Siddhartha Abridged Edition

      [Siddartha] was a source of joy for everybody, he was a delight for them all but he, Siddhartha, was not a source of joy for himself, he found no delight in himself (4). "Early tomorrow morning, my friend, Siddhartha will go to the Samanas. He will become a Samana (6).” Govinda realized: Now it is beginning, now Siddhartha is taking his own way, now his fate is beginning to sprout, and with his, my own (7).” [Returning home, Siddhartha] entered the chamber, where his father was sitting on a mat of bast [...]” “With your permission, my father. I came to tell you that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the ascetics. My desire is to become a Samana. May my father not oppose this (7).” His father realized that even now Siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in his home, that he had already left him (8). “You will," he [finally] spoke, "go into the forest and be a Samana." As he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day the still quiet town, a shadow rose near the last hut, who had crouched there, and joined the pilgrim—Govinda (9).

      A goal stood before Siddhartha, a single goal: to become empty, empty of thirst, empty of wishing, empty of dreams, empty of joy and sorrow (10). And Siddhartha's soul returned, had died, had decayed, was scattered as dust, had tasted the gloomy intoxication of the cycle, awaited in new thirst like a hunter in the gap, where he could escape from the cycle, where the end of the causes, where an eternity without suffering began (12). At one time, when the two young men had lived among the Samanas for about three years and had shared their exercises, some news, a rumor, a myth reached them after being retold many times: A man had appeared, Gotama by name, the exalted one, the Buddha, he had overcome the suffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths.  The myth of the Buddha sounded sweet (15). “Let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest, oh Govinda! But this fruit, which we already now received thanks to the Gotama, consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas! (17).” On this very same day, Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the Samanas of his decision, that he wanted to leave him (17).

      [Siddhartha] felt little curiosity for the teachings, he did not believe that they would teach him anything new, but he had, just as Govinda had, heard the contents of this Buddha's teachings again and again, though these reports only represented second- or third-hand information (20). When the Buddha ended his speech, many a pilgrim asked to [be] accepted into the community [and] sought refuge in the teachings. Then Govinda, the shy one, also stepped forward and spoke: "I also take my refuge in the exalted one and his teachings," and he asked to [be] accepted into the community of his disciples and was accepted (22). [Leaving  I saw a man, Siddhartha thought, a single man, before whom I would have to lower my glance. I do not want to lower my glance before any other, not before any other (23). No teachings will entice me any more, since this man's teachings have not enticed me (24). I am deprived by the Buddha, thought Siddhartha, I am deprived, and even more he has given to me. He has deprived me of my friend, the one who had believed in me and now believes in him, who had been my shadow and is now Gotama's shadow. But he has given me Siddhartha, myself (24).

      When Siddhartha left the grove, where the Buddha, the perfected one, stayed behind, where Govinda stayed behind, he felt that in this grove his past life also stayed behind and parted from him (24). He realized that one thing had left him, as a snake is left by its old skin, that one thing no longer existed in him, which had accompanied him throughout his youth and used to be a part of him: the wish to have teachers and to listen to teachings (25). "There is no thing in this world I know less about than about me, about Siddhartha!" [pondered Siddhartha- eyes closed.] (25). When Siddhartha opened his eyes and looked around, a smile filled his face and a feeling of awakening from long dreams flowed through him from his head down to his toes (25). And it was not long before he walked again, walked quickly like a man who knows what he has got to do (27).

      Siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path, for the world was transformed, and his heart was enchanted; his liberated eyes stayed on this side, he saw and became aware of the visible, sought to be at home in this world, did not search for the true essence, did not aim at a world beyond - thus childlike (29). [When night had come, and] he slept in the straw hut of a ferryman by the river, Siddhartha had a dream: Govinda was standing in front of him, dressed in the yellow robe of an ascetic [--] at this, he embraced Govinda, wrapped his arms around him, and as he was pulling him close to his chest and kissed him, it was not Govinda any more, but a woman, and a full breast popped out of the woman's dress, at which Siddhartha lay and drank, sweetly and strongly tasted the milk from this breast (32). When the day began, Siddhartha asked his host, the ferryman, to get him across the river (33). On this day, he reached the large city before the evening, and was happy, for he felt the need to be among people (33). When late in the afternoon, beautiful Kamala approached her grove in her sedan-chair, Siddhartha was standing at the entrance, made a bow and received the courtesan's greeting (35). "...If it doesn't displease you, Kamala, I would like to ask you to be my friend and teacher, for I know nothing yet of that art which you have mastered in the highest degree (35). “Laughing, Kamala exclaimed: "No, my dear, [you do not] satisfy me yet; clothes are what he must have, pretty clothes, and shoes, pretty shoes, and lots of money in his pouch, and gifts for Kamala. Do you know it now, Samana from the forest? Did you mark my words? (36)" With one kiss, Siddhartha bid his farewell. "I wish that it should be this way, my teacher; that my glance shall please you, that always good fortune shall come to me out of your direction! (37).”

      Siddhartha went to Kamaswami the merchant, he was directed into a rich house, servants led him between precious carpets into a chamber, where he awaited the master of the house (39). He was not in Kamaswami's house for long, when he already took part in his landlords business (41). The business was good enough to provide him with the money for Kamala, and it earned him much more than he needed (41). Again and again, he came back to beautiful Kamala, learned the art of love, practiced the cult of lust, in which more than in anything else giving and taking becomes one, chatted with her, learned from her, gave her advice, received advice (43). “You are the best lover," she said thoughtfully, "I ever saw. You're stronger than others, more supple, more willing. You've learned my art well, Siddhartha[;] yet, my dear, you've remained a Samana, and yet you do not love me, you love nobody. Isn't it so? (43).”  “I am like you. You also do not love—how else could you practise love as a craft? Perhaps, people of our kind can't love. The childlike people can; that's their secret (44).”

      For a long time, Siddhartha had lived the life of the world and of lust, though without being a part of it (46). It was still the art of thinking, of waiting, of fasting, which guided his life; still the people of the world, the childlike people, had remained alien to him as he was alien to them (47). With a gloomy mind, Siddhartha went to the pleasure-garden he owned, locked the gate, sat down under a mango-tree, felt death in his heart and horror in his chest, sat and sensed how everything died in him, withered in him, came to an end in him (48). By and by, he gathered his thoughts, and in his mind, he once again went the entire path of his life, starting with the first days he could remember (48). Then, Siddhartha knew that the game was over, that he could not play it any more (49). When [Kamala] received the first news of Siddhartha's disappearance, she went to the window, where she held a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage [,] took the bird out and let it fly (50). “From this day on, she received no more visitors and kept her house locked; but after some time, she became aware that she was pregnant from the last time she was together with Siddhartha (53).

      “Siddhartha walked through the forest, was already far from the city, and knew 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, was over and done away with, and that he had tasted all of it, sucked everything out of it until he was disgusted with it (51). Passionately he wished to know nothing about himself anymore, to have rest, to be dead. Siddhartha reached the large river in the forest, the same river over which a long time ago, when he had still been a young man and came from the town of Gotama, a ferryman had conducted him (53) . “With a distorted face, he stared into the water, saw the reflection of his face and spit at it. Then, out of remote areas of his soul, out of past times of his now weary life, a sound stirred up (54). And in the moment when the sound of "Om" touched Siddhartha's ear, his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness of his actions (57). In this river, Siddhartha had intended to drown himself, in it the old, tired, desperate Siddhartha had drowned today (58). But the new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing water, and decided for himself, not to leave it very soon (59).

