For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practis- ing debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection. Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Adobe PDF icon. Download this document as a. pdf: File size: MB What's this? light bulb idea Many people prefer to read. Free site book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg.

Siddharta Libro Pdf

Language:English, Indonesian, Portuguese
Genre:Children & Youth
Published (Last):17.05.2016
ePub File Size:30.65 MB
PDF File Size:8.65 MB
Distribution:Free* [*Registration Required]
Uploaded by: GERTIE

Siddharta - Hermann Hesse - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or several times before the war, and wrote Siddhartha, the story of an Indian. Books Download Siddhartha (PDF, site) by Hermann Hesse Complete Read Online. You can download all the latest and older version of Siddhartha PDF for free. El escritor expresa en este libro su amor y su sensibilidad por la cultura, las.

Gautama: The Buddha , whose Teachings are rejected but whose power of self-experience and self-wisdom is completely praised by Siddhartha. Kamala: A courtesan and Siddhartha's sensual mentor, mother of his child, Young Siddhartha. Kamaswami: A merchant who instructs Siddhartha on business. Vasudeva: An enlightened ferryman and spiritual guide of Siddhartha.

Young Siddartha: Son of Siddhartha and Kamala. Lives with Siddhartha for a time but runs away to Adan. It is the completeness of these experiences that allows Siddhartha to attain understanding. A major preoccupation of Hesse in writing Siddhartha was to cure his "sickness with life" Lebenskrankheit by immersing himself in Indian philosophy such as that expounded in the Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita.

In an attempt to do so, Hesse lived as a virtual semi- recluse and became totally immersed in the sacred teachings of both Hindu and Buddhist scriptures. His intention was to attain to that 'completeness' which, in the novel, is the Buddha 's badge of distinction. True, but it's not just intellectual cognition, not just learning and knowing, but spiritual experience that can be earned only through strict discipline in a selfless life". It stars Shashi Kapoor and was directed by Conrad Rooks.

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. As quick as lightning he read Govinda's soul, read the anxiety, the resignation. Let us not discuss it again. He went up behind his father and remained standing there until his father felt his presence. I wish to become a Samana. I trust my father will not object. 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 utter forceful and angry words, but there is displeasure in my heart.

I should not like to hear you make this request a second time. Siddhartha remained silent with folded arms. 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.

The Brahmin saw that Siddhartha's knees trembled slightly, but there was no trembling in Siddhartha's face; his eyes looked far away. Then the father realized that Siddhartha could no longer remain with him at home -that he had already left him. The father touched Siddhartha's shoulder. If you find bliss in the forest, come back and teach it to me.

If you find disillusionment, come back, and we shall again offer sacrifices to the gods together. Now go, kiss your mother and tell her where you are going. For me, however, it is time to go to the river and perform the first ablution.

Siddhartha swayed as he tried to walk. He controlled himself, bowed to his father and went to his mother to do what had been told to him. As, with benumbed legs, he slowly left the still sleeping town at daybreak, a crouching shadow emerged from the last but and joined the pilgrim. It was Govinda. With the Samanas On the evening of that day they overtook the Samanas and requested their company and allegiance. They were accepted.

Siddhartha gave his clothes to a poor Brahmin on the road and only retained his loincloth and earth-colored unstitched cloak. He only ate once a day and never cooked food. He fasted fourteen days. He fasted twenty-eight days. The flesh disappeared from his legs and cheeks. Strange dreams were reflected in his enlarged eyes. The nails grew long on his thin fingers and a dry, bristly beard appeared on his chin.

His glance became icy when he encountered women; his lips curled with contempt when he passed through a town of well-dressed people. He saw businessmen trading, princes going to the hunt, mourners weeping over their dead, prostitutes offering themselves, doctors attending the sick, priests deciding the day for sowing, lovers making love, mothers soothing their children - and all were not worth a passing glance, everything lied, stank of lies; they were all illusions of sense, happiness and beauty.

All were doomed to decay. The world tasted bitter. Life was pain. Siddhartha had one single goal - to become empty, to become empty of thirst, desire, dreams, pleasure and sorrow - to let the Self die. No longer to be Self, to experience the peace of an emptied heart, to experience pure thought - that was his goal. When all the Self was conquered and dead, when all passions and desires were silent, then the last must awaken, the innermost of Being that is no longer Self - the great secret!

