Siddhartha

SR No.: 011131
Original Sutra Author: N/A
Author: Hermann Hesse, Hilda Rosner
Publisher: Macmillan India
Total Pages: 64
Language: English
Classification: Book_English
File Size: 7 MB

Page 51

The Son
but Siddhartha did not eat. In the stable, where the goat was, the two old men straightened some straw and Vasudeva lay down. But Siddhartha went outside and sat in front of the hut all night, listening to the river, sunk in the past simultaneously affected and encompassed by all the periods of his life. From time to time, however, he rose, walked to the door of the hut and listened to hear if the boy were sleeping.
Early in the morning, before the sun was yet visible, Vasudeva came out of the stable and walked up to his friend.
You have not slept,' he said.
No, Vasudeva, I sat here and listened to the river. It has told me a great deal, it has filled me with many great thoughts, with thoughts of unity.' '
You have suffered, Siddhartha, yet I see that sadness has not entered your heart.'
'No, my dear friend. Why should I be sad? I who was rich and happy have become still richer and happier. My son has been given to me.'
I also welcome your son. But now, Siddhartha, let us go to work, there is much to be done. Kamala died on the same bed where my wife died. We shall also build Kamala's funeral pyre on the same hill where I once built my wife's funeral pyre.
While the boy slept, they built a funeral pyre.
Frightened and weeping, the boy had attended his mother's burial; frightened and gloomy, he had listened to Siddhartha greeting him as his son and making him welcome in Vasudeva's hut. For days on end he sat with a pale face on the hill of the dead, looked away, locked his heart, fought and strove against his fate.
Siddhartha treated him with consideration and left him alone, for he respected his grief. Siddhartha understood that his son did not know him, that he could not love him as a father. Slowly, he also saw and realized that the eleven-yearold child was a spoilt mother's boy and had been brought up in the habits of the rich, that he was accustomed to fine food and a soft bed, accustomed to commanding servants. Siddhartha understood that the spoilt and grieving boy could not suddenly be content in a strange and poor place. He did not press him; he did a great deal for him and always saved the best morsels for him. Slowly, by friendly patience, he hoped to win him over.
He had considered himself rich and happy when the boy had come to him, but as time passed and the boy remained
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