him here
following the runaway son, there was now emptiness. Sadly, he sat down,
felt something dying in his heart, experienced emptiness, saw no joy any
more, no goal. He sat lost in thought and waited. This he had learned
by the river, this one thing: waiting, having patience, listening
attentively. And he sat and listened, in the dust of the road, listened
to his heart, beating tiredly and sadly, waited for a voice. Many an
hour he crouched, listening, saw no images any more, fell into
emptiness, let himself fall, without seeing a path. And when he felt
the wound burning, he silently spoke the Om, filled himself with Om.
The monks in the garden saw him, and since he crouched for many hours,
and dust was gathering on his gray hair, one of them came to him and
placed two bananas in front of him. The old man did not see him.

From this petrified state, he was awoken by a hand touching his
shoulder. Instantly, he recognised this touch, this tender, bashful
touch, and regained his senses. He rose and greeted Vasudeva, who had
followed him. And when he looked into Vasudeva's friendly face, into
the small wrinkles, which were as if they were filled with nothing but
his smile, into the happy eyes, then he smiled too. Now he saw the
bananas lying in front of him, picked them up, gave one to the ferryman,
ate the other one himself. After this, he silently went back into the
forest with Vasudeva, returned home to the ferry. Neither one talked
about what had happened today, neither one mentioned the boy's name,
neither one spoke about him running away, neither one spoke about the
wound. In the hut, Siddhartha lay down on his bed, and when after a
while Vasudeva came to him, to offer him a bowl of coconut-milk, he
already found him asleep.

OM

For a long time, the wound continued to burn. Many a traveller
Siddhartha had to ferry across the river who was accompanied by a son or
a daughter, and he saw none of them without envying him, without
thinking: "So many, so many thousands possess this sweetest of good
fortunes--why don't I? Even bad people, even thieves and robbers have
children and love them, and are being loved by them, all except for me."
Thus simply, thus without reason he now thought, thus similar to the
childlike people he had become.

Differently than before, he now looked upon people, less smart, less
proud, but instead warmer, more curious, more involved. When he ferried
travellers of