Silently Siddhartha stood in the fierce sun's rays, filled with pain and thirst, and stood until he no longer felt pain and thirst. Silently he stood in the rain, water dripping from his hair on to his freezing shoulders, on to his freezing hips and legs.

And the ascetic stood until his shoulders and legs no longer froze, till they were silent, till they were still. Silently he crouched among the thorns. Blood dripped from his smarting skin, ulcers formed, and Siddhartha remained stiff, motionless, till no more blood flowed, till there was no more pricking, no more smarting.

Siddhartha sat upright and learned to save his breath, to manage with little breathing, to hold his breath. He learned, while breathing in, to quiet his heartbeat, learned to lessen his heartbeats, until there were few and hardly any more. Instructed by the eldest of the Samanas, Siddhartha practiced self- denial and meditation according to the Samana rules.

A heron flew over the bamboo wood and Siddhartha took the heron into his soul, flew over forest and mountains, became a heron, ate fishes, suffered heron hunger, used heron language, died a heron's death.

A dead jackal lay on the sandy shore and Siddhartha's soul slipped into its corpse; he became a dead jackal, lay on the shore, swelled, stank, decayed, was dismembered by hyenas, was picked at by vultures, became a skeleton, became dust, mingled with the atmosphere. And Siddhartha's soul returned, died, decayed, turned into dust, experienced the troubled course of the life cycle.

He waited with new thirst like a hunter at a chasm where the life cycle ends, where there is an end to causes, where painless eternity begins. He killed his senses, he killed his memory, he slipped out of his Self in a thousand different forms. He was animal, carcass, stone, wood, water, and each time he reawakened. The sun or moon shone, he was again Self, swung into the life cycle, felt thirst, conquered thirst, felt new thirst.

Siddhartha learned a great deal from the Samanas; he learned many ways of losing the Self. He travelled along the path of self-denial through pain, through voluntary suffering and conquering of pain, through hunger, thirst and fatigue. He travelled the way of self-denial through meditation, through the emptying of the mind of all images.

Along these and other paths did he learn to travel. He lost his Self a thousand times and for days on end he dwelt in non-being. But although the paths took him away from Self, in the end they always led back to it.

Although Siddhartha fled from the Self a thousand times, dwelt in nothing, dwelt in animal and stone, the return was inevitable; the hour was inevitable when he would again find himself, in sunshine or in moonlight, in shadow or in rain, and was again Self and Siddhartha, again felt the torment of the onerous life cycle.

At his side lived Govinda, his shadow; he travelled along the same path, made the same endeavors. They rarely conversed with each other apart from the necessities of their service and practices. Sometimes they went together through the villages in order to beg food for themselves and their teachers.

Have we reached our goal? You will become a great Samana, Siddhartha. You have learned each exercise quickly. The old Samanas have often appraised you. Some day you will be a holy man, Siddhartha. What I have so far learned from the Samanas, I could have learned more quickly and easily in every inn in a prostitute's quarter, amongst the carriers and dice players.

How could you have learned meditation, holding of the breath and insensibility towards hunger and pain, with those wretches? What is abandonment of the body? What is fasting? What is the holding of breath? It is a flight from the Self, it is a temporary escape from the torment of Self. It is a temporary palliative against the pain and folly of life. The driver of oxen makes this same flight, takes this temporary drug when he drinks a few bowls of rice wine or cocoanut milk in the inn.

He then no longer feels his Self, no longer feels the pain of life; he then experiences temporary escape.

Falling asleep over his bowl of rice wine, he finds what Siddhartha and Govinda find when they escape from their bodies by long exercises and dwell in the non-Self.

The drinker does indeed find escape, he does indeed find a short respite and rest, but he returns from the illusion and finds everything as it was before.

He has not grown wiser, he has not gained knowledge, he has not climbed any higher. I have never been a drunkard. But that I, Siddhartha, only find a short respite in my exercises and meditation, and am as remote from wisdom, from salvation, as a child in the womb, that, Govinda, I do know. Are we gaining knowledge? Are we approaching salvation? Or are we perhaps going in circles - we who thought to escape from the cycle? There still remains much to learn.


We are not going in circles, we are going upwards. The path is a spiral; we have already climbed many steps. He will be seventy and eighty years old, and you and I, we shall grow as old as he, and do exercises and fast and meditate, but we will not attain Nirvana, neither he nor we. Govinda, I believe that amongst all the Samanas, probably not even one will attain Nirvana. We find consolations, we learn tricks with which we deceive ourselves, but the essential thing - the way - we do not find.

