By this river I want to stay, thought Siddhartha, it is the same which I have crossed a long time ago on my way to the childlike people, a friendly ferryman had guided me then, he is the one I want to go to, starting out from his hut, my path had led me at that time into a new life, which had now grown old and is dead-my present path, my present new life, shall also take its start there!
席特哈尔塔心想，我要留在这河边，当年我在投奔那些孩子般的俗人路上渡过的就是这条河，一位亲切友好的船夫渡我过了河，现在我要去找他。离开他的茅屋之后我曾步入了一种新生活，而现在那生活已经陈旧衰亡了——但愿我现时的路、现时的新年生活能从那儿开始！
Tenderly, he looked into the rushing water, into the transparent green, into the crystal lines of its drawing, so rich in secrets. Bright pearls he saw rising from the deep, quiet bubbles of air floating on the reflecting surface, the blue of the sky being depicted in it. With a thousand eyes, the river looked at him, with green ones, with white ones, with crystal ones, with sky-blue ones. How did he love this water, how did it delight him, how grateful was he to it! In his heart he heard the voice talking, which was newly awaking, and it told him: Love this water! Stay near it! Learn from it! Oh yes, he wanted to learn from it, he wanted to listen to it. He who would understand this water and its secrets, so it seemed to him, would also understand many other things, many secrets, all secrets.
他深情地注视着奔腾的河水，注视着这一片清澈的碧绿，注视着这幅充满神秘的画面的透明线条。他看见从水底深处冒起明亮的珠串，平静的气泡飘浮在光洁如镜的水面上，湛蓝的天空倒映在水中。河水正用千万双眼睛盯着他，有绿色的、白色的、透明的，还有天蓝色的。他多么爱这条河呀！河水使得他心旷神怡，他多么感激它呀！他听见心里有个声音在说话，一个新觉醒的声音对他说：爱这条河吧！留在它这儿吧！向它学习吧！噢，是的，他愿意向它学，他愿意倾听它的声音。谁若是了解这条河及其秘密，他觉得，也就会懂得其他许多东西，许多秘密，所有秘密。
But out of all secrets of the river, he today only saw one, this one touched his soul. He saw: this water ran and ran, incessantly it ran, and was nevertheless always there, was always at all times the same and yet new in every moment! Great be he who would grasp this, understand this! He understood and grasped it not, only felt some idea of it stirring, a distant memory, divine voices.
但今天，他只看到了这条河的许多秘密之中一个最扣人心弦的秘密。他看到：河水流啊流，永不停息，却又总是在这里，永远是原样，但它又每时每记得都是新的！哦，有谁能了解这点、懂得这点呢！他不懂得不了解这一点，只是感觉到激起了联想，遥远的回忆，美妙的声音。
When he reached the ferry, the boat was just ready, and the same ferryman who had once transported the young Samana across the river, stood in the boat, Siddhartha recognised him, he had also aged very much.
他来到渡口，小船正泊在原处，依然是当年那个渡过他过河的船夫站在船里。席特哈尔塔认出了他，他也显老了很多。
Siddhartha rose, the workings of hunger in his body became unbearable. In a daze he walked on, up the path by the bank, upriver, listened to the current, listened to the rumbling hunger in his body.
席特哈尔塔站起身，饥饿已使他无法忍受。他动情地沿着岸边的小路漫步走去，迎着河水，倾听着流水声，倾听着腹内的饥肠辘辘声。
The ferryman, being astonished to see such an elegant man walking along and on foot, took him into his boat and pushed it off the bank.
船夫见一以一个如此高贵的人竟独自步行前来，很惊奇，把他接上船撑离了岸边。
“It’s a beautiful life you have chosen for yourself,” the passenger spoke. “It must be beautiful to live by this water every day and to cruise on it.”
“你选择了一种美好的生活。”客人说，“每天在这河边生活，在这河面上行船，一定十分美好。”
“Would you like to ferry me over?” he asked.
“你愿意渡我过河么？”他问。
“This may be true. But I envy you for yours.”
“也许是吧，但我还是很羡慕你这个行当。”
With a smile, the man at the oar moved from side to side: “It is beautiful, sir, it is as you say. But isn’t every life, isn’t every work beautiful?”
船夫微笑地晃动着身子说：“是很美，先生，正像你说的那样。可是，每一种生活，每一种工作，不都是很美好吗？”
“I’m not joking, friend. Behold, once before you have ferried me across this water in your boat for the immaterial reward of a good deed. Thus, do it today as well, and accept my clothes for it.”
“我没有开玩笑，朋友。你瞧，你曾用你的船送我渡了一次河，没收钱。今天也还是照样吧，请收下我的衣服。”
Siddhartha laughed. “Once before, I have been looked upon today because of my clothes, I have been looked upon with distrust. Wouldn’t you, ferryman, like to accept these clothes, which are a nuisance to me, from me? For you must know, I have no money to pay your fare.”
