Chapter 10 - The Son - Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse

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Episode Transcript

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Chapter ten, The Son timid andweeping. The boy had attended his mother's
funeral, gloomy and shy. Hehad listened to Siddhartha, who greeted him
as his son and welcomed him athis place in Vasadeva's hut Pale. He
sat for many days by the heelof the dead, did not want to

(00:24):
eat, gave no open look,did not open his heart. Met his
fate with resistance and denial. SaidArthur spared him and let him do as
he pleased. He honored his mourningSidD Arthur understood that his son did not
know him, that he could notlove him like a father. Slowly,

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he also saw and understood that theeleven year old was a pampered boy,
a mother's boy, and that hehad grown up in the habits of rich
people, accustomed to finer food,to a soft bed, accustomed to giving
orders to servants. Sid Arthur understoodthat the mourning, pampered child could not

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suddenly and willingly be content with alife amongst strangers and in poverty. He
did not force him. He didmany a chore for him, always picked
the best piece of the meal forhim. Slowly, he hoped to win
him over by friendly patience, richand happy, he had called himself when

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the boy had come to him.Since time had passed on in the meanwhile,
and the boy remained a stranger andin a gloomy disposition, since he
displayed a proud and stubbornly disobedient heart, did not want to do any work,
did not pay his respect to theold men, stole from Vasudeva's fruit

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trees. Then sid Arthur began tounderstand that his son had not brought him
happiness and peace, but suffered ringand worry. But he loved him,
and he preferred the suffering and worriesof love over happiness and joy without the
boy. Since young Siddhartha was inthe hut, the old man had split

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the work Thasudeva had again taken onthe job of the fairyman all by himself,
and said Arthur, in order tobe with his son, did the
work in the hut and in thefield for a long time. For long
months, said Arthur waited for hisson to understand him, to accept his

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love, to perhaps reciprocate it.For long months, Vasudeva waited, watching,
waited, and said nothing. Oneday when Siddartha. The younger had
once again tormented his father very muchwith spite and an unsteadiness in his wishes,
and had broken both of his ricebowls. Vasudeva took in the evening

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his friend aside and talked to him. Pardon me, he said, from
a friendly heart. I am talkingto you. I am seeing that you
are tormenting yourself. I am seeingthat you're in grief. Your son,
my dear, is worrying you,and he is also worrying me. That

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young bird is accustomed to a differentlife, to a different nest. He
has not like you, run awayfrom riches and the city, being disgusted
and fed up with it. Againsthis will, he had to leave all
this behind. I asked the riverfriend, many times I have asked it.

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But the river laughs. It laughsat me, It laughs at you
and me, and is shaking withlaughter at our foolishness. Water wants to
join water. Youth wants to joinyouth. Your son is not in the
place where he can prosper. Youtoo should ask the river. You too

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should listen to it. Said Arthurlooked into his friendly face in the many
wrinkles of which there was an incessantcheerfulness. How could I part with him,
he said, quietly, ashamed.Give me some more time, my
dear. See, I'm fighting forhim. I'm seeking to win his heart

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with love and with friendly patience.I intend to capture it. One day,
the river shall also talk to him. He also is called upon,
Thasudeva's smile flourished more warmly. Oh, yes, he too is called upon.
He too is of the eternal life. But do we you and me

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know what he is called upon todo? What path to take, what
actions to perform? What pain toendure? Not a small one his pain
will be After all, his heartis proud and hard. People like this
have to suffer a lot, era lot, do much injustice, burden

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themselves with much sin. Tell me, my dear, you're not taking control
of your son's upbringing. You don'tforce him, you don't beat him,
you don't punish him. No Vasudeva, I don't do anything of this.
I knew it. You don't forcehim, don't beat him, don't give

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him orders, because you know thatsoft is stronger than hard, water,
stronger than rocks, love, strongerthan force. Very good, I praise
you, But aren't you mistaken inthinking that you wouldn't force him, wouldn't
punish him. Don't you shackle himwith your love? Don't you make him

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feel in fear area every day?And don't you make it even harder on
him with your kindness and patience?Don't you force him, the arrogant and
pampered boy, to live in ahut with two old banana eaters, to
whom even rice is a delicacy,whose thoughts can't be his, whose hearts
are old and quiet and beats ina different pace than his. Isn't forced?

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Isn't he punished? By all this? Troubled? Said Arthur, looked
to the ground quietly, he asked, what do you think I should do,
quoth Thasudeva. Bring him into thecity, Bring him into his mother's
house. They'll still be servants around, give him to them, and when

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there aren't any around anymore, bringhim to a teacher, not for the
teaching sake, but so that heshall be among other boys, and among
girls, and in the world whichis his own. Have you never thought
of this? You're seeing into myheart? Said Arthur, spoke sadly.

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Often I have thought of this,But look, how shall I put him,
who had no tender heart anyhow,into this world? Won't he become
exuberant? Won't he lose himself topleasure and power? Won't he repeat all
of his father's mistakes? Won't heperhaps get entirely lost in Sant Sarah?

