a ferryman. He encounters his friend several times and compares how his search with help from the Buddha has compared to his own.This book is full of peace and I think I will reread it again and again for its gentle wisdom.
    • 5/5
      Back when I was in college in the 1970s, I went on a serious, and predictable, Hermann Hesse reading jag ... and SIDDHARTHA was among those many, many titles. I have reread it many times in the years since then.. Presently, having just finished the book, I'm still glowing from the book's conclusion. Feeling a light and warm breeze, in a garden buzzing with bees, it was my favorite experience with a book in quite some time. These feelings are why I read.
    • 4/5
      I read this in a few hours on a flight home. Teared up a few times. Still rolling it around in my head.
    • 4/5
      I read this in high school as required reading for an AP Lit class. I actually found this one more interesting and enjoyed it at the time. If I were to read it now, as an adult, I don't know if I would enjoy it quite as much, but that's okay. I do recommend this one for those interested in philosophical reads.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this more than I thought I would. I wasn't really sure what to expect, being nearly 100 years old and translated to English (as well as nearly every other language in the world), but the narration was wonderful and sucked me right in. Siddhartha tells the story of a young Indian man who has decided to reject his comfortable lifestyle to seek enlightenment. At first this journey begins with self denial to find higher fulfillment, but as Siddhartha ages so do his opinions and worldviews. His journey takes him through luxury, love, hatred, desire, denial, and acceptance. Told with wonderful prose, many consider this novel to be the finest moral allegory ever written. Only by failure, does Siddhartha find what he is looking for. Readers will find some aspect of Siddhartha's journey to relate to. “Wisdom cannot be imparted. Wisdom that a wise man attempts to impart always sounds like foolishness to someone else ... Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.”
    • 4/5
      First word that comes to mind. Transcendent. This is a fictional account of a man seeking peace and wisdom. Excellent book.
    • 2/5
      Siddhartha, by Nobel Prize-winning author Hermann Hesse, tells the story of the spiritual self-discovery of a man named Siddhartha in India during the time of the Buddha. The son of a Brahmin, Siddhartha leaves home on a quest for spiritual enlightenment and how he ultimately finds it. Every event, whether it is staying with some ascetics or living a rich and decadent life, all contribute towards this experience and eventual attainment of enlightenment for Siddhartha.

      Written in a simple, lyrical style, Hesse's prose carries the reader along as a river - the very river in which Siddhartha sees the illusory nature of time and the cyclic nature of human experience. Perhaps not the best understanding of Indian philosophy; nevertheless, Siddhartha is an interesting meditation on the nature of life and demonstrates how Hesse himself aimed to cure his Lebenskrankheit by investigating Hindu and Buddhist teachings in which this book shares similar experiences.

      I liked it but not as much to warrant a full three stars; maybe more like 2.5-2.7 stars if one can be that precise.
    • 4/5
      I really loved this one. It's especially illuminating if you have some understanding of Vedic religion and how that fed developments in Buddhism, Hinduism, and Jainism, though that's not essential. Set on the Gangetic Plain about 2600 years ago, it's about one man's search for enlightenment. This man, Siddhartha, son of a Brahmin, even in the presence of Gautama Buddha himself, is unable to find a way if it depends on the teachings of others. There is, Siddhartha comes to believe, no single illuminated path for all men and women to follow. We must each of us make our own mistakes. We must all suffer, and no warning against it will ever help us. For to live some kind of bizarre life of comfort that prevents suffering also prevents our finding peace. The writing style is very honed down, lean, without abstruse digressions. It fulfills for me that fundamental need that all good fiction must meet: it reveals a completely imagined world. And isn't that what we really require from fiction: that it take us out of ourselves? That it, to paraphrase John Gardner, perpetuate the dream? Highly recommended. I much prefer it to Steppenwolf. Up next Journey to the East and The Glass Bead Game.
    • 3/5
      I am not really sure how to rate this book. As a story or novel, it was really nothing special at all. It was more of a parable than anything else. I did enjoy the message, but as a reader, I knew exactly how it was going to work out. Simply put, I am glad I read it because it did make me think about how I view myself and the things that I value. However, it did not have any "wow" factor and overall I would say - meh.

    Book preview

    Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse

    FIRST PART

    To Romain Rolland, my dear friend

    THE SON OF THE BRAHMAN

    In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, 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 in his father’s heart for his son who was quick to learn, thirsty for knowledge; he saw him growing up to become great wise man and priest, a prince among the Brahmans.

    Bliss leapt in his mother’s breast when she saw him, when she saw him walking, when she saw him sit down and get up, Siddhartha, strong, handsome, he who was walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect respect.

    Love touched the hearts of the Brahmans’ young daughters when Siddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the luminous forehead, with the eye of a king, with his slim hips.

    But more than all the others he was loved by Govinda, his friend, the son of a Brahman. He loved Siddhartha’s eye and sweet voice, he loved his walk and the perfect decency of his movements, he loved everything Siddhartha did and said and what he loved most was his spirit, his transcendent, fiery thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling. Govinda knew: he would not become a common Brahman, not a lazy official in charge of offerings; not a greedy merchant with magic spells; not a vain, vacuous speaker; not a mean, deceitful priest; and also not a decent, stupid sheep in the herd of the many. No, and he, Govinda, as well did not want to become one of those, not one of those tens of thousands of Brahmans. He wanted to follow Siddhartha, the beloved, the splendid. And in days to come, when Siddhartha would become a god, when he would join the glorious, then Govinda wanted to follow him as his friend, his companion, his servant, his spear-carrier, his shadow.

    Siddhartha was thus loved by everyone. He was a source of joy for everybody, he was a delight for them all.

    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 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 Brahmans 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 and the invocation of the gods were excellent—but was that all? Did the sacrifices give a happy fortune? And what about the gods? Was it really Prajapati who had created the world? Was it not the Atman, He, 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? It was not flesh and bone, it was neither thought nor consciousness, thus the wisest ones taught. So, where, where was it? To reach this place, the self, myself, the Atman, there was another way, which was worthwhile looking for? Alas, and nobody showed this way, nobody knew it, not the father, and not the teachers and 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 arrangement of the senses, the acts of the gods, they knew infinitely much—but was it valuable to know all of 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 here in magic words, pure as honey collected by 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.

    Often he spoke to himself from a Chandogya-Upanishad the words: Truly, the name of the Brahman is satyam—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 all 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 practise 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, ascetics 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 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, 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 realized: 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.

    O 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.

    O 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 bast, and stepped behind his father and remained standing there, until his father felt that someone was standing behind him. Quoth the Brahman: 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 ascetics. My

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1