Siddhartha walked through the forest, was already far from the city, and knew nothing but that one thing, that there was no going back for him, that this life, as he had lived it for many years until now, was over and done away with, and that he had tasted all of it, sucked everything out of it until he was disgusted with it. Dead was the singing bird, he had dreamt of. Dead was the bird in his heart. Deeply, he had been entangled in Sansara, he had sucked up disgust and death from all sides into his body, like a sponge sucks up water until it is full. And full he was, full of the feeling of been sick of it, full of misery, full of death, there was nothing left in this world which could have attracted him, given him joy, given him comfort.
席特哈尔塔在森林里游荡，离开那个城市已经很远了。他只知道他不会再回来，他多年来所过的生活已经一去不复返了。他尝够了这种生活的滋味，已经到了恶心的地步。他梦见过的那只鸣鸟死了，他心中的鸟儿也死了。他深深地纠缠于轮回之中，已经从各方面尝够了厌恶和死亡的滋味。就好像一块海绵吸饱了水。他满怀厌恶，满怀愁闷，满怀死亡之感，世界再没有什么能吸引他，使他高兴，安慰他了。
Passionately he wished to know nothing about himself anymore, to have rest, to be dead. If there only was a lightning-bolt to strike him dead! If there only was a tiger a devour him! If there only was a wine, a poison which would numb his senses, bring him forgetfulness and sleep, and no awakening from that! Was there still any kind of filth, he had not soiled himself with, a sin or foolish act he had not committed, a dreariness of the soul he had not brought upon himself? Was it still at all possible to be alive? Was it possible, to breathe in again and again, to breathe out, to feel hunger, to eat again, to sleep again, to sleep with a woman again? Was this cycle not exhausted and brought to a conclusion for him?
他热切地希望能忘却自己，得到安宁，干脆死掉。但愿来个闪电，劈死他！但愿来一只猛虎，吃掉他！但愿有一杯酒，一杯毒酒，使得他麻木、忘却和沉睡，永远不再醒来！还有哪一种污秽他没有沾染过，还有哪一种罪孽和蠢行他没有干过，还有哪一种心灵的空虚他没有承受过？他还有可能再活下去么？还有可能一而再、再而三地吸气和呼气，感觉到肚子饿，重又进餐，再去睡觉，去和女人睡觉么？这种循环对于他来说不是已经精疲力竭并且结束了么？那天，他一直坐在芒果树下，思念他父亲，思念戈文达，思念戈塔马。要做个卡马斯瓦密就必须离开他们吗？夜色降临时他依然静坐不动。他抬头仰望星星，心想：“我坐在我的芒果树下，坐在我的大花园里。”他微微一笑——他拥有一棵芒果树，拥有一个大花园，可是这有必要吗？这对头吗？这不也是一场愚蠢的游戏吗？
In the same hour of the night, Siddhartha left his garden, left the city, and never came back. For a long time, Kamaswami had people look for him, thinking that he had fallen into the hands of robbers. Kamala had no one look for him. When she was told that Siddhartha had disappeared, she was not astonished. Did she not always expect it? Was he not a Samana, a man who was at home nowhere, a pilgrim? And most of all, she had felt this the last time they had been together, and she was happy, in spite of all the pain of the loss, that she had pulled him so affectionately to her heart for this last time, that she had felt one more time to be so completely possessed and penetrated by him.
就在当天夜里，席特哈尔塔离开了他的花园，离开了这座城市，再也没有回去。卡马斯瓦密派人找了他很久，以为他落入了强盗之手。卡玛拉没有让人找他。她得知席特哈尔塔失踪时并没有惊讶。她不是一直在盼着这个消息么？原来他不就是一个沙门，一个无家可归的人，一个朝圣者么？在最后那次欢聚时她感受得尤为深刻。她在失败的痛楚中寻欢作乐，最后一次把他紧紧地贴在心口上，再一次感到自己被他完全占有了。
He also put an end to this, this also died in him. He rose, bid his farewell to the mango-tree, his farewell to the pleasure-garden. Since he had been without food this day, he felt strong hunger, and thought of his house in the city, of his chamber and bed, of the table with the meals on it. He smiled tiredly, shook himself, and bid his farewell to these things.
