Chapter 8 - By The River - Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse

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Episode Transcript

(00:00):
Chapter eight, By the River,said Arthur walked through the forest, was
already far from the city, andknew nothing but that one thing, that
there was no going back for him, that this life as he had lived
it for many years until now wasover and done away with. And then

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he had tasted all of it,sucked everything out of it, until he
was disgusted with it. Dead wasthe singing bird he had dreamt of.
Dead was the bird in his heart. Deeply he had been entangled in Sansara.
He had sucked up disgust and deathfrom all sides into his body,

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like a sponge that sucks up wateruntil it is full and full. He
was full of the feeling of beingsick of it, full of misery,
full of death. There was nothingleft in this world which could have attracted
him, given him joy, givenhim comfort. Passionately, he wished to

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know nothing about himself anymore, tohave rest, to be dead. If
there was only a lightning bolt tostrike him dead, if there was only
a tiger to devour him, ifthere was only a wine, a poison
which could numb his senses, bringhim forgetfulness and sleep, and no awakening
from that? Was there still anykind of filth. He had not soiled

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himself with a sin or foolish act. He had not committed a dreariness of
the soul. He had not broughtupon himself. Was it still at all
possible to be alive? Was itpossible to breathe in again and again,
to breathe out, to feel hunger, to eat again, to sleep again,

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to sleep with a woman again?Was this cycle not exhausted and brought
to a conclusion for him? Saddarthareached the large river in the forest,
the same river over which, along time ago, when he had still
been a young man and came fromthe town of Gautama, the ferryman had

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conducted him by this river. Hestopped hesitatingly. He stood at the bank.
Tiredness and hunger had weakened him.And whatever he should walk on,
wherever, two to whichever goal.No, there were no more goals.
There was nothing left but the deep, painful yearning to shake off this whole

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desolate dream, to spit out thisstale wine, to put an end to
this miserable and shameful life. Ahang bent over the bank of the river,
a cocoanut tree. Siddartha leaned againstits trunk with his shoulder, embraced
the trunk with one and looked downinto the green water which ran and ran

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under him. Looked down and foundhimself to be entirely filled with the wish
to go and to drown in thesewaters. A frightening emptiness was reflected back
at him by the water, answeringto the terrible emptiness in his soul.
Yes, he had reached the end. There was nothing left for him except

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to annihilate himself, except to smashthe failure into which he had shaped his
life, to throw it away beforethe feet of mockingly laughing gods. This
was the great vomiting he had longedfor, death, the smashing to bits
of the form he hated. Lethim be food for fishes, this dog,

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said Arthur, this lunatic, thisdepraved and rotten body, this weakened
and abused soul. Let him befood for fishes and crocodiles. Let him
be chopped to bits by the demons. With a distorted face, he stared
into the water, saw the reflectionof his face, and spit at it.

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In deep tiredness. He took hisarm away from the trunk of the
tree and turned a bit in orderto let himself fall straight down, in
order to finally drown. With hiseyes closed, he slipped towards death.
Then, out of remote areas ofhis soul, out of past times of

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his now weary life, a soundstirred up. It was a word,
a syllable, which he, withoutthinking, with a slurred voice, spoke
to himself, the old word,which is the beginning and the end of
all prayers of the Brahmans, theHoly Om, which roughly means that what

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is perfect or the completion. Andin the moment when the sound of Om
touched SidD Arthur's ear, his dormantspirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness
of his actions, said Arthur.Was deeply shocked. So this was how
things were with him? So doomedwas he, so much? Had he

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lost his way and was forsaken byall knowledge? That he had been able
to seek death, That this wish, this wish of a child, had
been able to grow up in him, to find rest by annihilating his body.
What all agony of these recent times, all sobering realizations, all desperation,

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had not brought about. This wasbrought on by this moment, when
the Om entered his consciousness, hebecame aware of himself, in his misery
and in his error, Olm.He spoke to himself Olm, and again
he knew about Brahman, knew aboutthe indestructibility of life, knew about all

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that is divine, which he hadforgotten. But this was only a moment
flash. By the foot of thecocoanut tree, Siddarthur collapsed, struck down
by tiredness, mumbling Om placed hishead on the roots of the tree and
fell into a deep sleep. Deepwas his sleep, and without dreams.