      By this river I want to stay, thought Siddhartha, it is the same which I have crossed a long time ago on my way to the childlike people, a friendly ferryman had guided me then, he is the one I want to go to, starting out from his hut, my path had led me at that time into a new life, which had now grown old and is dead—my present path, my present new life, shall also take its start there! (60). “When he reached the ferry, the boat was just ready, and the same ferryman who had once transported the young Samana across the river, stood in the boat, Siddhartha recognized him, he had also aged very much (60). “My name is Siddhartha, and I was a Samana, when you've last seen me." “My name is Vasudeva. You will, so I hope, be my guest today as well and sleep in my hut, and tell me, where you're coming from and why these beautiful clothes are such a nuisance to you (61).” They had reached the middle of the river [...] "The river has taught me to listen, from it you will learn it as well. It knows everything, the river, everything can be learned from it," spoke Vasdueva (63). He learned from it to listen, to pay close attention with a quiet heart, with a waiting, opened soul, without passion, without a wish, without judgement, without an opinion(64). On one of these days, when so many went on a pilgrimage to the dying Buddha, Kamala also went to him, who used to be the most beautiful of the courtesans (64). “Kamala herself, had also become tired, and while the boy was chewing a banana, she crouched down on the ground, closed her eyes a bit, and rested; but suddenly, she uttered a wailing scream, the boy looked at her in fear and saw her face having grown pale from horror; and from under her dress, a small, black snake fled, by which Kamala had been bitten (65). Then [Siddhartha] saw Kamala, whom he instantly recognized, though she lay unconscious in the ferryman's arms“Siddhartha smiled: "Instantly, I recognized you, Kamala, my dear." Kamala pointed to her boy and said: "Did you recognize him as well? He is your son (66).”

      For a long time, for long months, Siddhartha waited for his son to understand him, to accept his love, to perhaps reciprocate it (68). Quoth Vasudeva: "Bring him into the city, bring him into his mother's house, there'll still be servants around, give him to them. And when there aren't any around any more, bring him to a teacher, not for the teachings' sake, but so that he shall be among other boys, and among girls, and in the world which is his own. Have you never thought of this? (70).” Siddhartha could not heed his friend's advice, he could not give up the boy (70). He did sense very well that this love, this blind love for his son, was a passion, something very human, that it was Sansara, a murky source, dark waters (71). A day came, when what young Siddhartha had on his mind came bursting forth -- but the next morning, he had disappeared. “I must follow him," said Siddhartha. When Siddhartha had already been walking through the forest for a long time, the thought occurred to him that his search was useless (73).

      Siddhartha even doubted in many an hour, whether this knowledge, this thought was to be valued thus highly, whether it might not also perhaps be a childish idea of the thinking people, of the thinking and childlike people (75). It was nothing but a readiness of the soul, an ability, a secret art, to think every moment, while living his life, the thought of oneness, to be able to feel and inhale the oneness (77). “Siddhartha looked into the water, and images appeared to him in the moving water: his father appeared, lonely, mourning for his son; he himself appeared, lonely, he also being tied with the bondage of yearning to his distant son; his son appeared, lonely as well, the boy, greedily rushing along the burning course of his young wishes, each one heading for his goal, each one obsessed by the goal, each one suffering (78). In this hour, Siddhartha stopped fighting his fate, stopped suffering (79). On his face flourished the cheerfulness of a knowledge, which is no longer opposed by any will, which knows perfection, which is in agreement with the flow of events, with the current of life, full of sympathy for the pain of others, full of sympathy for the pleasure of others, devoted to the flow, belonging to the oneness. Om was floating in the air over all the voices of the river (79).

      [Govinda] “came to the river and asked the old man to ferry him over... (80) “Quoth Siddhartha: "A long time ago…you once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by the river, and have sat down with him to guard his sleep. But, oh Govinda, you did not recognize the sleeping man". "Are you Siddhartha?" [Govinda] asked with a timid voice. "I wouldn't have recognized you this time as well!" (82). “I confess that I haven't found it. Tell me…give me something on my way which I can grasp, which I can understand! (82)” "Bend down to me!" he whispered quietly in Govinda's ear. "Very close! [And] kiss my forehead, Govinda! (83)" Govinda no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha, instead he saw other faces, many, a long sequence, a flowing river of faces, of hundreds, of thousands, which all came and disappeared, and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously, which all constantly changed and renewed themselves, and which were still all Siddhartha (85). “Deeply, Govinda bowed; tears he knew nothing of, ran down his old face; like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love, the humblest veneration in his heart; deeply he bowed, touching the ground, before him who was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in his life, what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life (85).