就连这他也要彻底了结，就连这也在他心中死去了。他站起来，向芒果树告别，向大花园告别。因为他一整天没有进食，他感到饥肠辘辘，想起自己在城里的住宅，想起自己的卧室和床铺，想起摆满了佳肴的餐桌。他疲乏地笑笑，摇摇头，告别了这些东西。
When she received the first news of Siddhartha’s disappearance, she went to the window, where she held a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage. She opened the door of the cage, took the bird out and let it fly. For a long time, she gazed after it, the flying bird. From this day on, she received no more visitors and kept her house locked. But after some time, she became aware that she was pregnant from the last time she was together with Siddhartha.
当她得知席特哈尔塔失踪的第一个消息时，她走到窗前，走到羊着一只罕见的小啼鸟的金鸟笼前。她打开笼门，取出小鸟，放它飞走。她久久地目送着那只高翔的鸟儿远去。从这天起，她不再接待客人，关闭了自己的住房。过了一段时间后她意外地发觉，跟席特哈尔塔的最后一次欢聚竟使她怀了孕。
A hang bent over the bank of the river, a coconut-tree; Siddhartha leaned against its trunk with his shoulder, embraced the trunk with one arm, and looked down into the green water, which ran and ran under him, looked down and found himself to be entirely filled with the wish to let go and to drown in these waters. A frightening emptiness was reflected back at him by the water, answering to the terrible emptiness in his soul. Yes, he had reached the end. There was nothing left for him, except to annihilate himself, except to smash the failure into which he had shaped his life, to throw it away, before the feet of mockingly laughing gods. This was the great vomiting he had longed for: death, the smashing to bits of the form he hated! Let him be food for fishes, this dog Siddhartha, this lunatic, this depraved and rotten body, this weakened and abused soul! Let him be food for fishes and crocodiles, let him be chopped to bits by the daemons!
从河岸上探出一棵树，弯着伸向河面，那是一棵椰子树。席特哈尔塔让肩膀靠在树干上，用一只胳臂搂住树干，俯视着身下流过的碧绿的河水。他往下看，感到心中涌动着这个愿望：松开手，让自己沉溺到水里去。从水中映也一种可怕的空虚，而他心中的可怕的空虚则与之呼应。是的，他要完蛋了。留给他的出路就是毁灭自己，砸烂自己生活的失败产物，丢弃它，把它丢到幸灾乐祸的神灵脚下。为正是他所渴望的巨大突破：死亡，毁掉他所憎恶的形体！但愿水中的鱼把他吃掉，把席特哈尔塔这条狗、这个疯子、这个腐朽的身躯、这颗衰微和滥用了的灵魂吃掉！但愿鱼类和鳄鱼把他吃掉，但愿恶魔把他撕成碎片！
Siddhartha reached the large river in the forest, the same river over which a long time ago, when he had still been a young man and came from the town of Gotama, a ferryman had conducted him. By this river he stopped, hesitantly he stood at the bank. Tiredness and hunger had weakened him, and whatever for should he walk on, wherever to, to which goal? No, there were no more goals, there was nothing left but the deep, painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream, to spit out this stale wine, to put an end to this miserable and shameful life.
席特哈尔塔来到森林中的一条大河边，这正是当年他年轻时从戈塔马那个城里出来，一个船夫为他摆渡的那条河。他在河边停下，犹豫不决地站在河岸上。疲劳和饥饿已经使得他虚弱不堪，他干吗还继续走呢？他前往何处，奔什么目标呢？不，已经没有目标了，只有这种深深的痛苦的渴望：甩掉这乱七八糟的梦境，吐掉这变了味的酒，结束这糟糕的可耻的生活！
Then, out of remote areas of his soul, out of past times of his now weary life, a sound stirred up. It was a word, a syllable, which he, without thinking, with a slurred voice, spoke to himself, the old word which is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the Brahmans, the holy “Om”, which roughly means “that what is perfect” or “the completion”. And in the moment when the sound of “Om” touched Siddhartha’s ear, his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness of his actions.
