Chapter 11 - Om - Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse

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Episode Transcript

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Chapter eleven Olm. For a longtime, the wound continued to burn.
Many A traveler said, Arthur hadto ferry across the river who was accompanied
by a son or a daughter,and he saw none of them without envying
him, without thinking, so many, so many thousands possessed this sweetest of

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good fortunes. Why don't I evenbad people, even thieves and robbers,
have children and love them, andare being loved by them, all except
for me? Thus simply, thus, without reason, he now thought,
Thus similar to the childlike people,he had become differently than before. He

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now looked upon people less smart,less proud, but instead warmer, more
curious, more involved. When heferried travelers of the ordinary kind, childlike
people, businessmen, warriors, women, these people did not seem alien to
him as they used to. Heunderstood them, He understood and shared their

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life, which was not guided bythoughts and insight, but solely by urges
and wishes. He felt like them. Though he was near perfection and was
bearing his final wound, it seemedto him as if those childlike people were
his brothers. Their vanities, desiresfor possession, and ridiculous aspects were no

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longer ridiculous to him, became understandable, became lovable, and even became worthy
of veneration to him. The blindlove of a mother for her child,
the stupid, blind pride of aconceited father for his only son, the
blind, wild desire of a young, vain woman for jewelry, and admiring

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glances from men. All of these, all of this childish stuff, all
of these simple, foolish, butimmensely strong, strongly living, strongly prevailing
urges and desires, were now nochildish notions for said Arthur anymore. He
saw people living for their sake,saw them achieving infinitely much for their sake,

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traveling, conducting wars, suffering infinitelymuch, bearing infinitely much, and
he could love them for it.He saw life, that what is alive,
the indestructible, the Brahman. Ineach of their passions, each of
their acts worthy of love and admiration. Were these people in their blind loyalty,

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their blind strength and tenacity, Theylacked nothing. There was nothing.
The knowledgeable one, the thinker,had put himself above them, except for
one thing, a single, tiny, small thing, the consciousness, the
conscious thought of the oneness of alllife and Siddhartha even doubted in many an

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hour whether this knowledge, this thoughtwas to be valued thus highly, whether
it might also perhaps be a childishidea of the thinking people, of the
thinking and childlike people. In allother respects, the worldly people were of
equal rank to the wise men wereoften far superior to them, just as

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animals too, can after in somemoments, seem to be superior to humans
in their tough, unrelenting performance ofwhat is necessary. Slowly blossomed, slowly
ripened in sid Arthur. The realizationthe knowledge what wisdom actually was, what
the goal of his long search was. It was nothing but a readiness of

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the soul, an ability a secretart to think every moment while living his
life, the thought of oneness,to be able to feel and inhale the
oneness. Slowly this blossomed in himwas shining back at him from Vasadeva's old
childlike face, harmony, knowledge ofthe eternal perfection of the world, smiling

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oneness. But the wound still burnedlongingly and bitterly. Siddartha thought of his
son, nurtured his love and tendernessin his heart, allowed the pain to
gnaw at him. Committed all foolishacts of love, not by itself,

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this flame would go out. Andone day, when the wound burned violently,
Siddartha ferried across the river, drivenby a yearning, got off the
boat and was willing to go tothe city and to look for his The
river flowed softly and quietly. Itwas the dry season, but its voice

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sounded strange. It laughed, Itlaughed clearly. The river laughed. It
laughed brightly and clearly at the oldfairyman. Sad Arthur stopped. He bent
over the water in order to heareven better, and he saw his face
reflected in the quietly moving waters.And in this reflected face there was something

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which reminded him, something he hadforgotten. And as he thought about it,
he found it. His face resembledanother face which he used to know
and love and also fear. Itresembled his father's face, the Brahman,
And he remembered how he, along time ago, as a young man,
had forced his father to let himgo to the penitence, how he

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had bad his furwell to him,how he had gone and had never come
back. Had his father not alsosuffered the same pain for him, which
he now suffered for his son.Had his father not long since died alone
without having seen his son again,did he not have to expect the same

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fate for himself? Was it nota comedy, a strange and stupid matter,
this repetition, this running around ina fateful circle. The river laughed.
Yes, so it was everything cameback which had not been suffered and
solved up to its end. Thesame pain was suffered over and over again.

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But said Arthur went back into theboat and ferried back to the hut,
thinking of his father, thinking ofhis son, laughed at by the
river, at odds with himself tendingtowards despair, and not less tending towards
laughing along but himself and the entireworld. Alas the wound was not blossoming

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again, his heart was still fightinghis fate. Cheerfulness and victory were not
yet shining from his suffering. Nevertheless, he felt hope, and once he
had returned to the hut, hefelt an undefeatable desire to open up to
Vasadeva, to show him everything.The master of listening to say everything,

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Vasudeva was sitting in the hut andweaving a basket. He no longer used
the ferry boat. His eyes werestarting to get weak, and not just
his eyes, his arms and handsas well, unchanging and flourishing. Was
only the joy and the cheerful benevolenceof his face, said Arthur. Sat

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down next to the old man.Slowly he started talking what they had never
talked about. He now told ofhis walk to the city at that time,
of the burning wound, of hisenvy at the sight of happy fathers,
of his knowledge of the foolishness ofsuch wishes, of his futile fight

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against them. He reported everything hewas able to say, everything, even
the most embarrassing parts. Everything couldbe said, everything shown. Everything he
could tell, he presented his wound. Also told how he fled today,

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how he ferried across the water,a childlike run away, willing to walk
to the city, How the riverhad laughed while he spoke, spoke for
a long time while Vasudeva was listeningwith a quiet face. Vasadeva's listening gave
Sidartha a stronger sensation than ever before. He sensed how his pain, his