席特哈尔塔笑了：“我今天已经因为这身衣服惹人注意过，让人猜疑过了。船夫呀，你是否愿意要我这身惹麻烦的衣服？因为你要知道，我没钱付你摆渡费呢。”
“Ah, most of all I wouldn’t want to continue travelling at all. Most of all I would like you, ferryman, to give me an old loincloth and kept me with you as your assistant, or rather as your trainee, for I’ll have to learn first how to handle the boat.”
“啊，我现在最希望的是根本不用再赶路。船夫呀，最好你能给我一件旧围裙，收我做你的助手，更确切地说是做你的徒弟，因为我得先学会撑船才行。”
“Ah, you would soon stop enjoying it. This is nothing for people wearing fine clothes.”
“啊，你很快就会没兴趣的。这可不是衣着华丽的人干的活儿。”
“You’re joking, sir,” the ferryman laughed.
“先生是在开玩笑吧。”船夫笑道。
“And do you, sir, intent to continue travelling without clothes?”
“先生莫非要不穿衣服继续赶路？”
For a long time, the ferryman looked at the stranger, searching.
船夫久久地探询地注视着这个陌生人。
“Now I recognise you,” he finally said. “At one time, you’ve slept in my hut, this was a long time ago, possibly more than twenty years ago, and you’ve been ferried across the river by me, and we parted like good friends. Haven’t you’ve been a Samana? I can’t think of your name any more.”
“现在我认出你来了。”他终于说道，“你在我的茅屋里睡过觉，那已经很久了，大概有二十多年了吧。当年我把你渡过河，然后咱们就像好朋友一样分手了。那时你不是沙门吗？你的名字我实在想不起来了。”
“So be welcome, Siddhartha. My name is Vasudeva.” You will, so I hope, be my guest today as well and sleep in my hut, and tell me, where you’re coming from and why these beautiful clothes are such a nuisance to you.”
“那么我欢迎你，席特哈尔塔。我叫瓦苏代瓦。我希望你今天还是做我的客人，睡在我的茅屋里，给我讲讲你从哪儿来，你的华丽衣服为什么成了你的累赘。”
They had reached the middle of the river, and Vasudeva pushed the oar with more strength, in order to overcome the current. He worked calmly, his eyes fixed in on the front of the boat, with brawny arms. Siddhartha sat and watched him, and remembered, how once before, on that last day of his time as a Samana, love for this man had stirred in his heart. Gratefully, he accepted Vasudeva’s invitation. When they had reached the bank, he helped him to tie the boat to the stakes; after this, the ferryman asked him to enter the hut, offered him bread and water, and Siddhartha ate with eager pleasure, and also ate with eager pleasure of the mango fruits, Vasudeva offered him.
他们已来到河中心，瓦苏代瓦加紧划桨，逆水前进。他用有力的胳臂平静地工作着，目光盯着船头。席特哈尔塔坐着看他，忆起当年他做沙门的最后一天，他心中就曾对此人产生过热爱。他感激地接受了瓦苏代瓦的邀请。靠岸后，他帮船夫把小船在木桩上系好。然后，船夫请他走进茅屋，给他端来面包和水，席特哈尔塔吃得津津有味，而且还吃了瓦苏代瓦款待他的水果。
“My name is Siddhartha, and I was a Samana, when you’ve last seen me.”
“我叫席特哈尔塔。上次你见到我时我确实是个沙门。”
Afterwards, it was almost the time of the sunset, they sat on a log by the bank, and Siddhartha told the ferryman about where he originally came from and about his life, as he had seen it before his eyes today, in that hour of despair. Until late at night, lasted his tale.
后来，日落时分，他们俩坐在岸边一棵树的树干上，席特哈尔塔给船夫讲自己的出身和生活，那些绝望时刻的情景就像今天一样历历在目。他一直讲到夜深。
Vasudeva listened with great attention. Listening carefully, he let everything enter his mind, birthplace and childhood, all that learning, all that searching, all joy, all distress. This was among the ferryman’s virtues one of the greatest: like only a few, he knew how to listen. Without him having spoken a word, the speaker sensed how Vasudeva let his words enter his mind, quiet, open, waiting, how he did not lose a single one, awaited not a single one with impatience, did not add his praise or rebuke, was just listening. Siddhartha felt, what a happy fortune it is, to confess to such a listener, to burry in his heart his own life, his own search, his own suffering.
瓦苏代瓦全神贯注地听着。他仔细地倾听一切，出身和童年，所有的学习，所有的探索，所有的欢乐，所有的痛苦。善于倾听正是瓦苏代瓦的重要美德之一，能像他这样倾听的人不多。他并没有说一句话，讲述者就感觉到他把话全都听进去了。他安静、坦诚和期待地听着，一字不漏，没有丝毫的不耐烦，也不作褒贬，只是倾听。席特哈尔塔感到，能向这样一位倾听者诉说自己的生活、自己的探索和自己的烦恼，实在是一件幸事。
But in the end of Siddhartha’s tale, when he spoke of the tree by the river, and of his deep fall, of the holy Om, and how he had felt such a love for the river after his slumber, the ferryman listened with twice the attention, entirely and completely absorbed by it, with his eyes closed.
