Chapter 10 son

The child went to his mother's funeral in trembling and crying.He listened sullenly and shyly as Siddhartha recognized his son and welcomed him to stay in Vasudeva's hut.For many days in a row, he sat pale by the hill where his mother was buried, didn't think about food, closed his eyes and heart, and bitterly resisted fate. Siddhartha cared for him, left him alone, respected his grief.Siddhartha understood that the son did not know him well, and it was impossible to love him as he loved his father.He gradually discovered that this eleven-year-old boy was a pampered child, his mother's darling, who grew up in a wealthy environment, was used to eating delicious food, sleeping on a soft bed, and was used to giving orders to servants.Siddhartha understood that a sad and pampered child cannot be contented instantly and willingly in a strange and impoverished environment.He does not force the child, but does something for him, always leaving the best food for him.He hopes to win the child's heart slowly through friendly patience.

When the child came to him, he said that he was very rich and happy.As time passed, the child remained distant and indifferent to him, vain and stubborn, unwilling to work, disrespectful to the elderly, and stealing fruit from the Vasudeva tree.Siddhartha began to realize that the arrival of his son did not bring happiness and peace, but trouble and worry.But he loves children, and would rather endure the troubles and worries of love than the happiness and joy of not having children. Since the young Siddhartha lived in the hut, the two old people have divided the work.Vasudeva again assumed the duties of boatman alone, while Siddhartha took care of the house and the fields in order to be with his son.

Siddhartha waited for a long time, several months, hoping that his son would understand him, accept his love, and return his love.Vasudeva, too, waited for months, watching, expecting, and silent.One day, little Siddhartha lost his temper again, tortured his father, and broke two jobs.When evening came, Vasudeva called his friend aside and consulted with him. "Forgive me," he said, "I have come to talk to you out of kindness. I have seen you tormenting yourself, I have seen you distressed. My dear, your son has troubled you and troubled me. The little bird Used to another life, used to another nest. He wasn't like you who fled the rich life and the city out of loathing and boredom, he had to drop it all against his will. I asked The river, my friend, I have asked many times. But the river just laughs, it laughs at me, it laughs at me, it laughs at you, it laughs back and forth at our stupidity. Water wants water, youth wants youth, your son is not now Stay where he can prosper! Ask the river, too, and listen to its opinion!"

Siddhartha looked worriedly at his amiable face, whose many lines retained its usual openness. "Can I part with him?" he asked in a low voice, rather ashamed. "Give me a little more time, dear! See, I'm winning him, winning his heart, and I'm going to win his heart with love and kind patience. The river will speak to him some day, because he too Called." Vasudeva's smile softened even more. "Oh, yes, he is also called. He also belongs to eternal life. But do we, you and I, know what his mission is? What path should he walk, what should he do, what should he suffer? Suffering? His pain is insignificant. His heart is proud and hard. This kind of person will suffer a lot, take a lot of detours, do a lot of wrong things, and bear a lot of sins. Tell me, dear: don’t you discipline your son ? You don’t force him? You don’t beat him? You don’t punish him, do you?”

"No, Vasudeva, I won't do any of that." "I know. You don't force him, you don't beat him, you don't order him, because you know that softness beats hard. Water is better than rocks.. Love is better than violence. Very well, I praise you. But, you advocate not forcing him , don’t punish him, isn’t this a mistake of yours? Isn’t this binding him with love? Isn’t this using kindness and patience to decompress him every day and make him more distressed? Don’t you force him , this proud and pampered child, forced him to live in a hut with two old people? The two old people regard rice as a delicacy, and their thoughts cannot be the same as his. Their hearts are old and calm, and they can't even walk The postures are different. Isn’t all this a coercion to him, and a punishment to him?”

Siddhartha looked at the ground in shock.He whispered, "What do you think I should do?" Vasudeva said, "Send him back to the city, take him back to his mother's house, there will still be Phu people there, give him to them. If there is no one there, find him a teacher, Not for him to be educated, but for him to be with other boys and girls, back in his world. Haven't you ever thought about that?" "You really read my heart," said Siddhartha sadly. "I think about it a lot. But you see, how am I going to send this hard-hearted boy back to that world? He Wouldn't he be extravagant, drunk on pleasure and power, repeat all his father's mistakes, and lose himself entirely in the cycle of reincarnation?"

