With the Samanas

by Hermann Hesse

　　In the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics, the skinnySamanas, and offered them their companionship and--obedience. Theywere accepted.Siddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahman in the street. He worenothing more than the loincloth and the earth-coloured, unsown cloak.He ate only once a day, and never something cooked. He fasted forfifteen days. He fasted for twenty-eight days. The flesh waned fromhis thighs and cheeks. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlargedeyes, long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry, shaggybeard grew on his chin. His glance turned to icy when he encounteredwomen; his mouth twitched with contempt, when he walked through a cityof nicely dressed people. He saw merchants trading, princes hunting,mourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicianstrying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day forseeding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children--and all of thiswas not worthy of one look from his eye, it all lied, it all stank,it all stank of lies, it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful andbeautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tastedbitter. Life was torture.A goal stood before Siddhartha, a single goal: to become empty, empty ofthirst, empty of wishing, empty of dreams, empty of joy and sorrow.Dead to himself, not to be a self any more, to find tranquility with anemptied heard, to be open to miracles in unselfish thoughts, that washis goal. Once all of my self was overcome and had died, once everydesire and every urge was silent in the heart, then the ultimate partof me had to awake, the innermost of my being, which is no longer myself, the great secret.Silently, Siddhartha exposed himself to burning rays of the sun directlyabove, glowing with pain, glowing with thirst, and stood there, until heneither felt any pain nor thirst any more. Silently, he stood there inthe rainy season, from his hair the water was dripping over freezingshoulders, over freezing hips and legs, and the penitent stood there,until he could not feel the cold in his shoulders and legs any more,until they were silent, until they were quiet. Silently, he cowered inthe thorny bushes, blood dripped from the burning skin, from festeringwounds dripped pus, and Siddhartha stayed rigidly, stayed motionless,until no blood flowed any more, until nothing stung any more, untilnothing burned any more.Siddhartha sat upright and learned to breathe sparingly, learned toget along with only few breathes, learned to stop breathing. Helearned, beginning with the breath, to calm the beat of his heart,leaned to reduce the beats of his heart, until they were only a few andalmost none.Instructed by the oldest if the Samanas, Siddhartha practisedself-denial, practised meditation, according to a new Samana rules.A heron flew over the bamboo forest--and Siddhartha accepted the heroninto his soul, flew over forest and mountains, was a heron, ate fish,felt the pangs of a heron's hunger, spoke the heron's croak, died aheron's death. A dead jackal was lying on the sandy bank, andSiddhartha's soul slipped inside the body, was the dead jackal, lay onthe banks, got bloated, stank, decayed, was dismembered by hyaenas, wasskinned by vultures, turned into a skeleton, turned to dust, was blownacross the fields. And Siddhartha's soul returned, had died, haddecayed, was scattered as dust, had tasted the gloomy intoxication ofthe cycle, awaited in new thirst like a hunter in the gap, where hecould escape from the cycle, where the end of the causes, where aneternity without suffering began. He killed his senses, he killed hismemory, he slipped out of his self into thousands of other forms, was ananimal, was carrion, was stone, was wood, was water, and awoke everytime to find his old self again, sun shone or moon, was his self again,turned round in the cycle, felt thirst, overcame the thirst, felt newthirst.Siddhartha learned a lot when he was with the Samanas, many ways leadingaway from the self he learned to go. He went the way of self-denialby means of pain, through voluntarily suffering and overcoming pain,hunger, thirst, tiredness. He went the way of self-denial by means ofmeditation, through imagining the mind to be void of all conceptions.These and other ways he learned to go, a thousand times he left hisself, for hours and days he remained in the non-self. But though theways led away from the self, their end nevertheless always led back tothe