Brahman saw that
Siddhartha was trembling softly in his knees. In Siddhartha's face he
saw no trembling, his eyes were fixed on a distant spot. Then his
father realized that even now Siddhartha no longer dwelt with him in his
home, that he had already left him.

The Father touched Siddhartha's shoulder.

"You will," he spoke, "go into the forest and be a Samana. When
you'll have found blissfulness in the forest, then come back and teach
me to be blissful. If you'll find disappointment, then return and let
us once again make offerings to the gods together. Go now and kiss your
mother, tell her where you are going to. But for me it is time to go to
the river and to perform the first ablution."

He took his hand from the shoulder of his son and went outside.
Siddhartha wavered to the side, as he tried to walk. He put his limbs
back under control, bowed to his father, and went to his mother to do as
his father had said.

As he slowly left on stiff legs in the first light of day the still
quiet town, a shadow rose near the last hut, who had crouched there,
and joined the pilgrim--Govinda.

"You have come," said Siddhartha and smiled.

"I have come," said Govinda.

WITH THE SAMANAS

In the evening of this day they caught up with the ascetics, the skinny
Samanas, and offered them their companionship and--obedience. They
were accepted.

Siddhartha gave his garments to a poor Brahman in the street. He wore
nothing more than the loincloth and the earth-coloured, unsown cloak.
He ate only once a day, and never something cooked. He fasted for
fifteen days. He fasted for twenty-eight days. The flesh waned from
his thighs and cheeks. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged
eyes, long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry, shaggy
beard grew on his chin. His glance turned to icy when he encountered
women; his mouth twitched with contempt, when he walked through a city
of nicely dressed people. He saw merchants trading, princes hunting,
mourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians
trying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for
seeding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children--and all of this
was 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 and
beautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tasted
bitter. Life was torture.

A