当席特哈尔塔快讲到结尾时，他讲到河边那棵树，讲到自己的潦倒落魄，讲到那神圣的“唵”，以及他如何在睡了一觉之后对河水深感热爱。这时，船夫听得更是加倍专心了，他全神贯注地闭着眼睛听。
But when Siddhartha fell silent, and a long silence had occurred, then Vasudeva said: “It is as I thought. The river has spoken to you. It is your friend as well, it speaks to you as well. That is good, that is very good. Stay with me, Siddhartha, my friend. I used to have a wife, her bed was next to mine, but she has died a long time ago, for a long time, I have lived alone. Now, you shall live with me, there is space and food for both.”
等到席特哈尔塔说完了，而且出现了很长时间的沉寂之后，瓦苏代瓦才说：“情况正如我所想，河水跟你说了话。它也是你的朋友，跟你说了话。这很好，好极了。你就留在我这儿吧，席特哈尔塔，我的朋友。以前我有过妻子，她的床铺就在我的旁边，可是她早就过世了，我已经单身生活了很久。你跟我一起过吧，住处和饭食都够两个人的。”
“I thank you,” said Siddhartha, “I thank you and accept. And I also thank you for this, Vasudeva, for listening to me so well! These people are rare who know how to listen. And I did not meet a single one who knew it as well as you did. I will also learn in this respect from you.”
“我感谢你，”席特哈尔塔说，“谢谢你，我同意。瓦苏代瓦，我还要感谢你这么专心地听我讲！善于倾听的人极少，我从没遇见过像你这样善于倾听的人。在这方面我也要向你学。”
“You will learn it,” spoke Vasudeva, “but not from me. The river has taught me to listen, from it you will learn it as well. It knows everything, the river, everything can be learned from it. See, you’ve already learned this from the water too, that it is good to strive downwards, to sink, to seek depth. The rich and elegant Siddhartha is becoming an oarsman’s servant, the learned Brahman Siddhartha becomes a ferryman: this has also been told to you by the river. You’ll learn that other thing from it as well.”
“你会学到的，”瓦苏代瓦说，“但不是跟我学。是河水教会了我倾听，你也该跟它学。它什么都懂，这条河，可以向它学习一切。瞧，你已经向它学到了一点，那就是努力向下，沉下去，向深处探索，这很好。富有而高贵的席特哈尔塔变成划船的伙计，博学的婆罗门席特哈尔塔变成船夫，这也是河水点拨你的。你还会向它学到别的东西。”
Vasudeva rose. “It is late,” he said, “let’s go to sleep. I can’t tell you that other thing, oh friend. You’ll learn it, or perhaps you know it already. See, I’m no learned man, I have no special skill in speaking, I also have no special skill in thinking. All I’m able to do is to listen and to be godly, I have learned nothing else. If I was able to say and teach it, I might be a wise man, but like this I am only a ferryman, and it is my task to ferry people across the river. I have transported many, thousands; and to all of them, my river has been nothing but an obstacle on their travels. They travelled to seek money and business, and for weddings, and on pilgrimages, and the river was obstructing their path, and the ferryman’s job was to get them quickly across that obstacle. But for some among thousands, a few, four or five, the river has stopped being an obstacle, they have heard its voice, they have listened to it, and the river has become sacred to them, as it has become sacred to me. Let’s rest now, Siddhartha.”
瓦苏代瓦站起来。“夜深了，”他说，“咱们睡吧。我不能告诉你‘别的’是什么，朋友。你会学到的，兴许你已经知道了。瞧，我不是学者，我不擅长讲话，也不擅长思索。我只善于倾听，心地善良，别的特长就没有了。要是我能说会道，说不定会是个贤人呢，可我只是个船夫，我的任务就是送人们过这条河。我摆渡过许多人，成千上万人，他们都认为我这条河只是他们旅途上的一个障碍。他们出门旅行是为了挣钱和做买卖，去参加婚礼，去朝圣，而这条河正好挡在他们路上，船夫就是要帮他们迅速越赤这个障碍。但是，在这成千上万的人中间有几个人，为数很少的几个人，四个或者五个，这条河对于他们不再是障碍，他们听见了河水的声音。他们凝神细雨听，这条河对于他们变得很神圣，就像对于我这样。不过，咱们还是休息吧，席特哈尔塔。”
Quoth Siddhartha after a long pause: “What other thing, Vasudeva?”
又经过了一个长长的间歇，席特哈尔塔才说：“还有别的吗，瓦苏代瓦？”
“Did you,” so he asked him at one time, “did you too learn that secret from the river: that there is no time?”
有一次他问瓦苏代瓦：“你是否向河水学到了这个秘密：时间并不存在？”
Siddhartha stayed with the ferryman and learned to operate the boat, and when there was nothing to do at the ferry, he worked with Vasudeva in the rice-field, gathered wood, plucked the fruit off the banana-trees. He learned to build an oar, and learned to mend the boat, and to weave baskets, and was joyful because of everything he learned, and the days and months passed quickly. But more than Vasudeva could teach him, he was taught by the river. Incessantly, he learned from it. Most of all, he learned from it to listen, to pay close attention with a quiet heart, with a waiting, opened soul, without passion, without a wish, without judgement, without an opinion.