The smile of the boatman was bright; he stroked Siddhartha's arm lightly and said, "Ask the river, my friend! You can hear it laughing! Do you really believe that you do stupid things to prevent your son from doing stupid things? You Can you protect your son from samsara? How do you do it? By teaching, by prayer, by exhortation? My dear, have you completely forgotten that story, of course the one you told me in this place about the son of Brahmin Sith The sobering story of Harta? Who protected the recluse Siddhartha from reincarnation, from falling into sin, greed and ignorance? His father's piety, his teacher's exhortations, his own conscience, his own Explore, can these protect him? Is there any father, any teacher who can prevent him from living his own life, staining himself with life, taking responsibility for his own mistakes, drinking the bitter wine of life by himself, and finding his own way? Maybe only you Dear son, just because you love him, because you want to avoid trouble, pain and disappointment? But, even if you die for him ten times, I am afraid that it is impossible to change his fate in the slightest!"

Vasudeva had never said so much before.Siddhartha thanked him sincerely, and went into the hut worriedly, but he could not sleep for a long time.Vasudeva had actually thought about what Vasudeva said and understood it long ago.But that was just a realization that he couldn't, and his love for the child, his tenderness, his fear of losing him, was stronger than that.Has he ever been so obsessed with something before?Has he ever loved someone so much, so blind, so painful, so helpless and yet so happy? Siddhartha could not heed the advice of his friends, he could not give up his son.He let his son give orders to him, let his son look down on him.He was silent and waiting, a silent kind of struggle every day, a silent patient struggle.Vasudeva too was silent and waiting, friendly, considerate and tolerant.They are both masters when it comes to patience.

Once, the child's face reminded him of Kamala.Siddhartha suddenly remembered a sentence, which was a sentence Kamala said to him a long time ago when he was young. "You can't love," she told him.He agreed with what she said, comparing himself to a star, and those childlike mortals to falling leaves, but he still heard a kind of reproach in that sentence after all.In fact, he'd never been able to be completely infatuated and committed to another person, to forget himself, to do stupid things in order to love another person; The great difference that separates him from the childlike philistines.But now, since his child came, even he, Siddhartha, has become completely human, suffering for a person, loving a person, obsessed with a love, and a fool because of a love.Now, though belatedly, he felt the strongest and rarest passion in his life, suffered from it, suffered unspeakably, but was happy again, more alive and fulfilled.

He clearly felt that this kind of love, this blind love for his son, was a kind of passion, it was in line with human nature, it was samsara, a muddy spring, an unfathomable water.But at the same time, he feels that it is not worthless, but necessary, and it comes from his own nature.This kind of pleasure should also be satisfied, this kind of pain should also be tasted, and this kind of stupidity should also be done. During this time, his son let him do stupid things and let him endure his son's bad temper every day.The father had nothing that his son liked or feared.The father was a good man, a kind, gentle, good man, perhaps a very pious man, perhaps a saint--and these qualities did not win the boy's heart.The son found it annoying that his father kept him in this poor hut, and he hated his father, whose smile at naughtiness, friendliness at abuse, and tolerance of wickedness were the worst part of the old hypocrite. conspiracy.The child would rather be threatened and abused by him.

