Chapter 8 by the river

Siddhartha was wandering in the forest, far away from that city.All he knew was that he was not coming back, that the life he had lived for so many years was gone forever.He had had enough of this life to the point of nausea.The songbird he had dreamed of was dead, and so was the bird in his heart.Deeply entangled in samsara, he has had enough of disgust and death in every way.It's like a sponge soaked up with water.He is full of disgust, full of melancholy, full of death, and nothing in the world can attract him, cheer him, comfort him. He longed desperately to forget himself, to find peace, to simply die.I hope that there will be lightning and strike him to death!I wish a tiger would come and eat him!May a glass of wine, a glass of poisoned wine, make him numb, forgetful, and sleep, never to wake up again!What kind of filth he has not been exposed to, what crime and folly, what emptiness of heart has he not suffered?Is it possible for him to live again?Is it also possible to inhale and exhale again and again, to feel hungry, to eat again, to go to sleep again, to sleep with a woman?Hasn't the cycle been exhausted and over for him?

Siddhartha came to a great river in the forest, which was the same river that a boatman had ferryed for him when he came out of the city of Gotama when he was young.He stopped by the river and stood hesitantly on the bank.Fatigue and hunger had made him weak, why did he go on?Where is he going, and what is his goal?No, there is no goal anymore, only this deep, painful longing: to get rid of this mess of dreams, to spit out this stale wine, to end this poor, shameful life! A tree protruded from the bank of the river, bending towards the river, it was a coconut tree.Siddhartha rested his shoulders on the trunk of the tree, wrapped one arm around it, and looked down at the emerald green water that flowed below him.He looked down and felt the desire surge in his heart: to let go and let himself sink into the water.There was also a terrible emptiness reflected in the water, and a terrible emptiness in his heart echoed it.Yes, he is going to die.The way out for him was to destroy himself, smash the failed product of his life, throw it away, throw it at the feet of the gods who gloat.Because it was the great breakthrough he longed for: death, destroying the form he hated!May the fish in the water eat him up, Siddhartha the dog, this madman, this rotten body, this decayed and abused soul!May the fishes and crocodiles eat him, and may the devil tear him to pieces!

He stared distortedly at the water, saw the face reflected, and spat at it.Exhausted, he let his arms loose from the trunk and lightened his body so that he would fall vertically into the water and be buried at the bottom.He sank, eyes closed, toward death. Then, from a remote corner of his soul, out of the history of his weary life, came a voice.It was a word, a syllable, and he murmured it without thinking.That is the ancient word that all Brahmins begin and end their prayers with, the sacred word Om, which means "full of merit" or "flawless."The moment the "Om" reached Siddhartha's ears, his sleeping mind suddenly woke up, and he saw clearly the stupidity of his actions.

Siddhartha was deeply shocked.Such is his reality, so hopeless, so misguided, so turned his back on all true enemies, that he wants to kill himself, and this wish, this childlike wish, grows bigger in him: to destroy To find peace in my own body!What all the agony, all the disenchantment, all the despair of these last moments had failed to accomplish, it was fulfilled in the instant that "Om" broke into his consciousness: he knew himself in his misery and bewilderment. "Om!" he murmured to himself, "Om!" He thought of Brahman, of the indestructibility of life, of all the sacred things he had forgotten.

But it was only for a split second, like a bolt of lightning.Siddhartha fell under the coconut tree, resting his head on the root of the tree, and fell into a deep sleep. He slept soundly without dreaming, and he hadn't slept so soundly for a long time.A few hours later, he woke up feeling as if ten years had passed.He heard the gurgling of the river, and wondered where he was and who had brought him here.He opened his eyes and saw the woods and sky above him on a very large scale. He recalled where he was and how he came here.He thought for a long time, and the past seemed to be covered by a layer of tulle, which seemed far, far away, extremely far away, completely irrelevant.All he knew was that he had abandoned his old life (which, in the first moments of his recollection, seemed to him an incarnation of a distant past, like a premature child of his present self)—he was filled with disgust. and melancholy, even wanting to throw away his own life, but by a river, under a coconut tree, chanting the sacred word "Om" in his mouth, he returned to himself, then fell into a deep sleep, and now he wakes up again Now, look at the world as a new person.He recited in a low voice the word "Om" that had made him fall into a deep sleep, and felt that his deep sleep was just a long and focused chanting of "Om", a thought of "Om" was a way to sink into and thoroughly reach "Om". "Among them, reach the indescribable perfect state.