席特哈尔塔留在了船夫身边，跟他学习撑船。如果渡口没事可做，他就和瓦苏代瓦下稻田干活，拾柴禾，摘芭蕉。他学习制作船桨，学习修补渡船和编篮子，对所学的一切都兴致勃勃。日月如梭，光阴似箭。而河水教给他的东西比瓦苏代瓦教的更多。他不断地向河水学习，首先是学习倾听，以平静的心境倾听，以期盼和坦诚的心灵倾听，没有激情，没有热望，没有判断，也没有见解。
Vasudeva’s face was filled with a bright smile.
瓦苏代瓦脸上露出了爽朗的笑容。
In a friendly manner, he lived side by side with Vasudeva, and occasionally they exchanged some words, few and at length thought about words. Vasudeva was no friend of words; rarely, Siddhartha succeeded in persuading him to speak.
他在瓦苏代瓦身边愉快地生活。两人偶尔交谈，只说数量不多的深思熟虑过的话。瓦苏代瓦并不健谈，席特哈尔塔很少能激起他的谈话兴致。
“Yes, Siddhartha,” he spoke. “It is this what you mean, isn’t it: that the river is everywhere at once, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the rapids, in the sea, in the mountains, everywhere at once, and that there is only the present time for it, not the shadow of the past, not the shadow of the future?”
“是的，席特哈尔塔。”他说，“你的意思是不是说：河水到处都是一样的，在源泉头，在河口，在瀑布，在渡口，在急流，在大海，在山区，到处都一样，对于它只有现在，而没有将来的阴影？”
“This it is,” said Siddhartha. “And when I had learned it, I looked at my life, and it was also a river, and the boy Siddhartha was only separated from the man Siddhartha and from the old man Siddhartha by a shadow, not by something real. Also, Siddhartha’s previous births were no past, and his death and his return to Brahma was no future. Nothing was, nothing will be; everything is, everything has existence and is present.”
“是这样。”席特哈尔塔说，“我当弄明白这点后再细看自己的生活，就发现它也是一条河，少年席特哈尔塔和成年席特哈尔塔以及老年席特哈尔塔都只是被影子隔开，而不是被现实隔开。席特哈尔塔先前的出生并不是过去，而他的死亡与回归婆罗门也并非将来。万物无过去，万物过将来；一切都是现在，一切都只有本质和现在。”
Siddhartha spoke with ecstasy; deeply, this enlightenment had delighted him. Oh, was not all suffering time, were not all forms of tormenting oneself and being afraid time, was not everything hard, everything hostile in the world gone and overcome as soon as one had overcome time, as soon as time would have been put out of existence by one’s thoughts? In ecstatic delight, he had spoken, but Vasudeva smiled at him brightly and nodded in confirmation; silently he nodded, brushed his hand over Siddhartha’s shoulder, turned back to his work.
席特哈尔塔兴奋地侃侃而谈，这种大彻大悟使得他十分高兴。哦，一切忧患不就是时间吗？一切自我折磨和自我恐惧不就是时间吗？一旦超越了时间，一旦抛开了时间，世上的一切艰难困苦和敌对仇视不就一扫而光了吗？他说得兴致勃勃。瓦苏代瓦只是精神焕发地朝着他微笑，点头赞许。他默默无言地点头，用手抚摩席特哈尔塔的肩膀，然后便转身去做自己的事了。
“So it is,” Vasudeva nodded, “all voices of the creatures are in its voice.”
“是这样的。”瓦苏代瓦点点头，“在河水的声音中包含了所有生物的声音。”
And once again, when the river had just increased its flow in the rainy season and made a powerful noise, then said Siddhartha: “Isn’t it so, oh friend, the river has many voices, very many voices? Hasn’t it the voice of a king, and of a warrior, and of a bull, and of a bird of the night, and of a woman giving birth, and of a sighing man, and a thousand other voices more?”
又一次，正值雨季河水暴涨，水流湍急，席特哈尔塔说：“哦，朋友，河水有许多声音，非常多的声音，对吗？它是不是有一个君主的声音，一个兵士的声音，一头公牛的声音，一只夜鸟的声音，一个产妇的声音，一个叹气者的声音，以及上千种别的声音？”
“And do you know,” Siddhartha continued, “what word it speaks, when you succeed in hearing all of its ten thousand voices at once?”
“你知道吗，”席特哈尔塔接着说，“当你同时听到了它的全部上万种声音时，它说的是哪个字？”
Happily, Vasudeva’s face was smiling, he bent over to Siddhartha and spoke the holy Om into his ear. And this had been the very thing which Siddhartha had also been hearing.