这时，从他心灵深处的偏僻角落里，从他这疲倦一生的历历往事中，传来了一个声音。那是一个字，一个音节，他不假思索就喃喃地念了出来。那正是所有婆罗门在祈祷的开头和结尾时都用的古字，那个神圣的“唵”字，意思是“功德圆满”或“完美无瑕”。就在这声“唵”传入席特哈尔塔耳中的一刹那，他那沉睡的心灵突然苏醒了，他看清了自己行为的愚蠢。
Siddhartha was deeply shocked. So this was how things were with him, so doomed was he, so much he had lost his way and was forsaken by all knowledge, that he had been able to seek death, that this wish, this wish of a child, had been able to grow in him: to find rest by annihilating his body! What all agony of these recent times, all sobering realizations, all desperation had not brought about, this was brought on by this moment, when the Om entered his consciousness: he became aware of himself in his misery and in his error.
席特哈尔塔深感震惊。他现实的境况就是这样，这么无可救药，误入歧途，背离了一切真敌国，以至于他想自寻短见，而这个愿望，这个孩子般的愿望，却在他心中变大起来：不惜毁灭自己的肉体来求得安宁！这最后时刻的全部痛苦、全部醒悟和全部绝望没能实现的东西，却在“唵”闯入他的意识这一瞬间完成了：他在自己的愁苦和迷乱中认识了自己。
With a distorted face, he stared into the water, saw the reflection of his face and spit at it. In deep tiredness, he took his arm away from the trunk of the tree and turned a bit, in order to let himself fall straight down, in order to finally drown. With his eyes closed, he slipped towards death.
他面容扭曲地呆望着水面，看见了映出的那张脸，便朝它吐口水。他疲惫不堪，让胳臂松开树干，轻了一下身子，以便垂直地落进水中，最终葬身水底。他沉下去，闭着眼睛，迎向死亡。
But this was only a moment, flash. By the foot of the coconut-tree, Siddhartha collapsed, struck down by tiredness, mumbling Om, placed his head on the root of the tree and fell into a deep sleep.
但这仅只是一刹那，像一道闪电。席特哈尔塔倒在了那棵椰子树下，把头枕在树根上，陷入了沉沉的梦乡。
Om! he spoke to himself: Om! and again he knew about Brahman, knew about the indestructibility of life, knew about all that is divine, which he had forgotten.
“唵！”他喃喃自语着，“唵！”他想起婆罗门，想起生活的坚不可摧，想起了他已经淡忘的所有神圣的东西。
Deep was his sleep and without dreams, for a long time he had not known such a sleep any more. When he woke up after many hours, he felt as if ten years had passed, he heard the water quietly flowing, did not know where he was and who had brought him here, opened his eyes, saw with astonishment that there were trees and the sky above him, and he remembered where he was and how he got here. But it took him a long while for this, and the past seemed to him as if it had been covered by a veil, infinitely distant, infinitely far away, infinitely meaningless. He only knew that his previous life (in the first moment when he thought about it, this past life seemed to him like a very old, previous incarnation, like an early pre-birth of his present self) — that his previous life had been abandoned by him, that, full of disgust and wretchedness, he had even intended to throw his life away, but that by a river, under a coconut-tree, he has come to his senses, the holy word Om on his lips, that then he had fallen asleepand had now woken up and was looking at the world as a new man. Quietly, he spoke the word Om to himself, speaking which he had fallen asleep, and it seemed to him as if his entire long sleep had been nothing but a long meditative recitation of Om, a thinking of Om, a submergence and complete entering into Om, into the nameless, the perfected.