I suffer thirst, Govinda, and on this long Samana path my thirst has not grown less. I have always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions. Year after year I have questioned the Brahmins, year after year I have questioned the holy Vedas. Perhaps, Govinda, it would have been equally good, equally clever and holy if I had questioned the rhinoceros or the chimpanzee.

I have spent a long time and have not yet finished, in order to learn this, Govinda: that one can learn nothing. There is, so I believe, in the essence of everything, something that we cannot call learning. There is, my friend, only a knowledge - that is everywhere, that is Atman, that is in me and you and in every creature, and I am beginning to believe that this knowledge has no worse enemy than the man of knowledge, than learning.

Truly, your words trouble me. Think, what meaning would our holy prayers have, the venerableness of the Brahmins, the holiness of the Samanas, if, as you say, there is no learning? Siddhartha, what would become of everything, what would be holy on earth, what would be precious and sacred?

He dwelt long on the words which Govinda had uttered.

Yes, he thought, standing with bowed head, what remains from all that seems holy to us? What remains?

What is preserved? And he shook his head. Once, when both youths had lived with the Samanas about three years and shared their practices, they heard from many sources a rumor, a report.

Someone had appeared, called Gotama, the Illustrious, the Buddha. He had conquered in himself the sorrows of the world and had brought to a standstill the cycle of rebirth. He wandered through the country preaching, surrounded by disciples, having no possessions, homeless, without a wife, wearing the yellow cloak of an ascetic, but with lofty brow, a holy man, and Brahmins and princes bowed before him and became his pupils.

This report, this rumor, this tale was heard and spread here and there. The Brahmins talked about it in the town, the Samanas in the forest.

The name of Gotama, the Buddha, continually reached the ears of the young men, spoken of well and ill, in praise and in scorn. Just as when a country is ravaged with the plague and a rumor arises that there is a man, a wise man, a learned man, whose words and breath are sufficient to heal the afflicted, and as the report travels across the country and everyone speaks about it, many believe and many doubt it.

Many, however, immediately go on their way to seek the wise man, the benefactor. In such a manner did that rumor, that happy report of Gotama the Buddha, the wise man from the race of Sakya, travel through the country. He possessed great knowledge, said the believers; he remembered his former lives, he had attained Nirvana and never returned on the cycle, he plunged no more into the troubled stream of forms.

Many wonderful and incredible things were reported about him; he had performed wonders, had conquered the devil, had spoken with the gods. His enemies and doubters, however, said that this Gotama was an idle fraud; he passed his days in high living, scorned the sacrifices, was unlearned and knew neither practices nor mortification of the flesh. The rumors of the Buddha sounded attractive; there was magic in these reports. The world was sick, life was difficult and here there seemed new hope, here there seemed to be a message, comforting, mild, full of fine promises.

Everywhere there were rumors about the Buddha. Young men all over India listened, felt a longing and a hope. And among the Brahmins' sons in the towns and villages, every pilgrim and stranger was welcome if he brought news of him, the Illustrious, the Sakyamuni.

The rumors reached the Samanas in the forest and Siddhartha and Govinda, a little at a time, every little item heavy with hope, heavy with doubt. They spoke little about it, as the eldest Samana was no friend of this rumor. He had heard that this alleged Buddha had formerly been an ascetic and had lived in the woods, had then turned to high living and the pleasures of the world, and he held no brief for this Gotama.

Truly I was filled with longing and I thought: I wish that both Siddhartha and I may live to see the day when we can hear the teachings from the lips of the Perfect One. My friend, shall we not also go hither and hear the teachings from the lips of the Buddha? I always believed it was his goal to be sixty and seventy years old and still practice the arts and exercises which the Samanas teach. But how little did I know Govinda! How little did I know what was in his heart! Now, my dear friend, you wish to strike a new path and go and hear the Buddha's teachings.

No matter if you do, Siddhartha. Do you not also feel a longing, a desire to hear this teaching? And did you not once say to me - I will not travel the path of the Samanas much longer?

But, very well, my friend, I am ready to hear that new teaching, although I believe in my heart that we have already tasted the best fruit of it. But tell me, how can the teachings of Gotama disclose to us its most precious fruit before we have even heard him?

This fruit, for which we are already indebted to Gotama, consists in the fact that he has enticed us away from the Samanas. Whether there are still other and better fruits, let us patiently wait and see.

