Chapter 9 boatman

Siddhartha thought, I'm going to stay by this river, the same river I crossed on my way to those childish laymen, a kind and friendly boatman took me across, and now I'm going to look for him.From his hut I stepped into a new life, and now that life is old and dead—may my present way, my present New Year's life, begin there! He gazed affectionately at the rushing river, at the clear green, at the transparent lines of this mysterious picture.He saw bright beads rising from the depths of the water, calm bubbles floating on the surface of the mirror-like water, and the blue sky reflected in the water.The river was staring at him with thousands of eyes, green, white, transparent, and sky blue.How he loved the river!The water refreshed him, and how grateful he was to it!He heard a voice in his heart speaking, a newly awakened voice said to him: Love this river!Stay with it!Learn from it!Oh yes, he would learn from it, he would listen to it.Whoever knew the river and its secrets, he felt, would know many other things too, many secrets, all secrets.

But today, he saw only one of the most gripping secrets of the river's many secrets.He saw: the river flows and flows, never stops, but it is always here, always the same, but it is always new when it is remembered!Oh, who can understand this, understand this!He didn't know it or not, he just felt associations stirred up, distant memories, beautiful voices. Siddhartha stood up, the hunger was too much for him.He walked emotionally along the path along the bank, facing the river, listening to the sound of running water and the rumbling of his stomach. When he came to the ferry, the boat was moored at the same place, and the boatman who had taken him across the river was still standing in the boat.Siddhartha recognized him, and he also looked much older.

"Will you take me across the river?" he asked. The boatman was amazed to see such a noble person coming on foot alone, so he took him into the boat and pushed him away from the shore. "You have chosen a good life." The guest said, "Living by this river every day, and sailing on this river must be very good." The boatman shook his body with a smile and said, "It's beautiful, sir, just as you said. But isn't every life and every job beautiful?" "Maybe so, but I still envy you for what you're doing." "Oh, you'll lose interest in no time. That's not a well-dressed job."

Siddhartha smiled: "I have already attracted attention and suspicion because of this outfit today. Boatman, do you want my troublesome clothes? Because you know, I have no money." Pay your ferry fare." "Sir, you are joking." The boatman said with a smile. "I'm not kidding, my friend. You see, you once took me across the river in your boat, without taking any money. Let's do the same today, and please take my clothes." "Sir, do you want to continue on your way without putting on your clothes?" "Ah, what I wish most now is not to have to travel at all. Boatman, it would be best if you would give me an old apron and take me as your assistant, or rather as your apprentice, for I must first learn to Just punting."

The boatman gazed at the stranger for a long time inquiringly. "Now I recognize you," he said at last. "You have slept in my hut for a long time, perhaps more than twenty years. I took you across the river, and then we We broke up like good friends. Weren't you a Samana at that time? I can't remember your name." "My name is Siddhartha. I was indeed a Samana the last time you saw me." "Then I welcome you, Siddhartha. My name is Vasudeva. I wish you to be my guest today, to sleep in my hut, and to tell me where you come from, and why your splendid clothes become your burden."

They were in the middle of the river, and Vasudeva stepped up his oars and headed against the current.He worked calmly with his strong arms, his eyes fixed on the bow.Siddhartha sat looking at him, recalling the love he had felt for this man on his last day as a monk.He gratefully accepted Vasudeva's invitation.After docking, he helped the boatman tie the boat to the stake.Then the boatman invited him into the hut and brought him bread and water, which Siddhartha ate with great relish, and also ate the fruit Vasudeva had given him as a treat. Later, at sunset, the two of them sat on the trunk of a tree on the bank, and Siddhartha told the boatman about his origins and life, and those desperate moments were as vivid as today.He talked until late at night.

Vasudeva listened intently.He listens carefully to everything, birth and childhood, all learning, all exploration, all joy, all pain.Being good at listening is one of Vasudeva's important virtues, and there are not many people who can listen like him.He doesn't say a word, and the narrator feels that he's listening to it all.He listened quietly, frankly and expectantly, without missing a word, without the slightest impatience, without criticism, just listening.Siddhartha felt that it was a blessing to be able to tell such a listener about his life, his explorations and his troubles.