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For a long time, he hadnot known such a sleep any more.
When he woke up after many hours, he felt as if ten years had
passed. He heard the water quietlyflowing, did not know where he was
and who had brought him there.Opened his eyes, saw with astonishment that

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there were trees and the sky abovehim, and he remembered where he was
and how he got there. Butit took him a long while for this,
and the past seemed to him asif it had been covered by a
veil. Infinitely distant, infinitely faraway, infinitely meaningless. He only knew

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that his previous life. In thefirst moment when he thought about it,
this past life seemed to him likea very old previous incarnation, like an
early pre birth of his present self. That this previous life had been abandoned
by him, that full of disgustand wretchedness, he had even intended to

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throw his life away. But thatby a river under a cocoa nut tree,
he has come to his senses theholy word Om on his lips,
that he had fallen asleep and hadnow woken up and was looking at the
world as a new man. Quietlyhe spoke the word Om to himself,

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speaking which he had fallen asleep.And it seemed to him as if his
entire long sleep had been nothing buta long meditative recitation of Om, a
thinking of Om, a submergence andcomplete entering into Olm, into the nameless,
the perfected. What a wonderful sleep? Had this been? Never before?

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By sleep? He had been thusrefreshed, thus renewed, thus rejuvenated.
Perhaps he had really died, haddrowned, and was reborn in a
new body. But no, heknew himself. He knew his hand at
his feet, knew the place wherehe lay, knew this self in his

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chest. This Siddhartha, the eccentric, the weird one. But this Siddartha
was nevertheless transformed, warmed, wasrenewed, was strangely well rested, strangely
awake, joyful, and curious.SidD Arthur straightened up. Then he saw

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a person sitting opposite to him,an unknown man, a monk in a
yellow robe with a shaven head,sitting in the position of pondering. He
observed the man who had neither hairon his head nor a beard, and
he had not observed him for longwhen he recognized this monk as Govinda,
the friend of his youth, Govinda, who had taken his refuge with the

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exalted Buddha. Govinda had aged hetoo, but still his face bore the
same features expressed zeal, faithfulness,searching, timidness. But when Govinda,
now sensing his gaze, opened hiseyes and looked at him, SidD Arthur

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saw that Govinda did not recogniz eyeshim. Govinda was happy to find him
awake. Apparently he had been sittinghere for a long time and had been
waiting for him to wake up,though he did not know him. I
have been sleeping, said said Arthur. However did you get here You have

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been sleeping, answered Govinda. Itis not good to be sleeping in such
places where snakes often are and theanimals of the forest have their paths.
I, oh, sir, ama follower of the Exalted Gautama, the
Buddha, the Sakya Mundi, andhave been on a pilgrimage together with several
of us on this path. WhenI saw you lying and sleeping in a

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place where it is dangerous to sleep. Therefore, I sought to wake you
up, oh sir, And sinceI saw that your sleep was very deep,
I strayed behind from my group andsat with you. And then so
it seems I have fallen asleep myself, I who wanted to guard your sleep
badly, I have served you.Tiredness has overwhelmed me. And now that

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you are awake, let me gocatch up with my brothers. I thank
you Samana for watching out over mysleep, spoke sid Arthur. You're friendly,
you followers of the Exalted One.Now you may go. Then I
am going, sir. May you, sir, always be in good health.
I thank you Samana. Govinda madethe gesture of a salutation and said