瓦苏代瓦脸上绽出了幸福的笑容。他俯身凑近席特哈尔塔在他耳边低声说出了那个“唵”字，而这也正是席特哈尔塔所听到的字。
And time after time, his smile became more similar to the ferryman’s, became almost just as bright, almost just as throughly glowing with bliss, just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles, just as alike to a child’s, just as alike to an old man’s. Many travellers, seeing the two ferrymen, thought they were brothers. Often, they sat in the evening together by the bank on the log, said nothing and both listened to the water, which was no water to them, but the voice of life, the voice of what exists, of what is eternally taking shape. And it happened from time to time that both, when listening to the river, thought of the same things, of a conversation from the day before yesterday, of one of their travellers, the face and fate of whom had occupied their thoughts, of death, of their childhood, and that they both in the same moment, when the river had been saying something good to them, looked at each other, both thinking precisely the same thing, both delighted about the same answer to the same question.
一次又一次，席特哈尔塔的笑容与船夫的笑容越来越相似，几乎同样神采奕奕，几乎同样幸福得放光，同样从那上千条强国富民的皱纹里闪闪放光，同样的孩子气，也同样的老态龙钟。好多旅客看见这两个船夫都以为是兄弟俩。晚上，他们经常一起坐在河岸边的树干上，默然无语地倾听河水流淌，对他们来说这不是水，而是生活的声音，存在的声音，永恒发展的声音。有时，两人在倾听河水时想到同样的事，想到前天的一次谈话，想到他们的一个船客，那人的脸色和遭遇引起他们的关注，还想到死，想到他们的童年。在河水向向他们诉说美好事物的同一瞬间，他们俩有时相互会心地对视，两个人不谋而合地想到了一点，为同一问题的相同答案而感到高兴。
The years passed by, and nobody counted them. Then, at one time, monks came by on a pilgrimage, followers of Gotama, the Buddha, who were asking to be ferried across the river, and by them the ferrymen were told that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher, for the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon die his last human death, in order to become one with the salvation. It was not long, until a new flock of monks came along on their pilgrimage, and another one, and the monks as well as most of the other travellers and people walking through the land spoke of nothing else than of Gotama and his impending death. And as people are flocking from everywhere and from all sides, when they are going to war or to the coronation of a king, and are gathering like ants in droves, thus they flocked, like being drawn on by a magic spell, to where the great Buddha was awaiting his death, where the huge event was to take place and the great perfected one of an era was to become one with the glory.
岁月荏苒，没人再议论他们了。这时，来了一些朝圣的和尚，他们是活佛戈塔马的弟子，请求把他们渡过河去。两个船夫他们口里得知，他们正火急地赶回他们的恩师那儿去，因为有消息说活佛已经病危，即将达到最后的涅槃，达到彻底的解脱。不久，又来了一群朝圣的和尚，紧接着，再拥来一群。这些和尚以及大多数旅客都是开口必谈戈塔马，以及他即将达到的涅槃。就像看军队出征或国王加冕，人们从四面八方拥来。宛如蚂蚁麇集，人们就像受一种魔力吸引，纷纷拥向活佛即将涅槃之处，拥向即将发生大事，一个时代的伟大完人即将进入极乐世界的地方。
There was something about this ferry and the two ferrymen which was transmitted to others, which many of the travellers felt. It happened occasionally that a traveller, after having looked at the face of one of the ferrymen, started to tell the story of his life, told about pains, confessed evil things, asked for comfort and advice. It happened occasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with them to listen to the river. It also happened that curious people came, who had been told that there were two wise men, or sorcerers, or holy men living by that ferry. The curious people asked many questions, but they got no answers, and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men, they only found two friendly little old men, who seemed to be mute and to have become a bit strange and gaga. And the curious people laughed and were discussing how foolishly and gullibly the common people were spreading such empty rumours.
有些旅客感到这只渡船和两个船夫有些特别。有时，一个旅客看见了一个船夫的面容就开始讲自己的生活，讲自己的烦恼，坦白自己的劣迹，恳求安慰和忠告。有时，旅客会请求跟他们共度一个夜晚，以便倾听河水的声音。还有一些好奇者跑来，是因为听说在这个渡口住着两个贤人，要不就是魔法师或圣人。这些好奇者提出许多问题，却得不到答案，他们既没见到魔法师也没见到贤人，只是见到两个和谒可亲的小老头儿，他们似乎是哑巴，有些古怪和迟钝。于是好奇者们哈哈大笑，大谈传播无稽的谣言是多么愚蠢和轻信。
Often, Siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man, the great teacher, whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken hundreds of thousands, whose voice he had also once heard, whose holy face he had also once seen with respect. Kindly, he thought of him, saw his path to perfection before his eyes, and remembered with a smile those words which he had once, as a young man, said to him, the exalted one. They had been, so it seemed to him, proud and precocious words; with a smile, he remembered them. For a long time he knew that there was nothing standing between Gotama and him any more, though he was still unable to accept his teachings. No, there was no teaching a truly searching person, someone who truly wanted to find, could accept. But he who had found, he could approve of any teachings, every path, every goal, there was nothing standing between him and all the other thousand any more who lived in that what is eternal, who breathed what is divine.