self. Though Siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times, stayedin nothingness, stayed in the animal, in the stone, the return wasinevitable, inescapable was the hour, when he found himself back in thesunshine or in the moonlight, in the shade or in the rain, and was onceagain his self and Siddhartha, and again felt the agony of the cycle whichhad been forced upon him.By his side lived Govinda, his shadow, walked the same paths, undertookthe same efforts. They rarely spoke to one another, than the serviceand the exercises required. Occasionally the two of them went throughthe villages, to beg for food for themselves and their teachers."How do you think, Govinda," Siddhartha spoke one day while beggingthis way, "how do you think did we progress? Did we reach any goals?"Govinda answered: "We have learned, and we'll continue learning.You'll be a great Samana, Siddhartha. Quickly, you've learned everyexercise, often the old Samanas have admired you. One day, you'll bea holy man, oh Siddhartha."Quoth Siddhartha: "I can't help but feel that it is not like this, myfriend. What I've learned, being among the Samanas, up to this day,this, oh Govinda, I could have learned more quickly and by simplermeans. In every tavern of that part of a town where the whorehousesare, my friend, among carters and gamblers I could have learned it."Quoth Govinda: "Siddhartha is putting me on. How could you havelearned meditation, holding your breath, insensitivity against hungerand pain there among these wretched people?"And Siddhartha said quietly, as if he was talking to himself: "What ismeditation? What is leaving one's body? What is fasting? What isholding one's breath? It is fleeing from the self, it is a shortescape of the agony of being a self, it is a short numbing of thesenses against the pain and the pointlessness of life. The same escape,the same short numbing is what the driver of an ox-cart finds in theinn, drinking a few bowls of rice-wine or fermented coconut-milk. Thenhe won't feel his self any more, then he won't feel the pains of lifeany more, then he finds a short numbing of the senses. When he fallsasleep over his bowl of rice-wine, he'll find the same what Siddharthaand Govinda find when they escape their bodies through long exercises,staying in the non-self. This is how it is, oh Govinda."Quoth Govinda: "You say so, oh friend, and yet you know that Siddharthais no driver of an ox-cart and a Samana is no drunkard. It's true thata drinker numbs his senses, it's true that he briefly escapes and rests,but he'll return from the delusion, finds everything to be unchanged, hasnot become wiser, has gathered no enlightenment,--has not risen severalsteps."And Siddhartha spoke with a smile: "I do not know, I've never been adrunkard. But that I, Siddhartha, find only a short numbing of thesenses in my exercises and meditations and that I am just as far removedfrom wisdom, from salvation, as a child in the mother's womb, this Iknow, oh Govinda, this I know."And once again, another time, when Siddhartha left the forest togetherwith Govinda, to beg for some food in the village for their brothers andteachers, Siddhartha began to speak and said: "What now, oh Govinda,might we be on the right path? Might we get closer to enlightenment?Might we get closer to salvation? Or do we perhaps live in a circle--we, who have thought we were escaping the cycle?"Quoth Govinda: "We have learned a lot, Siddhartha, there is stillmuch to learn. We are not going around in circles, we are moving up,the circle is a spiral, we have already ascended many a level."Siddhartha answered: "How old, would you think, is our oldest Samana,our venerable teacher?"Quoth Govinda: "Our oldest one might be about sixty years of age."And Siddhartha: "He has lived for sixty years and has not reached thenirvana. He'll turn seventy and eighty, and you and me, we will growjust as old and will do our exercises, and will fast, and will meditate.But we will not reach the nirvana, he won't and we won't. Oh Govinda,I believe out of all the Samanas out there, perhaps not a single one,not a single one, will reach the nirvana. We find comfort, we findnumbness, we learn feats, to deceive others. But the most importantthing, the path of paths, we will not find.""If you only," spoke Govinda, "wouldn't speak such terrible words,Siddhartha! How could it be that among so many learned men, among somany Brahmans, among so many austere and venerable Samanas, among somany who are searching, so many who are eagerly trying, so many holymen, no one will find the path of