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farewell. Farewell, Govinda, saidSir Arthur. The monk stopped. Permit
me to ask, Sir, fromwhere do you know my name? Now?
Said Arthur smiled. I know you, oh Govinda, from your father's
heart, and from the school ofthe Brahmans, and from the offerings,

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and from our walk to the samanas, and from that hour when you took
your refuge with the Exalted One inthe grove Jetavana, your Sidartha, Govinda
exclaimed loudly. Now I'm recognizing you, and don't comprehend any more how I
couldn't recognize you right away. Bewelcome, said Arthur. My joy is

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great to see you again. Italso gives me joy to see you again.
You've been the guard of my sleepagain. I thank you for this,
though I wouldn't have required any guard. Where are you going to,
oh friend, I am going nowhere. We monks are always traveling, whenever

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it is not the rainy season.We always move from one place to another,
live according to the rules of theteachings passed on to us, except
alms move on. It is alwayslike this, But you said Arthur,
where are you going to? Quothsaid Arthur. It is as it is

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with you. I am going nowhere. I'm just traveling. I'm on a
pilgrimage, Govinda spoke. You're sayingyou're on a pilgrimage, and I believe
in you. But forgive me,oh, said Arthur, you do not
look like a pilgrim. You're wearinga rich man's garments. You're wearing the
shoes of a distinguished gentleman. Andyour hair and the fragrance of perfume is

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not a pilgrim's hair, nor thehair of a samana. Right, So,
my dear, you have observed,well, your keen eyes see everything.
But I haven't said to you thatI was a samana. I said,
I'm on a pilgrimage, and soit is. I'm on a pilgrimage.

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You're on a pilgrimage, said Govinda. But few would go on a
pilgrimage in such clothes, few insuch shoes, few with such hair.
Never I have met such a pilgrim, being a pilgrim myself for many years.
I believe you, my dear Govinda. But now today you've met a

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pilgrim just like this, wearing suchshoes, such a garment. Remember,
my dear, not eternal is theworld of appearances, not eternal anything but
eternal our garments and the style ofour hair, and our hair and our
bodies themselves. I'm wearing a richman's clothes. You've seen this, quite

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right. I'm wearing them because Ihave been a rich man. And I'm
wearing my hair like the worldly andlustful people, because I have been one
of them. And now, saidArthur, what are you now? I
don't know it. I don't knowit, just like you, I'm traveling.

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I was a rich man and amno rich man anymore. And what
i'll be tomorrow, I don't.You've lost your riches. I've lost them,
or they me, They somehow happenedto slip away from me. The
wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly, Govinda. Where is Siddhartha the Brahman?

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Where is Siddatha the Samana? Whereis Sadatha the rich man? Non
eternal? Things changed quickly, Govinda, you know it. Govinda looked at
the friend of his youth for along time with doubt in his eyes.
After that, he gave him thesalutation which one would use on a gentleman,

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and went on his way with asmiling face. Siddhartha watched him leave.
He loved him still, this faithfulman, this fearful man, And
how could he not have loved everybodyand everything in this moment, in the
glorious hour, after his wonderful sleep, filled with om, the enchantment which

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had happened inside of him in hissleep, and by means of the om
was this very thing that he lovedeverything, that he was full of joyful
love for everything he saw. Andit was this very thing, so it
seemed to him now, which hadbeen his sickness before, that he was
not able to love anybody or anything. With a smiling face, said Arthur

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watched the leaving monk. The sleephad strengthened him much, but hunger gave
him much pain. For now hehad not eaten for two days, and
the times were long past when hehad been tough against hunger. With sadness,
and yet also with a smile,he thought of that time in those

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days, so he remembered. Hehad boasted of three things to Kamala,
had been able to do three nobleand undefeatable feats, fasting waiting, thinking
these had been his possession, hispower and strength, his solid staff in

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the busy, laborious years of hisyouth, he had learned these three feats
nothing else, and now they hadabandoned him. None of them was his
any more, neither fasting nor waitingnor thinking for the most wretched things.
He had given them up for whatfades most quickly, for sensual lust,