在这段时间里，席特哈尔塔经常想到这位垂危的贤人，这位伟大的导师，他的声音曾告诫了民众，唤醒了千千万万人。席特哈尔塔也聆听过他的声音，满怀敬畏地凝望过他那圣洁的面容。席特哈尔塔亲切地想着活佛，活佛走向完美之路历历在目，他又含笑忆起了当年他这个年轻人对活佛讲过的那番话。他笑着回忆，感到那都是些傲慢自负和多嘴多舌的话。他早就知道自己跟戈塔马无法再分开，可是又不能接受他的学说。不，一个真正的探索者，一个真正要有所发现的人，是不会接受什么学说的。但是，已经有所领悟的过来人却可以赞成任何学说，任何道路，任何目标，什么也不能把他与生活在永恒之中、呼吸着神的气息的千千万万人分开。
On one of these days, when so many went on a pilgrimage to the dying Buddha, Kamala also went to him, who used to be the most beautiful of the courtesans. A long time ago, she had retired from her previous life, had given her garden to the monks of Gotama as a gift, had taken her refuge in the teachings, was among the friends and benefactors of the pilgrims. Together with Siddhartha the boy, her son, she had gone on her way due to the news of the near death of Gotama, in simple clothes, on foot. With her little son, she was travelling by the river; but the boy had soon grown tired, desired to go back home, desired to rest, desired to eat, became disobedient and started whining.
就在许许多多的人都去朝拜活佛的时候，一天，卡玛拉，当年那个美丽的名妓，也会朝拜活佛了。她早已摆脱了以往的生活，把她的花园送给了戈塔马的弟子们，信奉了戈塔马的学说，成了那些朝圣者的朋友和施主。一听说戈塔马病危的消息，她就和她的儿子小席特哈尔塔一起上了路，身穿简朴的衣服步行前往朝拜。余中，她带着儿子来到了这条河边。儿子累了，要回家，要休息，要吃饭，又哭又闹。
Hurriedly, they now both ran along the path, in order to reach people, and got near to the ferry, there Kamala collapsed, and was not able to go any further. But the boy started crying miserably, only interrupting it to kiss and hug his mother, and she also joined his loud screams for help, until the sound reached Vasudeva’s ears, who stood at the ferry. Quickly, he came walking, took the woman on his arms, carried her into the boat, the boy ran along, and soon they all reached the hut, were Siddhartha stood by the stove and was just lighting the fire. He looked up and first saw the boy’s face, which wondrously reminded him of something, like a warning to remember something he had forgotten. Then he saw Kamala, whom he instantly recognised, though she lay unconscious in the ferryman’s arms, and now he knew that it was his own son, whose face had been such a warning reminder to him, and the heart stirred in his chest.
他们俩赶紧往前跑，想找人求助，刚跑到渡船附近，卡玛拉就倒下了，再也跑不动了。孩子发出凄惨的叫喊，手忙脚知己地亲吻和拥抱母亲，而她也跟着大声呼救，声音传到了正站在渡船旁的瓦苏代瓦耳中。他迅速赶过来，抱起卡玛拉，放到船里，孩子也跟着上了船。过了一会儿，他们来到茅屋里，席特哈尔塔正在炉灶边生火。他抬起眼，先看到男孩的脸，这张脸使他惊讶地想起已经淡忘的往事。接着，他又看见了卡玛拉，而且马上就认出了她，尽管此记得她正不省人事地躺在船夫的臂弯里。他明白了，这男孩就是他的亲生儿子，孩子的脸貌提醒了他，他的心在胸中怦怦直跳。
The pilgrims were getting close to Vasudeva’s ferry, when little Siddhartha once again forced his mother to rest. She, Kamala herself, had also become tired, and while the boy was chewing a banana, she crouched down on the ground, closed her eyes a bit, and rested. But suddenly, she uttered a wailing scream, the boy looked at her in fear and saw her face having grown pale from horror; and from under her dress, a small, black snake fled, by which Kamala had been bitten.
这两个朝拜者已来到离瓦苏代瓦的渡船不远的地方，小席特哈尔塔又一次要求妈妈歇一歇。卡玛拉自己也累了，于是就让孩子吃香蕉，自己坐在地上，闭上眼歇一会儿。突然，她发出一声哀叫，孩子惊慌失措地瞧她，看见她脸色吓得惨白，从她的衣裙下钻了一条小黑蛇，逃走了，卡玛拉被它咬了。
Kamala often had to take a rest with him, he was accustomed to having his way against her, she had to feed him, had to comfort him, had to scold him. He did not comprehend why he had to to go on this exhausting and sad pilgrimage with his mother, to an unknown place, to a stranger, who was holy and about to die. So what if he died, how did this concern the boy?
