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hovered an atmosphere of still passion, of devastating service, of unpitying self-denial.
In the evening, after the hour of contemplation, Siddhartha said to Govinda: "Tomorrow morning my friend, Siddhartha is going to join the Samanas. He is going to become a Samana.'
Govinda blanched as he heard these words and read the decision in his friend's determined face, undeviating as the released arrow from the bow. Govinda realized from the first glance at his friend's face that now it was beginning. Siddhartha was going his own way; his destiny was beginning to unfold itself, and with his destiny, his own. And he became as pale as a dried banana skin. "Oh, Siddhartha,' he cried, 'will your father permit it?'
Siddhartha looked at him like one who had just awakened. As quick as lightning he read Govinda's soul, read the anxiety, the resignation.
'We will not waste words, Govinda,' he said softly. Tomorrow at daybreak I will begin the life of the Samanas. Let us not discuss it again.'
Siddhartha went into the room where his father was sitting on a mat made of bast. He went up behind his father and remained standing there until his father felt his presence. 'Is it you, Siddhartha?' the Brahmin asked. Then speak what is in your mind.'
Siddhartha said: With your permission, Father, I have come to tell you that I wish to leave your house tomorrow and join the ascetics. I wish to become a Samana. I trust my father will not object.'
The Brahmin was silent so long that the stars passed across the small window and changed their design before the silence in the room was finally broken. His son stood silent and motionless with his arms folded. The father, silent and motionless, sat on the mat, and the stars passed across the sky.
Then his father said: 'It is not seemly for Brahmins to utta forceful and angry words, but there is displeasure in my heart. I should not like to hear you make this request a second time.
The Brahmin rose slowly. Siddhartha remained silent with folded arms. Why are you waiting?' asked his father.
You know why,' answered Siddhartha. His father left the room displeased and lay down on his bed.
As an hour passed by and he could not sleep, the Brahmin rose, wandered up and down and then left the house. He looked through the small window of the room and saw Siddhartha standing there with his arms folded, unmoving. He could see his pale robe shimmering. His heart troubled, the father returned to his bed.
As another hour passed and the Brahmin could not sleep, he rose again, walked up and down, left the house and saw the moon had risen. He looked through the window. Siddhartha stood there unmoving, his arms folded; the moon shone on his bare shinbones. His heart troubled, the father went to bed.
He returned again after an hour and again after two hours, looked through the window and saw Siddhartha standing there in the moonlight, in the starlight, in the dark. And he came silently again, hour after hour, looked into the room, and saw him standing unmoving. His heart filled with anger, with anxiety, with fear, with sorrow.
And in the last hour of the night before daybreak, he returned again, entered the room and saw the youth standing there. He seemed tall and a stranger to him.
"Siddhartha,' he said, 'why are you waiting? 'You know why.
Will you go on standing and waiting until it is day, noon, evening?'
