Siddhartha translation by Michael R Burch

Siddhartha (The Buddha) by Hermann Hesse translation by Michael R. Burch In the house-shade, by the sunlit riverbank beyond the bobbing boats, in the Salwood forest’s deep shade, beneath the shade of the fig tree, that’s where Siddhartha grew up. Siddhartha, the handsomest son of the Brahman, like a young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, also the son of a Brahman. Siddhartha! The sun tanned his shoulders lightly by the riverbanks when he bathed, as he performed the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. Shade poured into his black eyes whenever he played in the mango grove, whenever his mother sang to him, whenever the sacred offerings were made, whenever his father, the esteemed scholar, instructed him, whenever the wise men advised him. For a long time, Siddhartha had joined in the wise men’s palaver, & had also practiced debate & the arts of reflection & meditation with his friend Govinda. Siddhartha already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently within himself while inhaling, to speak it silently without himself while exhaling, always with his soul’s entire concentration, his forehead haloed by the glow of his lucid spirit. He already knew how to feel Atman in his being’s depths, an indestructible unity with the universe. Joy leapt in his father’s heart for his son, so quick to learn, so eager for knowledge. Siddhartha! He saw Siddhartha growing up to become a prince among the Brahmans. Bliss leapt in his mother’s breast when she saw her son's regal carriage, his perfect posture, his uprightness. Siddhartha! So strong, so handsome, so stately on those long, elegant legs, & when bowing to his mother with perfect respect. Siddhartha! Love nestled & fluttered in the girls' hearts when Siddhartha passed by with his luminous forehead, his kingly aspect & lean hips. But more than all the others Siddhartha was loved by Govinda. Govinda loved Siddhartha’s alert eyes & kind voice, his perfect carriage & the perfection of his movements, indeed, loved everything Siddhartha said & did, but what Govinda loved most was Siddhartha’s spirit: his transcendent yet passionate thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling. Govinda wanted to follow Siddhartha: Siddhartha the beloved! Siddhartha the splendid! Thus Siddhartha was loved by all, a joy to all, a delight to all. But alas, Siddhartha did not delight himself. His heart lacked joy. For Siddhartha had begun to nurse discontent deep within himself.