他睡得很香，没有做梦，他已经很久没有这么酣睡过了。几个小时之后，他醒来了，觉得仿佛已过去了十年。他听见河水的潺潺流淌声，不明白自己身在何处，是谁把他弄到了这儿。他睁开眼睛，看见头顶的树林和天空十分尺度，回想自己是在哪儿，自己是怎么来的。他想了好长一会儿，往事就像被一层薄纱遮着，显得很远很远，无比遥远，完全无关紧要。他只知道自己已抛弃了过去的生活（在他回忆的最初一瞬间，他觉得过去的生活就像是一个遥远过去的化身，就像是他现在这个自我的一个早产儿）——他满怀厌恶与愁闷，甚至想抛弃自己的生命，但是在一条河边，在一棵椰子树下，他口中念育着神圣的“唵”字，回归了自我，然后便沉沉睡去，而现在又醒来了，作为一个新人观看这世界。他低声念诵着曾使他沉沉睡去的“唵”字，觉得他的沉睡只是一声悠长而专注的“唵”的念诵，一次“唵”的思索，是沉入和彻底到达“唵”之中，到达无可名状的完美境界。
Siddhartha straightened up, then he saw a person sitting opposite to him, an unknown man, a monk in a yellow robe with a shaven head, sitting in the position of pondering. He observed the man, who had neither hair on his head nor a beard, and he had not observed him for long when he recognised this monk as Govinda, the friend of his youth, Govinda who had taken his refuge with the exalted Buddha. Govinda had aged, he too, but still his face bore the same features, expressed zeal, faithfulness, searching, timidness. But when Govinda now, sensing his gaze, opened his eyes and looked at him, Siddhartha saw that Govinda did not recognise him. Govinda was happy to find him awake; apparently, he had been sitting here for a long time and been waiting for him to wake up, though he did not know him.
席特哈尔塔直起身，忽然看见对面坐着一个人，一个陌生人，一个穿黄僧衣、剃光头的和尚，摆出打坐静修的姿势。他细细打量这个既无头发也无胡子的人，看了一会儿，忽然认出这个和尚就是戈文达，他年轻时的好友，那个扳依了活佛的戈文达。戈文达老了，跟他一样，但脸上的神色依然如故，显露出热情、忠诚、探求和忧心忡忡。戈文达这时也觉察到了他的目光，睁开眼看他，但席特哈尔塔发现他并没有认出自己。戈文达见他已醒过来很高兴。显然戈文达已在这儿坐了很久，等着他醒来，尽管并没有认出他。
What a wonderful sleep had this been! Never before by sleep, he had been thus refreshed, thus renewed, thus rejuvenated! Perhaps, he had really died, had drowned and was reborn in a new body? But no, he knew himself, he knew his hand and his feet, knew the place where he lay, knew this self in his chest, this Siddhartha, the eccentric, the weird one, but this Siddhartha was nevertheless transformed, was renewed, was strangely well rested, strangely awake, joyful and curious.
这是一次多么惬意的酣睡啊！从来没有哪次睡眠能使他这么精神焕发，这么神采奕奕，这么年轻活泼！也许他真的已经死掉了，已经消亡，而现在又重新托生为一个新年的躯体？不，他认得自己，认得自己的手和脚，认得他躺在这个地方， 认得他胸中的这个自我，这个席特哈尔塔，这个执拗的家伙，这个怪人。不过，这个席特哈尔塔也确实变了，精神抖擞了，令人奇怪地睡足了，显得格外清醒、愉快和好奇。
“You have been sleeping,” answered Govinda. “It is not good to be sleeping in such places, where snakes often are and the animals of the forest have their paths. I, oh sir, am a follower of the exalted Gotama, the Buddha, the Sakyamuni, and have been on a pilgrimage together with several of us on this path, when I saw you lying and sleeping in a place where it is dangerous to sleep. Therefore, I sought to wake you up, oh sir, and since I saw that your sleep was very deep, I stayed behind from my group and sat with you. And then, so it seems, I have fallen asleep myself, I who wanted to guard your sleep. Badly, I have served you, tiredness has overwhelmed me. But now that you’re awake, let me go to catch up with my brothers.”