卡玛拉只好跟他频频地休息，孩子已经习惯了不听她的话而固执己见，她不得不喂他吃东西，哄他，呵斥他。孩子不明白干吗要跟随母亲踏上这艰苦和不幸的朝拜路，到一个陌生的地方去探望一个圣洁而垂危的陌生人。索性让他死掉好了，这跟孩子有什么相干呢？
Kamala looked into his eyes. She spoke with a heavy tongue, paralysed by the poison. “You’ve become old, my dear,” she said, “you’ve become gray. But you are like the young Samana, who at one time came without clothes, with dusty feet, to me into the garden. You are much more like him, than you were like him at that time when you had left me and Kamaswami. In the eyes, you’re like him, Siddhartha. Alas, I have also grown old, old-could you still recognise me?”
卡玛拉紧盯着他的眼睛。蛇毒使得她全身麻木，说话已口齿不清。“你老了，亲爱的，”她说，“头发也花白了。可是，你仍然像当年那个没穿衣服、两脚满是尘垢地跑到花园来找我的小沙门。你比当年你离开我和卡马斯瓦密出走时更像个沙门了。你的眼睛仍像那时候，席特哈尔塔。啊，我也老了，衰老了——你还能认我么？”
Kamala’s wound was washed, but had already turned black and her body was swollen, she was made to drink a healing potion. Her consciousness returned, she lay on Siddhartha’s bed in the hut and bent over her stood Siddhartha, who used to love her so much. It seemed like a dream to her; with a smile, she looked at her friend’s face; just slowly she, realized her situation, remembered the bite, called timidly for the boy.
卡玛拉的伤口被洗净了，但是已经发黑，身子也肿胀起来，于是，连忙给她灌药。好恢复了知觉，躺在茅屋里席特哈尔塔的床铺上，她深爱过的席特哈尔塔俯身看着她。她觉得这就像是一场梦，含笑望着这个昔日恋人的脸，慢慢才意识到自己眼前的处境，想起是被蛇咬了，便惊恐地呼唤孩子。
“He’s with you, don’t worry,” said Siddhartha.
“他就在你身边，别担心。”席特哈尔塔说。
Siddhartha smiled: “Instantly, I recognised you, Kamala, my dear.”
席特哈尔塔笑笑说：“我一眼就认出了你，卡玛拉，亲爱的。”
Kamala pointed to her boy and said: “Did you recognise him as well? He is your son.”
卡玛拉指指她的孩子说：“你也认出他了吗？他是你的儿子。”
Vasudeva nodded; over his friendly face ran the light of the stove’s fire.
瓦苏代瓦点点头，炉灶里的火光在他那慈祥的脸上闪烁不定。
Once again, Kamala returned to consciousness. Pain distorted her face, Siddhartha’s eyes read the suffering on her mouth, on her pale cheeks. Quietly, he read it, attentively, waiting, his mind becoming one with her suffering. Kamala felt it, her gaze sought his eyes.
卡玛拉又一次恢复了知觉。痛楚扭歪了她的面容，席特哈尔塔的眼睛在她的嘴上和苍白的两颊上看出了这痛楚。他静静地端详、专注、耐心地沉浸在她的痛楚之中。目测玛拉觉察了，以目光搜寻他的眼睛。
Her eyes became confused and fell shut. The boy wept, Siddhartha took him on his knees, let him weep, petted his hair, and at the sight of the child’s face, a Brahman prayer came to his mind, which he had learned a long time ago, when he had been a little boy himself. Slowly, with a singing voice, he started to speak; from his past and childhood, the words came flowing to him. And with that singsong, the boy became calm, was only now and then uttering a sob and fell asleep. Siddhartha placed him on Vasudeva’s bed. Vasudeva stood by the stove and cooked rice. Siddhartha gave him a look, which he returned with a smile.
她的眼睛显得迷乱了，闭上了。男孩哭起来，席特哈尔塔把他抱到膝上，任他哭，抚摩着他的头发，看着孩子的脸他想起了一段自己儿时学到的婆罗门祈祷文。他用唱歌一般的语调缓缓地吟诵抚慰下，孩子平静了，只还偶尔抽泣一两声，后来便睡着了。席特哈尔塔把他放到瓦苏代瓦的床上。瓦苏代瓦正在炉灶边烧饭。席特哈尔塔瞥了他一眼，他也答以微笑。
“She’ll die,” Siddhartha said quietly.
“她快要死了。”席特哈尔塔小声说。
Looking at him, she said: “Now I see that your eyes have changed as well. They’ve become completely different. By what do I still recognise that you’re Siddhartha? It’s you, and it’s not you.”
她看见了他，说道：“现在我发现你的眼睛也变了，变得完全不同了。我到底凭什么认出了你是席特哈尔塔呢？你既是他又不是他喽！”
“You have found it,” Siddhartha spoke in a whisper.
“你已经找到了。”席特哈尔塔轻声说。
Siddhartha said nothing, quietly his eyes looked at hers.
席特哈尔塔没出声，眼睛静静地盯着她的眼睛。
He smiled and placed his hand on hers.