When Siddhartha came to the end, he talked about the tree by the river, about his downfall, about the holy "Om" and how he felt deeply about the water after sleeping. love.At this time, the boatman listened even more attentively, and he closed his eyes and listened intently. When Siddhartha had finished speaking, and there was a long silence, Vasudeva said: "The situation is as I thought, the river has spoken to you. It is also your friend and has spoken to you. Words. This is very good, very good. You stay with me, Siddhartha, my friend. I used to have a wife, and her bed was next to mine, but she died long ago, I have lived alone for a long time. You can live with me, and the accommodation and meals are enough for two people."

"I thank you," said Siddhartha, "thank you, I agree. Vasudeva, I also thank you for listening to me so attentively! There are very few people who are good listeners, and I have never met anyone like You are such a good listener. I also want to learn from you in this regard." "You will learn," Vasudeva said, "but not from me. The river taught me to listen, and you should learn from it. It knows everything, and this river, you can learn everything from it. See, you have learned a little from it, that is to strive down, to sink, to search deep, and that is good. Rich and noble Siddhartha became rower, learned Brahmin Siddhar The tower becomes the boatman, and that's what the river has taught you. You'll learn other things from it, too."

After another long pause, Siddhartha said, "Is there anything else, Vasudeva?" Vasudeva stood up. "It's late at night," he said, "let's go to bed. I can't tell you what 'other' is, my friend. You'll learn, maybe you already know. Look, I'm no scholar, I'm not good at talking, I'm not good at thinking either. I'm only good at listening and being kind-hearted, nothing else. If I could speak well, I might be a wise man, but I'm just a boatman, and my job is to take people across this river. I ferry Many people, thousands of people, have thought that my river is only an obstacle in their journey. They travel to earn money and trade, to go to weddings, to go on pilgrimage, and this river just stands in the way. On their way, the boatman is to help them quickly cross this obstacle. However, among these tens of thousands of people, there are a few people, a small number of people, four or five, and this river is no longer for them. Obstacles, they heard the sound of the river. They listened to the drizzle, and the river became sacred to them as it was to me. But let us rest, Siddhartha."