“你睡着了。”戈文达答道，“在这样的地方睡觉可不好，这里常有蛇，是森林中野兽出没之处。哦，先生，我是戈塔马活佛的一名弟子，释迦牟尼的信徒，跟一伙同伴走这条路去朝圣，看见你躺在这儿，睡在一个不宜睡觉的危险地方。因此我试图叫醒你，先生，见你睡得很熟，我便单独留下来守护你。显然是我自己也睡着了，而我本来是想守护你的。我失职了，疲劳控制了我。现在你已经醒了，让我走吧，去追赶我的弟兄们吧。”
“I thank you, Samana.”
“谢谢你，沙门。”
“I thank you, Samana, for watching out over my sleep,” spoke Siddhartha. “You’re friendly, you followers of the exalted one. Now you may go then.”
“谢谢你，沙门，谢谢你守护我睡觉。”席特哈尔塔说，“你们这些活佛的弟子真好。你可以走啦。”
“I have been sleeping,” said Siddhartha. “However did you get here?”
“我刚才睡着了。”席特哈尔塔说，“你是怎么来到这儿的？”
“I’m going, sir. May you, sir, always be in good health.”
“我走了，先生，祝你永远健康。”
“Farewell, Govinda,” said Siddhartha.
“再会，戈文达。”席特哈尔塔说。
Govinda made the gesture of a salutation and said: “Farewell.”
戈文达行了个礼，说道：“再会！”
The monk stopped.
和尚愣住了。
Now, Siddhartha smiled.
席特哈尔塔微微一笑。
“You’re Siddhartha,” Govinda exclaimed loudly. Now, I’m recognising you, and don’t comprehend any more how I couldn’t recognise you right away. Be welcome, Siddhartha, my joy is great, to see you again.”
“你是席特哈尔塔！”戈文达大声叫道，“现在我认出你了，我不明白怎么竟没能马上认出你！欢迎你，席特哈尔塔，与你重逢我十分高兴。”
“I know you, oh Govinda, from your father’s hut, and from the school of the Brahmans, and from the offerings, and from our walk to the Samanas, and from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in the grove Jetavana.”
“我认得你，戈文达。从你父亲的小屋，从那所婆罗门学校，从参加祭祀仪式，从咱们一起去找沙门，从你在耶塔瓦纳林苑皈依了活佛时，我就认得你！”
“I’m going nowhere. We monks are always travelling, whenever it is not the rainy season, we always move from one place to another, live according to the rules if the teachings passed on to us, accept alms, move on. It is always like this. But you, Siddhartha, where are you going to?”
“我不去哪儿。我们和尚总是云游四方，只要不是雨季，我们总是从一处赶到另一处，按照规矩生活，讲经，化缘，又动身上路。总是如此。而你呢，席特哈尔塔，你要去何处？”
“It also gives me joy, to see you again. You’ve been the guard of my sleep, again I thank you for this, though I wouldn’t have required any guard. Where are you going to, oh friend?”
“我也很高兴再见到你。你刚才守护我睡觉，我要再一次感谢你，尽管我并不需要人守护。你去哪儿，朋友？”
“Permit me to ask, sir, from where do you know my name?”
“请问，先生，你怎么会知道我的名字？”
“I believe you, my dear Govinda. But now, today, you’ve met a pilgrim just like this, wearing such shoes, such a garment. Remember, my dear: Not eternal is the world of appearances, not eternal, anything but eternal are our garments and the style of our hair, and our hair and bodies themselves. I’m wearing a rich man’s clothes, you’ve seen this quite right. I’m wearing them, because I have been a rich man, and I’m wearing my hair like the worldly and lustful people, for I have been one of them.”
“我相信你说的话，戈文达。可是现在，今天，你偏偏遇上了这么个朝圣者，穿这样的鞋子，穿这样的衣服。请记住，亲爱的：万物的世界是短暂的，多变的，而最为短暂多变的是我们的衣服，我们的发式，以及我们的头发和身体。我身穿一个富人的衣服，这你没看错。我这样穿戴是因为我曾经是个富人，而我的头发像花花公子，也因为我曾经是他们当中的一员。”
Quoth Siddhartha: “With me too, friend, it is as it is with you. I’m going nowhere. I’m just travelling. I’m on a pilgrimage.”