他笑笑，把手按在她手上。
For a long time, he sat and looked at her peacefully dead face. For a long time, he observed her mouth, her old, tired mouth, with those lips, which had become thin, and he remembered, that he used to, in the spring of his years, compare this mouth with a freshly cracked fig. For a long time, he sat, read in the pale face, in the tired wrinkles, filled himself with this sight, saw his own face lying in the same manner, just as white, just as quenched out, and saw at the same time his face and hers being young, with red lips, with fiery eyes, and the feeling of this both being present and at the same time real, the feeling of eternity, completely filled every aspect of his being. Deeply he felt, more deeply than ever before, in this hour, the indestructibility of every life, the eternity of every moment.
他呆坐了许久，凝视着她那长眠不醒的面容。他久久地审视她的嘴，她那衰老、疲倦的嘴以及变得狭长的嘴唇，忆起自己正值青春时曾把这张嘴比作一枚新剖开的无花果。他坐了许久，端详那苍白的面容，端详那疲倦的皱纹，心里充满了这景象，仿佛看见自己的脸也躺在那儿，同样苍白，同样死气沉沉，与此同时又能仿佛看见自己的脸和她的脸依然年轻，嘴唇红润，眼睛炯炯有神。这种当前的状况与往昔的情憬商时并存的感觉完全渗透了他，这是一种永恒的感觉。他深深地感到，比以往更深记得地感到了每一个生命的不可摧毁，每一个瞬间的永恒。
“You have achieved it?” she asked. “You have found peace?”
“你达到目的了吗？”她问，“你找到安宁了吗？”
“I’m seeing it,” she said, “I’m seeing it. I too will find peace.”
“我明白了，”她说，“明白了。我也会找到安宁的。”
Kamala never stopped looking into his eyes. She thought about her pilgrimage to Gotama, which wanted to take, in order to see the face of the perfected one, to breathe his peace, and she thought that she had now found him in his place, and that it was good, just as good, as if she had seen the other one. She wanted to tell this to him, but the tongue no longer obeyed her will. Without speaking, she looked at him, and he saw the life fading from her eyes. When the final pain filled her eyes and made them grow dim, when the final shiver ran through her limbs, his finger closed her eyelids.
卡玛拉目不转睛地盯着他。好想起自己本心是要去朝拜戈塔马，亲眼目睹活佛的面容，体验他的平和安详，可是现在她却找到了席特哈尔塔。这也好，跟见到活佛一样好。她想告诉他这点，可是舌头已不再听从她的意志了。她默默地望着他，他从她的眼睛发现了她的生命正在渐渐熄灭。当最后的痛苦充满并且溢出了她的眼睛，当最后的震颤掠过她的肢体时，他用手指合上了她的眼睑。
“No, Vasudeva. I sat here, I was listening to the river. A lot it has told me, deeply it has filled me with the healing thought, with the thought of oneness.”
“没睡，瓦苏代瓦。我坐在这儿，倾听河水的声音。它给我讲了许多，用有益的思想充实了我，用和谐统一的思想充实了我。”
“You haven’t slept,” he said.
“你没睡觉。”他说。
Early in the morning, even before the sun could be seen, Vasudeva came out of the stable and walked over to his friend.
清早，太阳还没有露头，瓦苏代瓦便走出羊圈，来到朋友身边。
“No, my dear, how should I be sad? I, who have been rich and happy, have become even richer and happier now. My son has been given to me.”
“没有，亲爱的，我干吗悲伤呢？我，过去曾经富有和幸福，现在更富有更幸福了。我得到了我的儿子。”
“You’ve experienced suffering, Siddhartha, but I see: no sadness has entered your heart.”
“你经受了痛苦，席特哈尔塔，可是我发现你心中并没有悲伤。”
When he rose, Vasudeva had prepared rice for him. But Siddhartha did not eat. In the stable, where their goat stood, the two old men prepared beds of straw for themselves, and Vasudeva lay himself down to sleep. But Siddhartha went outside and sat this night before the hut, listening to the river, surrounded by the past, touched and encircled by all times of his life at the same time. But occasionally, he rose, stepped to the door of the hut and listened, whether the boy was sleeping.
他站起身，瓦苏代瓦已经给他盛好了饭，可是席特哈尔塔没吃。两个老人在他们的羊圈里铺上草垫子，瓦苏代瓦便躺下睡了。席特哈尔塔走了出去，在茅屋前坐了一夜，倾听河水的声音，回忆往事，他这一辈子的所有时光都同时触动和簇拥着他。他有时也站起来，走到茅屋的门边去听听孩子是否睡着了。
“Your son shall be welcome to me as well. But now, Siddhartha, let’s get to work, there is much to be done. Kamala has died on the same bed, on which my wife had died a long time ago. Let us also build Kamala’s funeral pile on the same hill on which I had then built my wife’s funeral pile.”
“我也欢迎你的儿子到来。可是现在，席特哈匀塔，咱们开始工作吧，有好多事要干呢。卡玛拉是在我妻子去世的那张床上死的，咱们就在以前我焚化妻子的小山上为卡玛拉垒起柴堆吧。”
While the boy was still asleep, they built the funeral pile.
孩子仍在熟睡，他们垒起了火葬的柴堆。
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