What a pleasant sleep it was!Never had sleep refreshed him so much, so fresh, so youthful!Maybe he was really dead, gone, and now reincarnated in a New Year's body?No, he knew himself, he knew his hands and feet, he knew this place where he was lying, he knew this self in him, this Siddhartha, this obstinate fellow, this weirdo.But this Siddhartha had indeed changed, refreshed, strangely well-slept, and extraordinarily wide-awake, cheerful, and curious. Siddhartha straightened up and suddenly saw a person sitting across from him, a stranger, a monk in yellow robes with a shaved head, posing in a meditation posture.He carefully looked at this man with neither hair nor beard, and after watching for a while, he suddenly recognized that this monk was Govinda, his good friend in his youth, the Govinda who had converted to the Living Buddha.Govinda was old, like himself, but the expression on his face remained the same, showing enthusiasm, loyalty, searching, and worry.Govinda also sensed his gaze at this moment and opened his eyes to look at him, but Siddhartha saw that he did not recognize him.Govinda was glad to see him awake.Evidently Govinda had been sitting here for a long time, waiting for him to wake up, although he did not recognize him.

"I fell asleep just now," said Siddhartha. "How did you get here?" "You are asleep," replied Govinda. "It is not good to sleep in such a place, where there are snakes and wild animals in the forest. Oh, sir, I am a disciple of Gotama Tulku, A follower of Shakyamuni, who went on a pilgrimage with a group of companions on this road, saw you lying here, sleeping in a dangerous place that is not suitable for sleeping. So I tried to wake you up, sir, and seeing that you were sleeping soundly, I Left alone to watch over you. Apparently I fell asleep myself, and I meant to watch over you. I'm out of duty, tiredness takes hold of me. Now that you're awake, let me go and run after my brethren Bar."

"Thank you, Samana, thank you for watching me sleep," said Siddhartha. "You disciples of the Living Buddha are very kind. You can go now." "I go, sir, and may you always be healthy." "Thank you, Samana." Govinda saluted and said, "Good-bye!" "Farewell, Govinda," said Siddhartha. The monk froze. "Excuse me, sir, how do you know my name?" Siddhartha smiled. "I know you, Govinda. I know you from your father's hut, from that Brahmin school, from attending sacrificial ceremonies, from the time we went to the recluses together, from the time you took refuge in the Tulku in the Yetawana Grove. !"

"You are Siddhartha!" cried Govinda. "Now that I recognize you, I don't understand why I didn't recognize you right away! Welcome, Siddhartha, to meet you again. Very happy." "I'm glad to see you again, too. You guarded me to sleep, and I want to thank you again, though I don't need guards. Where are you going, friend?" "I don't go anywhere. We monks are always wandering around. As long as it's not the rainy season, we always rush from one place to another, live according to the rules, preach scriptures, ask for alms, and set off on the road again. It's always like this. And you, Siddhartha, where are you going?"

Siddhartha said: "I am in the same situation as you, my friend. I am not going anywhere. I am just on the road. I am going on a pilgrimage." Govinda said, "I believe you when you say to go on pilgrimage. But excuse me, Siddhartha, you don't look like a pilgrim. You wear the clothes of a rich man, your feet are the shoes of a noble man, your hair It smells of perfume. It is not the hair of a pilgrim, nor the hair of a recluse!" "Yes, my dear, you observe very carefully, your sharp eyes see everything. But I didn't tell you that I was a Samana, I just said I was going on a pilgrimage. In fact I was going on a pilgrimage."