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Brightly the ferryman smile lit up softly. He touched said Arthur's arm and said,
ask the river about it, myfriend, hear it, laugh about
it? Would you actually believe thatyou had committed your foolish acts in order
to spare your son from committing themtoo? And could you in any way

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protect your son from Sant Sarah?How could you by means of teachings,
prayer, admonition? My dear,have you entirely forgotten that story that story
containing so many lessons, That storyabout Siddartha a Brahman son, which you

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once told me here on this veryspot, Who has kept a Samana Siddartha
save from sansara, from sin,from greed, from foolishness? Were his
father's religious devotion, his teacher's warnings, his own knowledge, his own search
able to keep him safe? Whichfather, which teacher had been able to

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protect him from? Living his lifefor himself, from soiling himself with life,
from burdening himself with guilt, fromdrinking the bitter drink for himself,
from finding his path for himself.Would you think, my dear, anybody
might perhaps be spared from taking thispath, That perhaps your little son would

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be spared because you love him,because you would like to keep him safe,
because you would like to keep himfrom suffering and pain and disappointment.
But even if you would die tentimes for him, you would not be
able to take the slightest part ofhis destiny upon yourself. Never before Vasudeva

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had spoken so many words kindly saidArthur, thanked him, went troubled into
the hut, could not sleep fora long time. Vasudeva had told him
nothing he had not already thought andknown for himself. But this was a
knowledge he could not act upon.Stronger than the knowledge was his love for

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the boy. Stronger was his tenderness, his fear to lose him. Had
he ever lost his heart so muchto something? Had he ever loved any
person thus thus blind kindly, thussufferingly, thus unsuccessfully, and yet thus
happily. Siddartha could not heed hisfriend's advice. He could not give up

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the boy. He let the boygive him orders, he let him disregard
him. He said nothing and waiteddaily. He began the mute struggle of
friendliness, the silent war of patience. Vasudeva said nothing and waited friendly,
knowing patient, they were both mastersof patience. At one time, when

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the boy's face reminded him very muchof Kamala, Siddartha suddenly had to think
of a line which Kamala, along time ago, in the days of
their youth, had once said tohim. You cannot love, she had
said to him, And he hadagreed with her, and had compared himself
to a star while comparing the childlikepeople with falling leaves. And nevertheless,

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he had also sensed an accusation inthat line. Indeed, he had never
been able to lose or devote himselfcompletely to another person, to forget himself,
to commit foolish acts for the loveof another person. Never he had
been able to do this. Andthis was, as it seemed to him

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at that time, the great distinctionwhich set him apart from the childlike people.
But now, since his son washere, now, he said,
Arthur had become completely a childlike person, suffering for the sake of another person,
loving another person, lost to alove, having become a fool on

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account of love. Now he toofelt late. Once in his lifetime,
this strongest and strangest of all passions, suffered from it, suffered miserably,
and was nevertheless in bliss, wasnevertheless renewed in one respect, enriched by

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the one thing. He did sensevery well that his love, this blind
love for his son, was apassion, something very human, that it
was censora, a murky source,dark waters. Nevertheless, he felt at
the same time it was not worthless, It was necessary, came from the

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essence of his own being. Thispleasure also had to be atoned for.
This pain also had to be endured. These foolish acts also had to be
committed. Through all this the sonlet him commit his foolish acts, let
him court for his affection, lethim humiliate himself every day by giving in

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to his moods. This father hadnothing which could have delighted him, and
nothing which he would have feared.He was a good man, this father,
a good, kind, soft man, perhaps a very devout man,
perhaps a saint. All these wereno attributes which could win the boy over.

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He was bored by his father,who kept him prisoner here in this
miserable heart of his. He wasbored by him, And for him to
answer every naughtiness with a smile,every insult with friendliness, every viciousness with
kindness. This very thing was thehated trick of this old sneak. Much

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more the boy would have liked itif he had been threatened by him,
if he had been abused by him. A day came when what young Siddhartha
had on his mind came bursting forth, and he openly turned against his father.
The latter had given him a timeask. He had told him to
gather brushwood, but the boy didnot leave the hut. In stubborn disobedience

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and rage, he stayed where hewas, thumped on the ground with his
feet, clenched his fists, andscreamed in a powerful outburst his hatred and
contempt into his father's face. Getthe brushwood for yourself, he shouted,
foaming at the mouth. I'm notyour servant. I do know that you

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won't hit me, you don't dare. I do know that you constantly want
to punish me and put me downwith your religious devotion and your indulgence.
You want me to become like you, just as devout, just as soft,
just as wise. But I listenup just to make you suffer.

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I rather want to become a highwayrobber and a murderer and to go to
hell than to become like you.I hate you. You're not my father,
and if you've been ten times mymother's fornicator. Rage and grief boiled
over in him. Foamed at thefather in a hundred savage and evil words.

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Then the boy ran away and onlyreturned late at night. But the
next morning he had disappeared. Whathad also disappeared was a small basket woven
out of bast of two colors,in which the ferryman kept those copper and
silver coins which they received as afair. The boat had also disappeared.