Siddhartha stayed with the boatman and learned to punt with him.If there is nothing to do at the ferry, he and Vasudeva will go to the rice fields to work, collect firewood, and pick plantains.He learned to make oars, to mend ferries, and to weave baskets, all with great interest.The sun and the moon fly like a shuttle, and time flies like an arrow.And the river taught him more than Vasudeva did.He is constantly learning from the river, first of all learning to listen, to listen with peace of mind, with anticipation and honesty of heart, without passion, without desire, without judgment, and without opinion. He lived happily by Vasudeva's side.The two talked occasionally, saying only a few thoughtful words.Vasudeva was not very talkative, and Siddhartha rarely sparked conversation in him. Once he asked Vasudeva, "Have you learned this secret from the river: time does not exist?" Vasudeva had a hearty smile on his face. "Yes, Siddhartha," he said, "do you mean that the river is the same everywhere, at the headwaters, at the mouths, at the waterfalls, at the fords, in the rapids, in the sea, in the mountains? , the same everywhere, for which there is only the present, and no shadow of the future?" "That's right." Siddhartha said, "When I figured this out and looked at my life carefully, I found that it was also a river, and the young Siddhartha and the adult Siddhartha and the old Xiddhartha Siddhartha is separated only by shadows, not by reality. Siddhartha's previous birth is not the past, and his death and return to Brahmin is not the future. Nothing has a past, everything has a future; everything It's all now, everything is just essence and now." Siddhartha talked excitedly, and this kind of enlightenment made him very happy.Oh, is not all sorrow time?Isn't all self-torture and self-fear just time?Once time is surpassed, once time is thrown away, won't all the hardships, hardships and hostility in the world be wiped away?He spoke with gusto.Vasudeva just smiled at him refreshed and nodded approvingly.He nodded silently, put his hand on Siddhartha's shoulder, and then turned to go about his business. Once again, when the river was swollen and swiftly flowing during the rainy season, Siddhartha said, "Oh my friend, the river has many voices, very many voices, doesn't it? Does it have the voice of a king, the voice of a soldier? , a bull's voice, a night bird's voice, a mother's voice, a sigher's voice, and a thousand other voices?" "That's right." Vasudeva nodded, "The sound of the river contains the sounds of all living things." "Do you know," continued Siddhartha, "when you hear all of its ten thousand voices at the same time, which word does it say?" Vasudeva had a happy smile on his face.He leaned close to Siddhartha and whispered the word "Om" in his ear, and that was exactly what Siddhartha heard. Time and time again, Siddhartha's smile became more and more similar to the boatman's smile, almost as radiant, almost as radiant with happiness, also shining from the thousand wrinkles of the strong and rich, the same childishness , also the same senile.Many travelers thought they were brothers when they saw the two boatmen.At night, they often sat together on a tree trunk by the river bank and listened silently to the flow of the river, which to them was not water but the sound of life, of existence, of eternal development.Sometimes, when they were listening to the river, the two thought of the same thing, a conversation the day before yesterday, one of their boat passengers whose expression and experience caught their attention, death, and their childhood.At the same moment when the river was telling them good things, the two of them sometimes looked at each other knowingly, and the two of them thought of something in the same way, happy for the same answer to the same question. Some passengers felt that there was something special about the ferryboat and the two boatmen.Sometimes a traveler, seeing the face of a boatman, begins to tell of his life, of his troubles, of his misdeeds, and beseeches comfort and advice.Sometimes travelers ask to spend a night with them in order to listen to the sound of the river.Other curious people came because they heard that there lived at the ferry two wise men, or magicians or saints.These curious people asked many questions, but got no answers, and they saw neither magician nor sage, but only two amiable little old men, who seemed to be dumb, and somewhat queer and dull.And the curious ones laughed and talked about the folly and credulity of spreading nonsense rumours. Time flies and no one talks about them anymore.At this time, some pilgrims, disciples of Living Buddha Gotama, came and asked to cross the river.The two boatmen learned from their mouths that they were rushing back to their benefactor, because there was news that the living Buddha was critically ill and was about to reach the final nirvana and complete liberation.Soon, another group of pilgrims came, and then another group came.The monks, as well as most of the travelers, talked about Gotama and his imminent attainment of nirvana.It's like watching an army march or a king being crowned, people come from all directions.Like ants swarming, people seem to be attracted by a kind of magic, flocking to the place where the Living Buddha is about to Nirvana, to the place where great events are about to happen, where the great perfection of an era is about to enter the Land of Ultimate Bliss. During this time, Siddhartha often thought of the dying sage, the great teacher whose voice had warned the people and awakened millions.Siddhartha, too, had heard his voice and gazed in awe at his holy countenance.Siddhartha thought of the Living Buddha affectionately, and the living Buddha's road to perfection was vivid in his memory, and he recalled with a smile what he said to the Living Buddha when he was a young man.He recalled it with a smile, feeling that it was all arrogance and talkativeness.He had known for a long time that he and Gotama could no longer be separated, but he could not accept his theory.No, a real seeker, a man who really wants to discover, does not accept doctrine.But a person who has experienced it can subscribe to any theory, any way, any goal, and nothing can separate him from the millions of people who live in eternity and breathe the breath of God. Just when many people were going to pay homage to the Living Buddha, one day, Kamala, that beautiful courtesan back then, would also pay homage to the Living Buddha.She had long since left her former life, gave her garden to Gotama's disciples, embraced Gotama's teachings, and became the friend and benefactor of those pilgrims.As soon as she heard the news that Gotama was critically