"You go on pilgrimage," said Govinda, "but very few people go on pilgrimage with such clothes, shoes, and such hair. I have been on pilgrimage for many years and I have never seen a pilgrim like this." "I believe what you say, Govinda. But now, today, you have met such a pilgrim, wearing such shoes, wearing such clothes. Remember, dear: the world of things is short, Changeable, and most ephemerally changeable, are our clothes, our hairstyles, and our hair and our bodies. I wear a rich man's clothes, you read that right. I dress this way because I was once a Rich people, and my hair like a dude, also because I was one of them." "And now, Siddhartha, who are you now?" "I don't know, I know as little as you. I'm on my way. I was rich, but I'm not, and what I'll be tomorrow, I don't know myself." "You lost your property?" "I lost my property, or it lost me. It's gone anyway. The wheel of creation is spinning, Govinda. Where is Brahmin Siddhartha now? Where is Samana Siddhartha now? Rich merchant Where is Siddhartha now? Ephemeral things change quickly, Govinda, you understand that." Govinda stared at his friend in his youth for a long time, with doubts in his eyes.Then, greeting him as if he were a nobleman, he set off on his way. Siddhartha watched him go away with a smile on his face.He still loved Govinda, the honest and worried man.How could he not love other people and other things at this moment, in this beautiful moment after a sound sleep, when his whole body has been permeated by Om!This is the magic that happens to him through sleep and Om: he loves everything, loves everything he sees with joy.Now he felt that the reason why he was so sick before was because he didn't love anything or anyone. Siddhartha watched the departing monk with a smile on his face.Sleep refreshed him, but hunger tormented him too, for he had not eaten for two days, and the time when he could resist hunger obstinately was past.He recalled that time with sadness and joy.He remembered that he had boasted three things in front of Kamala back then, saying that he knew three superb and invincible skills, namely, fasting—waiting—thinking.This is his housekeeping treasure, where his power lies, and his strong stick. In the diligent and hard years of his youth, he has learned these three skills, how can there be others!Now he has thrown them away, they are gone, he fasts no more, he waits no more, he thinks no more, he trades them for contemptible things, for momentary pleasures, for sensual pleasures, for luxuries, In exchange for wealth!In fact his situation was odd.Now it seems that he has really become a child-like layman. Siddhartha pondered his situation.He found it very difficult to think, and he was not interested at all, but he still forced himself to think. Now, he thought, I'm free of all that has passed, and I'm out in the sun again, just as I was when I was a kid.I have nothing, know nothing, understand nothing, and have learned nothing.How strange!Now I am no longer young, my hair is gray, my physical strength has declined, but I have to start all over again, from childhood!He couldn't help laughing.Yes, what a strange fate he had!He went from bad to worse, and now he stood empty, naked, and stupid in the world again.But he wasn't worried, no, he even felt like laughing, laughing at himself, at this weird and ridiculous world. "You're going down!" he murmured to himself, laughing as he talked, and cast his eyes on the river as he spoke, and saw that the river was also going down, going down, going down, singing and singing happily.He was very happy and smiled kindly towards the river.Isn't this the river where I once wanted to drown myself?Was that a hundred years ago, or had he seen it in a dream? My life has been strange indeed, he thought, with strange detours.When I was young, I only knew about worshiping gods and offering sacrifices.When I was young, I only knew asceticism, thinking and meditation, exploring Brahman, worshiping eternity in Atman.As a young man, I followed the example of the penitents, who lived in the forest, endured heat and cold, learned to starve, and taught my body to be numb.Then, the teachings of that living Buddha enlightened me miraculously, and I felt that the knowledge of the unity of the world was circulating in my body like my own blood.However, later I had to leave the living Buddha and his great true knowledge.I left to learn the joys of love from Kamala, to trade from Kamaswami, to accumulate money, to squander it, to pamper my stomach, to cater to my senses.I have been in this way for many years, lost my spirit, lost my thinking, and forgot about unity.It's as if I've made a slow detour, from a man to a child, from a thinker to a child-like mortal, isn't that right?This road has been good too, and the bird in my chest has not died.However, what a way this is!I've been through so much stupidity, so much sin, so many mistakes, so much nausea, disappointment, and distress just to be a kid again in order to start over.But it's clearly true, my heart approves and my eyes laugh at it.I have gone through desperation and even fallen into the silliest thoughts, namely suicidal thoughts, in order to be forgiven, to