席特哈尔塔说：“我的情况跟你一样，朋友。我不去哪儿。我仅仅是在路上。我去朝圣。”
“Right so, my dear, you have observed well, your keen eyes see everything. But I haven’t said to you that I was a Samana. I said: I’m on a pilgrimage. And so it is: I’m on a pilgrimage.”
“不错，亲爱的，你观察得真仔细，你的锐利眼睛看出了一切。可我并没跟你说我是个沙门呀，我只是说去朝圣。事实上我正是去朝圣。”
Govinda spoke: “You’re saying: you’re on a pilgrimage, and I believe in you. But, forgive me, oh Siddhartha, you do not look like a pilgrim. You’re wearing a rich man’s garments, you’re wearing the shoes of a distinguished gentleman, and your hair, with the fragrance of perfume, is not a pilgrim’s hair, not the hair of a Samana.”
戈文达说：“你说去朝圣，我相信你。可是请原谅，席特哈尔塔，你的样子可不像个朝圣者哇。你身穿富人的衣服，脚穿贵人的鞋子，头发飘散出香水味儿。这可不是一个朝圣者的头发，也不是一个沙门的头发呀！”
“You’re on a pilgrimage,” said Govinda. “But few would go on a pilgrimage in such clothes, few in such shoes, few with such hair. Never I have met such a pilgrim, being a pilgrim myself for many years.”
“你去朝圣，”戈文达说，“但是，很少有人穿着这样的衣服、鞋子，留着这样的头发去朝圣。我已经朝圣多年，从来没见过一个这样的朝圣者。”
“You’ve lost your riches?”
“你失去了你的财产？”
“And now, Siddhartha, what are you now?”
“现在呢，席特哈尔塔，现在你是什么人？”
“I’ve lost them or they me. They somehow happened to slip away from me. The wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly, Govinda. Where is Siddhartha the Brahman? Where is Siddhartha the Samana? Where is Siddhartha the rich man? Non-eternal things change quickly, Govinda, you know it.”
“我失去了财产，或者说是它失去了我。反正是没了。造化之轮飞转，戈文达。婆罗门席特哈尔塔如今安在？沙门席特哈尔塔如今安在？富商席特哈尔塔如今安在？短暂的东西在迅速地变换，戈文达，这你明白。”
With a smiling face, Siddhartha watched him leave, he loved him still, this faithful man, this fearful man. And how could he not have loved everybody and everything in this moment, in the glorious hour after his wonderful sleep, filled with Om! The enchantment, which had happened inside of him in his sleep and by means of the Om, was this very thing that he loved everything, that he was full of joyful love for everything he saw. And it was this very thing, so it seemed to him now, which had been his sickness before, that he was not able to love anybody or anything.
席特哈尔塔面带微笑地目送他远去。他仍然热爱戈文达，这个老实而忧心忡忡的人。在这个时刻，在酣睡之后这个美好的时刻，他周身已被“唵”渗透，怎么会不爱别的人和别的事呢！通过睡眠和“唵”而在他身上发生的魔力就在于此：他热爱一切，对见到的一切都洋溢着欢乐的爱。现在他觉得，先前他之所以病和那么重，就是由于他什么都不爱，谁都不爱。
“I don’t know it, I don’t know it just like you. I’m travelling. I was a rich man and am no rich man any more, and what I’ll be tomorrow, I don’t know.”
“我不清楚，我知道得跟你一样少。我正在半路上。我曾经是富人，但现在不是了，而明天我将是什么，我自己了不清楚。”
Govinda looked at the friend of his youth for a long time, with doubt in his eyes. After that, he gave him the salutation which one would use on a gentleman and went on his way.