ill, she and her son Siddhartha Jr. set out on the road, dressed in simple clothes, and made their pilgrimage on foot.Yu Zhong, she brought her son to this river.The son was tired and wanted to go home, rest, and eat, crying and fussing.Kamala had to take frequent breaks with him. The child was used to not listening to her and being stubborn. She had to feed him, coax him, and scold him.The child does not understand why it is necessary to follow its mother on this arduous and unfortunate pilgrimage to a strange place to visit a holy and dying stranger.Simply let him die, what does this have to do with the child? The two pilgrims were not far from Vasudeva's ferry, and once again little Siddhartha asked his mother to rest.Kamala was also tired, so she let the child eat bananas, sat on the ground, closed her eyes and rested for a while.Suddenly she uttered a cry, and the child looked at her in dismay, and saw that she, pale with fright, slipped a little black snake from under her dress, and fled away, and Kamala was bitten by it. The two of them ran forward quickly, trying to find someone for help, but as soon as they ran near the ferry, Kamala collapsed and could no longer run.The child uttered a miserable cry, hurriedly kissing and embracing the mother, and she also cried out for help, and the voice reached Vasudeva who was standing by the ferry.He rushed over quickly, picked up Kamala, put her in the boat, and the child followed her into the boat.After a while they came to the hut where Siddhartha was lighting a fire at the stove.He raised his eyes and saw the boy's face first, which reminded him with surprise of a past he had forgotten.Then he saw Kamala again, and recognized her at once, though he remembered her lying unconscious in the boatman's arms.He understood that the boy was his own son, and the child's face reminded him, his heart pounding in his chest. Kamala's wound was washed clean, but it had turned black and her body was swollen, so she was given medicine quickly.Hao regained consciousness and lay on Siddhartha's bed in the hut, Siddhartha whom she loved so much bent over her.She thought it was like a dream, and looked at the face of this former lover with a smile, and gradually realized the situation in front of her, remembering that she was bitten by a snake, she called out to her child in horror. "He is with you, don't worry," Siddhartha said. Kamala stared into his eyes.The snake venom made her whole body numb and her speech became slurred. "You're old, my dear," she said, "and your hair is gray. But you're still like that little Samana who came to me in the garden with no clothes on and dusty feet. You're better than when you left I was more like a Samana when I went away with Kamaswami. Your eyes are still like that, Siddhartha. Ah, I am old too, old - will you still recognize me?" Siddhartha smiled and said: "I recognized you at a glance, Kamala, dear." Kamala pointed to her child and said, "Did you recognize him too? He's your son." Her eyes appeared dazed and closed.When the boy began to cry, Siddhartha held him on his lap and let him cry, stroking his hair and looking at the boy's face he remembered a Brahmanic prayer he had learned as a child.He recited slowly in a singing tone to soothe the child, and the child calmed down, only sobbing once or twice, and then fell asleep.Siddhartha put him on Vasudeva's bed.Vasudeva was cooking by the stove.Siddhartha glanced at him, and he smiled back. "She's dying," Siddhartha whispered. Vasudeva nodded, the fire in the stove flickering on his kind face. Kamala regained consciousness again.Pain distorted her face, and Siddhartha's eyes read it on her mouth and pale cheeks.He quietly watched, concentrated, and patiently immersed in her pain.Visually Mara sensed it, searching his eyes with her gaze. When she saw him, she said, "Now I see that your eyes have changed, too. They are quite different. How on earth did I recognize you as Siddhartha? You are both him and not him!" Siddhartha was silent, his eyes fixed on hers silently. "Have you achieved your purpose?" she asked. "Have you found peace?" He smiled and put his hand on hers. "I see," she said, "I see. I'll find peace, too." "You have found it," Siddhartha said softly. Kamala stared at him intently.She remembered that she wanted to pay homage to Gotama, witness the face of the living Buddha, and experience his peace and tranquility, but now she found Siddhartha.This is also good, as good as seeing the Living Buddha.She wanted to tell him this, but the tongue no longer obeyed her will.She looked at him silently, and he saw in her eyes that her life was dying out.He closed her lids with his fingers as the last pain filled and overflowed her eyes, as the last tremors ripped through her limbs. He sat there for a long time, staring at her sleepless face.He looked at her mouth for a long time, her old, tired mouth with its elongated lips, and remembered how, in his youth, he had compared it to a freshly cut fig.He sat for a long time, looking at the pale face, looking at the tired wrinkles, and his mind was filled with the sight, as if he saw his own face lying there, equally pale and lifeless, and at the same time he seemed to see his own face and Her face was still young, with rosy lips and bright eyes.This sense of the current situation juxtaposed with the emotional intelligence of the past completely permeated him, and it was an eternal feeling.He felt deeply, more deeply than ever before, the indestructibility of every life, the eternity of every moment. He stood up, Vasudeva had served him a meal, but Siddhartha did not eat it.The two old men spread straw bedding in their sheepfold, and Vasudeva lay down and fell asleep.Siddhartha went out and sat all night in front of the hut, listening to the sound of the river, remembering the past, all the moments of his life had touched and surrounded him at the same time.Sometimes he got up and went to the door of the hut to hear if the child was asleep. Early in the morning, before the sun came out, Vasudeva walked out of the sheepfold and came to his friend. "You didn't sleep," he said. "No sleep, Vasudeva. I sit here and listen to the sound of the river. It tells me a lot, fills me with wholesome thoughts, fills me with harmonious thoughts." "You have suffered, Siddhartha, but I see no sorrow in you." "No, dear, why should I be sad? I, who was rich and happy, am richer and happier now. I have my son." "I welcome your son too. But now, Siddharyuntha, let's get to work, there's a lot to do. Kamala died on the same bed where my wife died, just before we Build a pyre for Kamala on the hill where your wife was burned." The child was still asleep and they built the funeral pyre.