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

He told the old man with the politeness and modesty fitting to young men and students. But the old man was angry that both young men wished to leave him and he raised his voice and scolded them strongly. Govinda was taken aback, but Siddhartha put his lips to Govinda's ear and whispered: "Now I will show the old man that I have learned something from him.

The old man became silent, his eyes glazed, his will crippled; his arms hung down, he was powerless under Siddhartha's spell. Siddhartha's thoughts conquered those of the Samana; he had to perform what they commanded. And so the old man bowed several times, gave his blessings and stammered his wishes for a good journey.

Siddhartha: eine indische Dichtung by Hermann Hesse

The young men thanked him for his good wishes, returned his bow, and departed. On the way, Govinda said: "Siddhartha, you have learned more from the Samanas than I was aware. It is difficult, very difficult to hypnotize an old Samana.

In truth, if you had stayed there, you would have soon learned how to walk on water. Near the town was Gotama's favorite abode, the Jetavana grove, which the rich merchant Anathapindika, a great devotee of the Illustrious One, had presented to him and his followers. The two young ascetics, in their search for Gotama's abode, had been referred to this district by tales and answers to their questions, and on their arrival in Savathi, food was offered to them immediately at the first house in front of whose door they stood silently begging.

They partook of food and Siddhartha asked the lady who handed him the food: "Good lady, we should very much like to know where the Buddha, the Illustrious One, dwells, for we are two Samanas from the forest and have come to see the Perfect One and hear his teachings from his own lips.

The Illustrious One sojourns in Jetavana, in the garden of Anathapindika. You may spend the night there, pilgrims, for there is enough room for the numerous people who flock here to hear the teachings from his lips. But tell us, mother of pilgrims, do you know the Buddha? Have you seen him with your own eyes? On many a day I have seen him walk through the streets, silently, in a yellow cloak, and silently hold out his alms bowl at the house doors and return with his filled bowl.

They expressed their thanks and departed.

It was hardly necessary to enquire the way, for quite a number of pilgrims and monks from Gotama's followers were on the way to Jetavana.

When they arrived there at night, there were continual new arrivals.

There was a stir of voices from them, requesting and obtaining shelter. The two Samanas, who were used to life in the forest, quickly and quietly found shelter and stayed there till morning. At sunrise they were astounded to see the large number of believers and curious people who had spent the night there. Monks in yellow robes wandered along all the paths of the magnificent grove.

Here and there they sat under the trees, lost in meditation or engaged in spirited talk. The shady gardens were like a town, swarming with bees. Most of the monks departed with their alms bowls, in order to obtain food for their midday meal, the only one of the day. Even the Buddha himself went begging in the morning. Siddhartha saw him and recognized hirn immediately, as if pointed out to him by a god.

He saw him, bearing an alms bowl, quietly leaving the place, an unassuming man in a yellow cowl. Yes, it was he, and they followed him and watched him. The Buddha went quietly on his way, lost in thought.

His peaceful countenance was neither happy nor sad.

Similar Books

He seemed to be smiling gently inwardly. With a secret smile, not unlike that of a healthy child, he walked along, peacefully, quietly.

He wore his gown and walked along exactly like the other monks, but his face and his step, his peaceful downward glance, his peaceful downward-hanging hand, and every finger of his hand spoke of peace, spoke of completeness, sought nothing, imitated nothing, reflected a continuous quiet, an unfading light, an invulnerable peace.

And so Gotama wandered into the town to obtain alms, and the two Samanas recognized him only by his complete peacefulness of demeanor, by the stillness of his form, in which there was no seeking, no will, no counterfeit, no effort - only light and peace. Siddhartha did not reply. He was not very curious about the teachings.

He did not think they would teach him anything new.

He, as well as Govinda, had heard the substance of the Buddha's teachings, if only from second and third-hand reports. But he looked attentively at Gotama's head, at his shoulders, at his feet, at his still, downward-hanging hand, and it seemed to him that in every joint of every finger of his hand there was knowledge; they spoke, breathed, radiated truth.

This man, this Buddha, was truly a holy man to his fingertips. Never had Siddhartha esteemed a man so much, never had he loved a man so much. They both followed the Buddha into the town and returned in silence.