戈文达久久的凝视着自己青年时代的好友，眼睛里含着疑虑。随后，他像问候贵人那样向他致意，就动身上路了。
Siddhartha thought about his situation. Thinking was hard on him, he did not really feel like it, but he forced himself.
席特哈尔塔思考着自己的处境。他觉得思考已相当困难，他根本没兴趣，可是仍强迫自己思考。
With a smiling face, Siddhartha watched the leaving monk. The sleep had strengthened him much, but hunger gave him much pain, for by now he had not eaten for two days, and the times were long past when he had been tough against hunger. With sadness, and yet also with a smile, he thought of that time. In those days, so he remembered, he had boasted of three three things to Kamala, had been able to do three noble and undefeatable feats: fasting-waiting-thinking. These had been his possession, his power and strength, his solid staff; in the busy, laborious years of his youth, he had learned these three feats, nothing else. And now, they had abandoned him, none of them was his any more, neither fasting, nor waiting, nor thinking. For the most wretched things, he had given them up, for what fades most quickly, for sensual lust, for the good life, for riches! His life had indeed been strange. And now, so it seemed, now he had really become a childlike person.
席特哈尔塔面带微笑地目送远去的和尚。酣睡使得他精神焕发，但是饥饿也在折磨他，因为他已经两天没吃东西，而他能够顽强地抗住饥饿的时候早已过去了。他既忧伤又欢欣地回想起那个时候。他记得自己当年曾在卡玛拉面前夸耀过三件事，说他会三样高超的不可战胜的本领，即斋戒——等待——思考。这是他的看家宝，是他的威力所在，是他的结实的棍子，在青年时代勤奋而艰苦的岁月里，他就是学会了这三样本领，岂有他哉！如今他已丢弃了它们，它们已荡然无存，他不再斋戒，不再等待，不再思考，他用它们去换取可鄙之物，换取一时的快乐，换取感官的享受，换取奢侈的生活，换取了财富！实际上他的境况很古怪。现在看来，他真的成了孩子般的俗人。
Now, he thought, since all these most easily perishing things have slipped from me again, now I’m standing here under the sun again just as I have been standing here a little child, nothing is mine, I have no abilities, there is nothing I could bring about, I have learned nothing. How wondrous is this! Now, that I’m no longer young, that my hair is already half gray, that my strength is fading, now I’m starting again at the beginning and as a child! Again, he had to smile. Yes, his fate had been strange! Things were going downhill with him, and now he was again facing the world void and naked and stupid. But he could not feed sad about this, no, he even felt a great urge to laugh, to laugh about himself, to laugh about this strange, foolish world.
他想，现在我又摆脱了一切如过眼烟云之事，我又站在了阳光下，就像当初我还是个小孩子时那样。我什么都没有，什么都不会，什么都不懂，什么都没学过。真怪呀！现在我已不再年轻，我的头发已经花白，我的体力已经衰退，却又要从头开始，从小孩子时开始！他忍不住笑了。是的，他的命运真怪！他每况愈下，现在又空空地、赤裸裸地、愚蠢地站在这世界上了。不过，他并不忧虑，不，他甚至感到很想大笑，笑自己，笑这个古怪荒唐的世界。
“Things are going downhill with you!” he said to himself, and laughed about it, and as he was saying it, he happened to glance at the river, and he also saw the river going downhill, always moving on downhill, and singing and being happy through it all. He liked this well, kindly he smiled at the river. Was this not the river in which he had intended to drown himself, in past times, a hundred years ago, or had he dreamed this?