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for the good life, for riches. His life had indeed been strange,
and now so it seemed, nowhe had really become a childlike person.
Sir Arthur thought about his situation.Thinking was hard on him. He did
not really feel like it, buthe forced himself. Now, he thought,

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since all these most easily perishing thingshave slipped from me again. Now
I'm standing here under the sun again, just as I have been standing here
a little child. Nothing is mine. I have no abilities, there is
nothing I could bring about. Ihave learned nothing. How wondrous is this

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now that I am no longer young, that my hair is already half gray,
that my strength is fading. NowI'm starting again at the beginning,
and as a child again. Hehad to smile. Yes, his fate
had been strange. Things were goingdownhill with him, and now he was

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again facing the world, void andnaked, and stupid. But he could
not feel sad about this. No, he even felt a great urge to
laugh, to laugh about himself,to laugh about this strange, foolish world.
Things going downhill with you, hesaid to himself, and laughed about

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it. And as he was sayingit, he happened to glance at the
river, and he also saw theriver was going downhill. All was moving
on downhill, and singing and beinghappy through it all. He liked this
well. Kindly, he smiled atthe river. Was this not the river

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in which he had intended to drownhimself in past times a hundred years ago?
Or had he dreamed? This?Wondrous? Indeed was my life,
so he thought, wondrous detours asit taken. As a boy, I
had only to do with gods andofferings. As a youth I had only
to do with asceticism, with thinkinga meditation, was searching for Brahman,

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worshiped the eternal in the atman.But as a young man I followed the
penitents, lived in the forest,suffered of heat and frost, learned to
hunger, taught my body to becomedead. Wonderfully, Soon afterwards insight came
towards me in the form of thegreat Buddhist teachings. I felt the knowledge

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of the oneness of the world circlingin me like my own blood. But
I also had to leave Buddha andthe great knowledge. I went and learned
the art of love with Kamala,learned trading with Kamaswami, piled up money,
wasted money, Learned to love mystomach, learned to please my senses.

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I had to spend many years losingmy spirit to unlearned thinking again,
to forget the oneness. Isn't itjust as if I had turned slowly and
on a long detour from a maninto a child, from a thinker into
a childlike person. And yet thispath has been very good, and yet

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the bird in my chest has notdied. But what a path has this
been? I had to pass throughso much stupidity, through so much vices,
through so many errors, through somuch disgust and disappointments and woe,
just to become a child again,and to be able to start over that

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it was right. So my heartsays yes to it, my eyes smile
to it. I've had to experiencedespair, I've had to sink down to
the most foolish one of all thoughts, to the thought of suicide. In
order to be able to experience divinegrace, to hear olm again, to

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be able to sleep properly and toawake properly again, I had to become
a fool to find utman in meagain. I had to sin to be
able to live again. Where elsemight my path lead me to? It
is foolish, this path. Itmoves in loops. Perhaps it is going

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around in a circle. Let itgo as it likes. I want to
take it wonderfully. He felt joyrolling like waves in his chest. Where
ever, from, he asked hisheart, Where did you get this happiness?
Might it come from that long goodsleep which has done me so good?

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Or from the word om which Isaid, Or from the fact that
I have escaped, that I havecompletely fled, that I am finally free
again, and am standing like achild under the sky. Oh, how
good it is to have fled,to have become free. How clean and
beautiful is the air here? Howgood to breathe there? Where I ran

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away from there, everything smelled ofointment, of spices, of wine,
of excess of sloth. How didI hate this world of the rich,
of those who revel in fine food, of the gamblers. How did I
hate myself for staying in this terribleworld for so long? How did I

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hate myself? Have deprived, poisoned, tortured myself, have made myself old
and evil? No, never againI will, as I used to like,
doing so much, delude myself intothinking that Siddhartha was wise. But
this one thing I have done well. This I like. This, I

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must praise. But there is nowan end to that hatred against myself,
to that foolish and dreary life.I praise you, Siddartha, after so
many years of foolishness, you haveonce again had an idea, have done
something, have heard the bird inyour chest singing, and have followed it.