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Sid Arthur sort it lying by theopposite bank. The boy had run away.
I must follow him, said sidArthur, who had been shivering with
grief since those ranting speeches the boyhad made yesterday. A child can't go
through the forest all alone. He'llperish. We must build a raft,

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Vasudeva, to get over the water. We will build a raft, said
Vasudeva to get our boat back,which the boy has taken away. But
him, you shall let run along, my friend, he is no child
any more. He knows how toget around. He's looking for the path

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to the city, and he isright. Don't forget that. He's doing
what you've failed to do yourself.He's taking care of himself. He's taking
his course. Alas, said Arthur, I see you suffering, But you're
suffering a pain at which one wouldlike to laugh, at which you'll soon

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laugh for yourself, said Arthur.Did not answer. He already held the
axe in his hands and began tomake a raft of bamboo, and Vasudeva
helped him to tie the canes togetherwith ropes of grass. Then they crossed
over, drifted far off their course, pulled the raft upriver on the opposite

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bank. Why did you take theaxe along, asked Siddhartha. Fasudeva said,
it might have been possible that theoar of our boat got lost.
Patsiddhartha knew what his friend was thinking. He thought the boy would have thrown
away or broken the oar in orderto get even and in order to keep

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them from following him. And infact there was no oar left in the
boat. Fasudeva pointed at the bottomof the boat and looked at his friend
with a smile, as if hewanted to say, don't you see what
your son is trying to tell you? Don't you see that he doesn't want
to be followed? But he didnot say this in words. He started

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making a new oar. Patsiddhartha bidhis farewell to look for the runaway.
Fasudeva did not stop him. Whensid Arthur had already been walking through the
forest for a long time, thethought occurred to him that his search was
useless, either so he thought theboy was far ahead and had already reached

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the city, or if he shouldstill be on his way, he would
conceal himself from him the pursuer.As he continued thinking, he also found
that he, on his part,was not worried for his son, for
he knew deep inside that he hadneither perished nor was in any danger in
the forest. Nevertheless, he ranwithout stopping, no longer to save him,

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just to satisfy his desire, justto perhaps see him one more time,
and he ran up to just outsidethe city. When near the city,
he reached a wide road. Hestopped by the entrance of the beautiful
pleasure garden, which used to belongto Camala, where he had seen her

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for the first time in her sedanchair. The past rose up in his
soul again. He saw himself standingthere, young a bearded, naked Samana,
his hair full of dust. Fora long time, Saiddartha stood there
and looked through the open gate intothe garden, seeing monks in yellow robes

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walking among the beautiful trees. Fora long time, he stood there,
pondering, seeing images, listening tothe story of his life. For a
long time, he stood there,looked at the monks, saw young Sadartha
in their place, saw young Kamalawalking among the high trees. Clearly,

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he saw himself being served food anddrink by Kamala, receiving his first kiss
from her, looking proudly and disdainfullyback on his Brahmanism, beginning proudly and
full of desire his worldly life.He saw Kamaswami, saw the servants,

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the orgies, the gamblers with thedice, the musicians, saw Kamala's songbird
in the cage live through all thisonce again breathed sands. Sarah was once
again old and tired, felt onceagain disgust, felt once again the wish

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to annihilate himself, was once againhealed by the Holy Ome. After having
been standing at the gate of thegarden for a long time, said Arthur,
realized that his desire was foolish,which had made him go up to
this place, That he could nothelp his son, that he was not

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allowed to clean him. Deeply.He felt the love for the runaway in
his heart like a wound. Andhe felt at the same time that this
wound had not been given to himin order to turn the knife in it,
that it had to become a blossomand had to shine. That this
wound did not blossom, yet didnot shine yet at this hour made him

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sad. Instead of the desired goalwhich had drawn him here following the runaway
sun, there was now emptiness.Sadly, he sat down, felt something
dying in his heart, experienced emptiness, saw no joy anymore, no goal.

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He sat lost in thought and waited. This he had learned by the
river, this one thing waiting,having patience, listening attentively, and he
sat and listened in the dust ofthe road, listened to his heart beating
tiredly and sadly waited for a voice. Many an hour he crouched listening,

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saw no images anymore, fell intoemptiness, let himself fall without seeing a
path, and when he felt thewound burning, he silently spoke the om
filled himself with olm. The monksin the garden saw him, and since
he crouched there for many hours anddust was gathering on his gray hair,

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one of them came to him andplaced two bananas in front of him.
The old man did not see him. From this petrified state, he was
awoken by a hand touching his shoulder. Instantly he recognized this touch, this
tender, bashful touch, and regainedhis senses. He rose and greeted Vasudeva,

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who had followed him. And whenhe looked into Vasudeva's friendly face,
into the small wrinkles, which wereas if they were filled with nothing but
his smile, into the happy eyes, then he smiled too. Now he
saw the bananas lying in front ofhim, picked them up, gave one

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to the ferryman ate the other onehimself. After this he silently went back
into the forest with Vasudeva, returnedhome to the fairy Neither one talked about
what had happened to day. Neitherone mentioned the boy's name, neither one
spoke about him running away, neitherone spoke about the wound In the hut.

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Siddhartha lay down on his bed,and when after a while Vasudeva came
to him to offer him a bowlof cocoanut milk, he already found him
asleep. End of chapter ten