One day, little Siddhartha's thoughts finally exploded and he openly opposed his father.His father assigned him a job and told him to gather some dry firewood, but the child refused to leave the house, and stood there stubbornly and angrily, stomping the ground with his feet, clenching his fists, and yelling at his father with hatred and anger. Scornful words. "Go and pick up the sticks yourself!" He was furious. "I am not your servant! I know you will not beat me, and you dare not! I know you want to punish me constantly with your piety and tolerance." You want me to be like you, so pious, so gentle, so wise! But me, listen, I'll make you all, I'd rather be a robber and a murderer , go to hell, and never be someone like you! I hate you, you are not my father, even if you have been my mother's lover ten times!" Filled with rage and resentment, he cursed a hundred crude and vicious words at his father.Then the child ran away and did not return until late at night. The next morning, the child was gone again.In addition, a small basket woven of bark of two colors was missing, and the copper and silver coins obtained by the boatman from the ferry were hidden in the basket.The boat was nowhere to be seen, and Siddhartha found out later that it was moored on the opposite bank.The child escaped. "I have to go after him," said Siddhartha, even though he was shaking with grief after hearing the child's swearing yesterday. "A little boy can't go through the big forest alone. He'll die. We've got to make a raft, Vasudeva, and get across the river." "Then make a raft," said Vasudeva, "and bring back the ferry that the child took. But let the child go, my friend, he is no longer a child, he will save himself Yes. He's going to find his way back to the city. He's doing the right thing. Don't forget that. He's doing exactly what you missed doing. He wants to take care of himself and go his own way. Ah, Siddhar Erta, I see that you are suffering, but your suffering is something that others will laugh at, and you will soon laugh at yourself." Siddhartha didn't answer.He had already picked up the ax and started to build a bamboo raft, and Vasudeva helped him tie the bamboo raft with straw rope.Then they paddled to the opposite bank, but the raft was carried far down by the river, and they fought their way against the current to get the raft to the opposite bank. "Why do you carry an ax with you?" Siddhartha asked. Vasudeva said: "The oars on our boat may have been lost." Yet Siddhartha knew what his friend was thinking.He was thinking that the boy would throw away or break the oars, in revenge and in order to prevent them from giving chase.Sure enough, there were no oars in the boat.Vasudeva pointed to the bottom of the boat, looked at his friend with a smile, and seemed to say, "Don't you see what your son is going to tell you? Don't you see that he doesn't want to be followed?" Say it.He started to make a new oar.Siddhartha said goodbye to him and went to find the runaway child.Vasudeva did not stop him. Siddhartha searched the forest for a long time before realizing the futility of his search.He thought, maybe the child had already left the forest and returned to the city. If he was still on the way, he would hide when he saw the pursuer.He went on thinking, and found that he was not worried about his son. He knew deep down that his son would neither die nor be in danger in the forest.However, despite this, he kept on going, no longer to save the child, but just out of the desire to see the child again.In this way he rushed all the way to the city. He approached the city, set foot on the broad avenue, and stopped at the gate of the beautiful garden that had belonged to Kamala.It was here that his son saw Kamala sitting in the sedan chair for the first time.The scene at that time came back to his mind, and he vaguely saw himself standing there, a young, unshaven, naked Samana, with a dusty head.Siddhartha stood for a long time, looking into the garden through the open gate, and saw monks in yellow robes walking under the dense trees. He stood there for a long time, meditating, as if he saw pictures and heard his own life story.He stood for a long time, looking at those monks, as if he saw not them, but young Siddhartha, young Kamala walking under the big tree.He saw clearly how he was entertained by Kamala, how he got her first kiss, how he looked back on his Brahmin career with pride and contempt, and began his worldly life with pride and longing.He saw Kamaswami, he saw the servants, the feasts, the gamblers, the musicians, he saw the little bird that Kamala kept in a cage, he experienced it all again, full of samsara Once again I grow old and tired, I feel sick again, I feel that longing for relief again, and once again my health is restored by the holy Om. Siddhartha stood at the garden gate for a long time before he realized that the hope that drove him here was foolish, that he could not help his son, that he should not hold on to him.He felt deeply in his heart the love for the fugitives, which was like a wound, but at the same time he also felt that this wound was not something he lamented, that it was bound to blossom and bear fruit and shine. However, it saddened him to remember that the trauma had not blossomed and had not yet blossomed.The purpose that had driven him here in search of his missing son was gone, and in its place was a void.He sat sad, feeling something dying inside him, feeling empty, seeing no joy, no purpose.He sat there dreaming, waiting.This is the skill he learned by the river: wait, be patient, listen.He sat in the dust of the street and listened to how his heart beat wearily and sadly, waiting for a voice.For hours he sat and listened, unable to see what he had been before, lost in the void, allowed himself to sink, unable to see a way.When he feels the burning pain of his works, he recites "Om" silently, and enriches himself with "Om".The monk in the garden saw him because he had been sitting for hours, his gray hair was covered with dust.Then, a monk came over and put down two plantains in front of him.The old man didn't see him. A hand touched his shoulder and woke him from this numbness.He recognized the touch at once, the soft, twisted touch, and came to life.He stood up and greeted Vasudeva who came to him.He looked at Vasudevan's amiable face, at the fine wrinkles filled with a smile, at those bright eyes, and smiled too.At this time, he saw the plantains in front of him, handed one to the boatman, and ate the other by himself.Then he silently followed Vasudeva back to the forest and to the ferry.No one said what happened today, no one mentioned the child's name, no one talked about his escape, and no one pointed to the wound.Back in the hut, Siddhartha lay down on his bed.After a while, Vasudeva came to him and brought him a bowl of coconut water, only to find that he had fallen asleep.