paths?"But Siddhartha said in a voice which contained just as much sadness asmockery, with a quiet, a slightly sad, a slightly mocking voice: "Soon,Govinda, your friend will leave the path of the Samanas, he has walkedalong your side for so long. I'm suffering of thirst, oh Govinda, andon this long path of a Samana, my thirst has remained as strong as ever.I always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions.I have asked the Brahmans, year after year, and I have asked the holyVedas, year after year, and I have asked the devote Samanas, year afteryear. Perhaps, oh Govinda, it had been just as well, had been just assmart and just as profitable, if I had asked the hornbill-bird or thechimpanzee. It took me a long time and am not finished learning thisyet, oh Govinda: that there is nothing to be learned! There is indeedno such thing, so I believe, as what we refer to as `learning'. Thereis, oh my friend, just one knowledge, this is everywhere, this is Atman,this is within me and within you and within every creature. And so I'mstarting to believe that this knowledge has no worser enemy than thedesire to know it, than learning."At this, Govinda stopped on the path, rose his hands, and spoke: "Ifyou, Siddhartha, only would not bother your friend with this kind oftalk! Truly, you words stir up fear in my heart. And just consider:what would become of the sanctity of prayer, what of the venerability ofthe Brahmans' caste, what of the holiness of the Samanas, if it was asyou say, if there was no learning?! What, oh Siddhartha, what wouldthen become of all of this what is holy, what is precious, what isvenerable on earth?!"And Govinda mumbled a verse to himself, a verse from an Upanishad:He who ponderingly, of a purified spirit, loses himself in themeditation of Atman, unexpressable by words is his blissfulness of hisheart.But Siddhartha remained silent. He thought about the words whichGovinda had said to him and thought the words through to their end.Yes, he thought, standing there with his head low, what would remain ofall that which seemed to us to be holy? What remains? What can standthe test? And he shook his head.At one time, when the two young men had lived among the Samanas forabout three years and had shared their exercises, some news, a rumour, amyth reached them after being retold many times: A man had appeared,Gotama by name, the exalted one, the Buddha, he had overcome thesuffering of the world in himself and had halted the cycle of rebirths.He was said to wander through the land, teaching, surrounded bydisciples, without possession, without home, without a wife, in theyellow cloak of an ascetic, but with a cheerful brow, a man of bliss,and Brahmans and princes would bow down before him and would become hisstudents.This myth, this rumour, this legend resounded, its fragrants rose up,here and there; in the towns, the Brahmans spoke of it and in theforest, the Samanas; again and again, the name of Gotama, the Buddhareached the ears of the young men, with good and with bad talk, withpraise and with defamation.It was as if the plague had broken out in a country and news had beenspreading around that in one or another place there was a man, a wiseman, a knowledgeable one, whose word and breath was enough to healeveryone who had been infected with the pestilence, and as such newswould go through the land and everyone would talk about it, many wouldbelieve, many would doubt, but many would get on their way as soon aspossible, to seek the wise man, the helper, just like this this mythran through the land, that fragrant myth of Gotama, the Buddha, thewise man of the family of Sakya. He possessed, so the believers said,the highest enlightenment, he remembered his previous lives, he hadreached the nirvana and never returned into the cycle, was never againsubmerged in the murky river of physical forms. Many wonderful andunbelievable things were reported of him, he had performed miracles,had overcome the devil, had spoken to the gods. But his enemies anddisbelievers said, this Gotama was a vain seducer, he would spent hisdays in luxury, scorned the offerings, was without learning, and knewneither exercises nor self-castigation.The myth of Buddha sounded sweet. The scent of magic flowed from thesereports. After all, the world was sick, life was hard to bear--andbehold, here a source seemed to spring forth, here a messenger seemedto call out, comforting, mild, full of noble promises. Everywherewhere the rumour of Buddha was heard, everywhere in the lands of India,the young men listened up, felt a