They themselves intended to abstain from food that day. They saw Gotama return, saw him take his meal within the circle of his disciples - what he ate would not have satisfied a bird - and saw him withdraw to the shade of the mango tree. In the evening, however, when the heat abated and everyone in the camp was alert and gathered together, they heard the Buddha preach. They heard his voice, and this also was perfect, quiet and full of peace.

Gotama talked about suffering, the origin of suffering, the way to release from suffering. Life was pain, the world was full of suffering, but the path to the release from suffering had been found. There was salvation for those who went the way of the Buddha.

The Illustrious One spoke in a soft but firm voice, taught the four main points, taught the Eightfold Path; patiently he covered the usual method of teaching with examples and repetition. Clearly and quietly his voice was carried to his listeners - like a light, like a star in the heavens.

When the Buddha had finished - it was already night - many pilgrims came forward and asked to be accepted into the community, and the Buddha accepted them and said: "You have listened well to the teachings. Join us then and walk in bliss; put an end to suffering.

As soon as the Buddha had withdrawn for the night, Govinda turned to Siddhartha and said eagerly: "Siddhartha, it is not for me to reproach you. We have both listened to the Illustrious One, we have both heard his teachings. Govinda has listened to the teachings and has accepted them, but you, my dear friend, will you not also tread the path of salvation?

Will you delay, will you still wait? He looked at Govinda's face for a long time. Then he spoke softly and there was no mockery in his voice. You have always been my friend, Govinda, you have always gone a step behind me. Often I have thought: will Govinda ever take a step without me, from his own conviction?

Now, you are a man and have chosen your own path.

May you go along it to the end, my friend. May you find salvation! I repeat it. May you travel this path to the end. Siddhartha spoke kindly to him. You have renounced home and parents, you have renounced origin and property, you have renounced your own will, you have renounced friendship.

That is what the teachings preach, that is the will of the Illustrious One. That is what you wished yourself. Tomorrow, Govinda, I will leave you. They lay down for a long time but could not sleep. Govinda pressed his friend again and again to tell him why he would not follow the Buddha's teachings, what flaw he found in them, but each time Siddhartha waved him off: "Be at peace, Govinda.

The Illustrious One's teachings are very good. How could I find a flaw in them? Thereupon Govinda tore himself away, embraced the friend of his youth, and drew on the monk's robe. Siddhartha wandered through the grove deep in thought. There he met Gotama, the Illustrious One, and as he greeted him respectfully and the Buddha's expression was so full of goodness and peace, the young man plucked up courage and asked the Illustrious One's permission to speak to him.

Silently the Illustrious One nodded his permission. Siddhartha said: "Yesterday, O Illustrious One, I had the pleasure of hearing your wonderful teachings. I came from afar with my friend to hear you, and now my friend will remain with you; he has sworn allegiance to you.

I, however, am continuing my pilgrimage anew. Will the Illustrious One hear me a little longer? Siddhartha said: "O Illustrious One, in one thing above all have I admired your teachings. Everything is completely clear and proved. You show the world as a complete, unbroken chain, an eternal chain, linked together by cause and effect.

Never has it been presented so clearly, never has it been so irrefutably demonstrated. Surely every Brahmin's heart must beat more quickly, when through your teachings he looks at the world, completely coherent, without a loophole, clear as crystal, not dependent on chance, not dependent on the gods.

Whether it is good or evil, whether life in itself is pain or pleasure, whether it is uncertain - that it may perhaps be this is not important - but the unity of the world, the coherence of all events, the embracing of the big and the small from the same stream, from the same law of cause, of becoming and dying: this shines clearly from your exalted teachings, O Perfect One.

But according to your teachings, this unity and logical consequence of all things is broken in one place: Through a small gap there streams into the world of unity something strange, something new, something that was not there before and that cannot be demonstrated and proved: that is your doctrine of rising above the world, of salvation. With this small gap, through this small break, however, the eternal and single world law breaks down again.

Forgive me if I raise this objection. And now the Perfect One spoke in his kind, polite and clear voice. You have found a flaw. Think well about it again. Let me warn you, you who are thirsty for knowledge, against the thicket of opinions and the conflict of words.

Opinions mean nothing; they may be beautiful or ugly, clever or foolish, anyone can embrace or reject them.He is like Govinda, he thought, smiling.

He rose, said farewell to the mango tree and the pleasure garden. But tell me, how can the teachings of Gotama disclose to us its most precious fruit before we have even heard him? Everywhere there were rumors about the Buddha. We are not going in circles, we are going upwards.