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fears flowed over to him, secrethope flowed over came back at him from
his counterpart to show his wound tothis listener was the same as bathing it
in the river until it had cooledand become one with the river. While
he was still speaking, still admittingand confessing, SidD Arthur felt more and

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more that this was no longer Vasadeva, no longer a human being who was
listening to him, That this motionlesslistener was absorbing his confession into himself like
a tree the rain. That thismotionless man was the river itself, that
he was God himself, that hewas the eternal itself. And while sid

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Arthur stopped thinking of himself and hiswound, this realization of Vasadeva's changed character
took possession of him, and themore he felt it and entered into it,
the less wondrous it became. Themore he realize that everything was in
order and natural, that Vasudeva hadalready been like this for a long time,

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almost forever, that only he hadnot quite recognized it. Yes,
that he himself had almost reached thesame state. He felt that he was
now seeing old Vasudeva as the peoplesee the gods, and that this could
not last. In his heart,he started bidding his farewell to Vasudeva.

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Through all this, he talked incessantly. When he had finished talking, Vasudeva
turned his friendly eyes, which hadgrown slightly weak, at him, said
nothing. Let his silent love andcheerfulness, understanding and knowledge shine at him.
He took sad Arthur's hand, ledhim to the seat of the bank,

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sat down with him, smiled atthe river. You've heard it,
laugh, he said, But youhaven't heard everything. Let's listen, you'll
hear more. They listened softly,sounded the river singing in many voices,
said Arthur. Looked into the river, and images appeared to him in the

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moving water. His father appeared lonely, mourning for his son. He himself
appeared lonely, he also being tiedwith the bondage of yearning to his distant
son. His son appeared lonely aswell. The boy greedily rushing along the

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burning course of his young wishes,each one heading for his goal, each
one obsessed by the goal, eachone suffering. The river sang with a
voice of suffering longingly. It sanglongingly. It flowed towards its goal lamentingly.
Its voice sang, do you hearThasudeva's mute gaze asked Siddartha nodded,

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listen better. Thasudeva whispered. Sidarthurmade an effort to listen better. The
image of his father, his ownimage, the image of his son merged.
Kamala's image also appeared and was dispersed, and the image of Govinda,
and other images, and they mergedwith each other, turned all into the

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river headed, all being the riverfor the goal, longing, desiring,
suffering, And the river's voice soundedfull of yearning, full of burning woe,
full of unsatisfiable desire for the goal. The river was heading. Sidarthur
saw it, hurrying, the riverwhich consisted of him and his loved ones,

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and of all people he had everseen. All of these waves and
waters were hurrying, suffering towards goals, many goals, the waterfall, the
lake, the rapids, the sea, and all goals were reached, and
every goal was followed by a newone. And the water turned into vapor

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and rose to the sky, turnedinto rain and poured down from the sky,
turned into a source a stream,a river headed forward once again,
flowed on once again, But thelonging voice had changed. It still resounded
full of suffering, searching, Butother voices joined it, voices of joy

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and of suffering, good and bad, voices, laughing and sad ones.
A hundred voices, a thousand voices, Sadarthur listened. He was now nothing
but a listener, completely concentrated onlistening, completely empty. He felt that
he had now finished learning to listen. Often before he had heard all this,

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these many voices in the river.Today it sounded new. Already he
could no longer tell the many voicesapart, not the happy ones from the
weeping ones, not the ones ofchildren from those of men. They all
belonged together, the lamentation of yearningand the laughter of the knowledgeable one,

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the scream of rage and the moaningof the dying ones. Everything was one.
Everything was intertwined and connected, entangleda thousand times, and everything altogether
all voices, all goals, allyearning, all suffering, all pleasure,

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all that was good and evil.All of this together was the world.
All of it together was the flowof events, was the music of life.
And when said Arthur was listening attentivelyto this river, this song of
a thousand voices, when he neitherlistened to the suffering nor the laughter,

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when he did not tie his soulto any particular voice, and submerged hisself
into it. But when he heardthem all perceived the whole, the oneness.
Then the great song of the thousandvoices consisted of a single word,
which was Om, the perfection.Do you hear Vasudeva's gaze, asked again,

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brightly, Vasudeva's smile was shining,floating radiantly over all the wrinkles of
his old face, as the OMwas floating in the air, above all
the voices of the river. Brightly, his smile was shining when he looked
at his friend, and brightly thesame smile was now starting to shine on
sid Arthur's face as well. Hiswound blossomed, his suffering was shining.

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His self had flown into the oneness. In this hour, sid Arthur stopped
fighting his fate, stopped suffering.On his face flourished the cheerfulness of a
knowledge which is no longer opposed byany will, which knows perfection, which
is in agreement with the flow ofevents, with a current of life,

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full of sympathy for the pain ofothers, full of sympathy for the pleasure
of others, devoted to the flow, belonging to the oneness. When Vasudeva
rose from the seat by the bank, when he looked into sird Arthur's eyes
and saw the cheerfulness of the knowledgeshining in them, he softly touched his

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shoulder with his hand in his carefuland tender manner, and said, I've
been waiting for this hour, mydear, and now that it has come,
let me leave. For a longtime. I've been waiting for this
hour for a long time. I'vebeen Vasudiva, the fairyman. Now it's
enough. Farewell, heart, farewell, river, farewell, said Arthur.

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Sid Arthur made a deep bow beforehim, who bid his farewell. I've
known it, he said, quietly, you'll go into the forests. I
am going into the forests. IAm going into the weness, spoke Vasudiva
with a bright smile. With abright smile, he left. Sid Arthur

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watched him leaving with deep joy,with great solemnity. He watched him leave,
saw his steps full of peace,saw his head full of luster,
saw his body full of light.End of Chapter eleven.