Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse

Siddhartha stayed.

And as Siddhartha spoke, his face held all the faces the river had ever shown him: the prince, the beggar, the lover, the father, the ferryman, the stone. Govinda saw it. For one long, silent, shattering moment, he did not seek the truth. He saw it. siddhartha hermann hesse

Govinda, his childhood shadow, came wandering by years later. He was an old monk now, still seeking, still not finding. He touched Siddhartha’s forehead, hoping for a word, a secret, a final truth. Siddhartha stayed

Then the vision faded. The river flowed on. Siddhartha sat, a quiet smile on his lips, and listened to the many-voiced laughter of the One. For one long, silent, shattering moment, he did

Now, he was the material world. He had learned it slowly, as a child learns letters. From the golden cage of the samana, he had fallen into the gilded cage of the merchant Kamaswami. He had learned the taste of money, the weight of property, the weary sigh of satiated desire. He had learned to wear fine clothes, to feel the smoothness of another’s skin, to watch the sickness of gambling and the sour dregs of wine.

And he had grown tired. So tired, that the only honest thing left was to walk to this river and sink.