hear "Om" again, to sleep well and to wake up in good time.In order to find the Atman again within me, I had to be a fool.In order to be able to live again, I had to commit a sin.Where else will my path lead me?The road is weird, it goes around a figure 8, maybe in a circle.Let it go, I am willing to go with it. He strangely felt the joy churning in his chest. He asked himself: where does your happiness come from?Perhaps it came from this long, sound sleep that was so pleasant to me?Or from the word "Om" I pronounced?Or from my escape, I escaped at last, free again, standing like a child under the blue sky?Oh, how good it is to be so free from all ties, to be so free!How pure and beautiful the air is here, how easy it is to breathe!Whereas from the place I fled, everything smelt of ointment, spices, wine, luxury, and idleness.How I loathe that world of the rich, the gluttonous, and the gamblers!How I hated myself for being so long in that damned world!How I hated myself, robbed myself, poisoned myself, tortured myself, made me old and bad!No, I will never think that Siddhartha is brilliant like that again!But this time I did a good job, I am satisfied, I want to praise, I finally ended hating myself, and ended my ridiculous, boring life!I praise you, Siddhartha, after years of ignorance, you finally have an idea, do something, hear the bird in your chest, and let it go! He just praised himself, was satisfied with himself, and listened curiously to his stomach growling.He felt that in recent days he had had enough pain and trouble, until he was dying of despair.fair enough.Otherwise he would stay with Kamaswami for a long time, making money, squandering it, filling his stomach, but making his mind thirsty.Otherwise, he would have lived in that soft, soft hell for a long time, and what happened today would not have happened: that moment of utter disappointment and despair, that extreme moment when he was hanging on the rolling river, ready to kill himself. time.He felt this despair, this deep loathing, but he was not overwhelmed.The bird, that source of joy and its voice, was still alive in him.He was very happy about it, he laughed about it, his face glowed under his gray hair. "It's good," he thought, "to taste for myself all that ought to be known. Worldly pleasures and riches are not good things, I've been taught that since I was a child. I've known it before, but now I know it for myself. .Now I understand, not only with my mind, but with my own eyes and my heart. Great, I finally understand!" He pondered his transformation for a long time, listening to the cheerful chirping of the birds.Didn't the bird die in his heart, didn't he feel that the bird was dead?No, something else died in him, something long longed to die.Wasn't that what he'd tried to kill before in his frenzied years of confession?Wasn't that his own self, his small, restless, vain self, the self with which he had wrestled for years and always failed, the self that reappeared after every suppression, that forsook joy and brought fear ?Isn't that what finally died today in the woods by the river?Was it not because of this death that he was now like a child, full of confidence, fearless, and full of joy? Siddhartha also understood why his efforts as a Brahmin, as a penitent, had been wasted in his struggle with himself.It is too much knowledge that hinders him, too many hymns, too many sacrificial rules, too much penance, too much action and pursuit!He had been very proud, and thought he was always the wisest, always the most zealous, always one step ahead of all, always learned and thoughtful, always a priest or a wise man.His ego lay latent in this priesthood, this pride, this wisdom, where it took root and grew, and he thought he could restrain it by fasting and penitence.Now he understood, understood that the voice of the good secret was right, and that no teacher could save him.So he had to go into the profane world, lost in lust and power, women and money, and became a businessman, a gambler, a drunkard and a money addict, until the monks and monks died in his heart.So he had to go on enduring the hideous years, the nausea, the emptiness, the absurdity of a boring, hopeless life, to the end, to bitter despair, to Siddhartha the flotationist, Siddhartha the Greedy can die.He is dead, and a new Siddhartha has awakened from his deep sleep.He will grow old, one day he will die too, Siddhartha is not eternal, any life is short.But today he is young, a child, and this new Siddhartha is full of joy. He pondered these thoughts, listening with a smile to the sound in his belly, and gratefully heard the buzzing of a bee.He looked with pleasure at the rolling waters, and never had a river so welcomed him, never had he heard the sound of the flowing water so powerful and melodious.He felt that the river water seemed to want to tell him something special, something he didn't know yet, something waiting for him to understand.Siddhartha once wanted to drown himself in this river, and it turned out that the tired and hopeless Siddhartha drowned here today.And the new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing river, and secretly resolved not to leave it any sooner.