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Thus he praised himself, found joyin himself, listened curiously to his
stomach, which was rumbling with hunger. He had now so he felt,
in those recent times and days,completely tasted and spit out, devoured up
to the point of desperation and death. A piece of suffering, a piece

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of misery like this, It wasgood for much longer he could have stayed
with Kamaswami, made money, wastedmoney filled his stomach and let his soul
die of thirst for much longer hecould have lived in this soft, well
upholstered hell if this had not happened, the moment of complete hopelessness and despair,

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that most extreme moment, when hehung over the rushing waters and was
ready to destroy himself. That hehad felt this despair, this deep disgust,
that he had not succumbed to it. That the bird, the joyful
source and voice in him, wasstill alive. After all, This was
why he felt joy, This waswhy he laughed, This was why his

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face was smiling brightly under his hair, which had turned gray. It is
good, he thought, to geta taste of everything for oneself, which
one needs to know. That lustfor the world and riches do not belong
to the good things I have alreadylearned as a child. I have known

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it for a long time, butI have experienced only now, And now
I know it. Don't just knowit in my memory, but in my
eyes, in my art, inmy stomach. Good from me to know
this. For a long time,he pondered his transformation, listened to the

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bird as it sang for joy.Had not this bird died in him.
Had he not felt his death?No, something else from within him had
died, something which already for along time had yearned to die. Was
it not this what he intended tokill in his ardent years as a penitent.

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Was it not his self, hissmall, frightened and proud self he
had wrestled with for so many years, which had defeated him again and again,
which was back again after every killing, prohibited joy felt fear. Was
it not this which to day hadfinally come to its death here in the

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forest, by this lovely river.Was not due to this death that he
was now like a child, sofull of trust, so without fear,
so full of joy. Now Siddarthaalso got some idea of why he had
fought this self in vain as aBrahman, as a penitent. Too much

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knowledge had held him back, toomany holy verses, too many sacrificial rules,
too much self castigation, so muchdoing and striving for that goal.
Full of arrogance, he had been. All was the smartest, always working
the most, always one step aheadof all others. All was the knowing

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and spiritual one. All was thepriest or wise one into being a priest
into this arrogance into this spirituality hisself had retreated. There it sat firmly
and grew. While he thought hewould kill it by fasting and penance.

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Now he saw it, and sawthe secret voice had been right, that
no teacher would ever have been ableto bring about his salvation. Therefore he
had to go out into the world, lose himself to lust and power to
women and money. Had to becomea merchant, a dice gambler, a

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drinker, and a greedy person untilthe priest and Sir Maana in him was
dead. Therefore he had to continuebearing these ugly years, bearing the disgust,
the teachings, the pointlessness of adreary and wasted life up to the
end, up to bitter despair,until Siddartha the lustful, Siddartha the greedy,

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could also die. He had died, and knew Siddartha had woken up
from the sleep. He would alsogrow old. He would also eventually have
to die. Mortal, was saidArthur. Mortal was every physical form.
But today he was young, wasa child the new, said Arthur,

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and was full of joy. Hethought these thoughts, listened with a smile
to his stomach, listened gratefully toa buzzing bee. Cheerfully, he looked
into the rushing river. Never beforehe had liked a water so well as
this one. Never before he hadperceived the voice and the parable of the

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moving water thus strongly and beautifully.It seemed to him as if the river
had something special to tell him,something he did not know yet, which
was still awaiting him. In thisriver, said Arthur had intended to drown
himself in it. The old,tired, desperate, said Arthur, had

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sound to day. But the new, said Arthur, felt a deep love
for this rushing water, and decidedfor himself not to leave it very soon
end of chapter eight