longing, felt hope, and among theBrahmans' sons of the towns and villages every pilgrim and stranger waswelcome, when he brought news of him, the exalted one, the Sakyamuni.The myth had also reached the Samanas in the forest, and alsoSiddhartha, and also Govinda, slowly, drop by drop, every drop ladenwith hope, every drop laden with doubt. They rarely talked about it,because the oldest one of the Samanas did not like this myth. He hadheard that this alleged Buddha used to be an ascetic before and hadlived in the forest, but had then turned back to luxury and worldlypleasures, and he had no high opinion of this Gotama."Oh Siddhartha," Govinda spoke one day to his friend. "Today, I wasin the village, and a Brahman invited me into his house, and in hishouse, there was the son of a Brahman from Magadha, who has seen theBuddha with his own eyes and has heard him teach. Verily, this mademy chest ache when I breathed, and thought to myself: If only I wouldtoo, if only we both would too, Siddhartha and me, live to see thehour when we will hear the teachings from the mouth of this perfectedman! Speak, friend, wouldn't we want to go there too and listen to theteachings from the Buddha's mouth?"Quoth Siddhartha: "Always, oh Govinda, I had thought, Govinda wouldstay with the Samanas, always I had believed his goal was to live to besixty and seventy years of age and to keep on practising those feats andexercises, which are becoming a Samana. But behold, I had not knownGovinda well enough, I knew little of his heart. So now you, myfaithful friend, want to take a new path and go there, where the Buddhaspreads his teachings."Quoth Govinda: "You're mocking me. Mock me if you like, Siddhartha!But have you not also developed a desire, an eagerness, to hear theseteachings? And have you not at one time said to me, you would not walkthe path of the Samanas for much longer?"At this, Siddhartha laughed in his very own manner, in which his voiceassumed a touch of sadness and a touch of mockery, and said: "Well,Govinda, you've spoken well, you've remembered correctly. If youonly remembered the other thing as well, you've heard from me, which isthat I have grown distrustful and tired against teachings and learning,and that my faith in words, which are brought to us by teachers, issmall. But let's do it, my dear, I am willing to listen to theseteachings--though in my heart I believe that we've already tasted thebest fruit of these teachings."Quoth Govinda: "Your willingness delights my heart. But tell me, howshould this be possible? How should the Gotama's teachings, even beforewe have heard them, have already revealed their best fruit to us?"Quoth Siddhartha: "Let us eat this fruit and wait for the rest, ohGovinda! But this fruit, which we already now received thanks to theGotama, consisted in him calling us away from the Samanas! Whether hehas also other and better things to give us, oh friend, let us awaitwith calm hearts."On this very same day, Siddhartha informed the oldest one of the Samanasof his decision, that he wanted to leave him. He informed the oldestone with all the courtesy and modesty becoming to a younger one and astudent. But the Samana became angry, because the two young men wantedto leave him, and talked loudly and used crude swearwords.Govinda was startled and became embarrassed. But Siddhartha put hismouth close to Govinda's ear and whispered to him: "Now, I want to showthe old man that I've learned something from him."Positioning himself closely in front of the Samana, with a concentratedsoul, he captured the old man's glance with his glances, deprived him ofhis power, made him mute, took away his free will, subdued him under hisown will, commanded him, to do silently, whatever he demanded him to do.The old man became mute, his eyes became motionless, his will wasparalysed, his arms were hanging down; without power, he had fallenvictim to Siddhartha's spell. But Siddhartha's thoughts brought theSamana under their control, he had to carry out, what they commanded.And thus, the old man made several bows, performed gestures of blessing,spoke stammeringly a godly wish for a good journey. And the young menreturned the bows with thanks, returned the wish, went on their way withsalutations.On the way, Govinda said: "Oh Siddhartha, you have learned more fromthe Samanas than I knew. It is hard, it is very hard to cast a spellon an old Samana. Truly, if you had stayed there, you would soon havelearned to walk on water.""I do not seek to walk on water," said Siddhartha. "Let old Samanas becontent with such feats!"