“你在往下走啦！”他喃喃自语道，边说边笑，边说边把目光投向河面，看见河水也在往下流，不断地往下流，吟唱着欢快地往下流。他很高兴，朝河水亲切地微笑。这不就是曾经想溺死自己的那条河么？那是在一百年前，还是他在梦中见过？
Wondrous indeed was my life, so he thought, wondrous detours it has taken. As I boy, I had only to do with gods and offerings. As a youth, I had only to do with asceticism, with thinking and meditation, was searching for Brahman, worshipped the eternal in the Atman. But as a young man, I followed the penitents, lived in the forest, suffered of heat and frost, learned to hunger, taught my body to become dead. Wonderfully, soon afterwards, insight came towards me in the form of the great Buddha’s teachings, I felt the knowledge of the oneness of the world circling in me like my own blood. But I also had to leave Buddha and the great knowledge. I went and learned the art of love with Kamala, learned trading with Kamaswami, piled up money, wasted money, learned to love my stomach, learned to please my senses. I had to spend many years losing my spirit, to unlearn thinking again, to forget the oneness. Isn’t it just as if I had turned slowly and on a long detour from a man into a child, from a thinker into a childlike person? And yet, this path has been very good; and yet, the bird in my chest has not died. But what a path has this been! I had to pass through so much stupidity, through so much vices, through so many errors, through so much disgust and disappointments and woe, just to become a child again and to be able to start over. But it was right so, my heart says “Yes” to it, my eyes smile to it. I’ve had to experience despair, I’ve had to sink down to the most foolish one of all thoughts, to the thought of suicide, in order to be able to experience divine grace, to hear Om again, to be able to sleep properly and awake properly again. I had to become a fool, to find Atman in me again. I had to sin, to be able to live again. Where else might my path lead me to? It is foolish, this path, it moves in loops, perhaps it is going around in a circle. Let it go as it likes, I want to to take it.
我的生活确实古怪，他想，走过了奇怪的弯路。少年时，我只知道敬神和祭祀。青年时，我只知道苦行、思考和潜修，探索婆罗门，崇拜阿特曼之中的永恒。作为青年人，我仿效那些忏悔者，生活在森林里，忍受酷暑与严寒，学会挨饿，教自己的身体麻木。接着，那位活佛的教诲又奇妙地启迪了我，我感到关于世界统一性的认识又在我体内犹如自身的血液一样循环不已。可是，后来我又不得不离开了活佛以及他那伟大的真知。我走了，去向卡玛拉学习爱之欢乐，跟卡马斯瓦密学做买卖，积攒金钱，挥霍金钱，学着娇惯自己的肠胃，学着迎合自己的感官。我就是这样混了好多年，丧失了精神，又荒疏了思考，忘掉了统一性。就好像我慢慢绕了个大弯，从一个男子汉又变成了孩子，从一个思索者又变成了孩子般的俗人，不正是这样么？这条路也曾经美好过，我胸中的鸟儿并没有死去。然而，这又是怎样的一条路哇！我经历了那么多的蠢事，那么多的罪恶，那么多的错误，那么多的恶心、失望和苦恼，只是为了重新成为一个孩子，以便从新开始。但这显然是正确的，我的心赞成，我的眼睛为此而欢笑。我经历了绝望，甚至堕入了最最愚蠢的想法，也就是自杀的想法，以便能得到宽大，重新听到“唵”，重新睡得好并且适时地醒来。为了能在我心中重新找到阿特曼，我不得不成为一个傻瓜。为了能重新生活，我不得不犯下罪孽。我的路还会把我引向何处？这条路怪里怪气，它绕着8字形，也许是在兜圈子。随它怎么走吧，我愿意顺着它走下去。
Wonderfully, he felt joy rolling like waves in his chest.
他奇异地感到自己的胸中快乐在翻腾。
Wherever from, he asked his heart, where from did you get this happiness? Might it come from that long, good sleep, which has done me so good? Or from the word Om, which I said? Or from the fact that I have escaped, that I have completely fled, that I am finally free again and am standing like a child under the sky? Oh how good is it to have fled, to have become free! How clean and beautiful is the air here, how good to breathe! There, where I ran away from, there everything smelled of ointments, of spices, of wine, of excess, of sloth. How did I hate this world of the rich, of those who revel in fine food, of the gamblers! How did I hate myself for staying in this terrible world for so long! How did I hate myself, have deprive, poisoned, tortured myself, have made myself old and evil! No, never again I will, as I used to like doing so much, delude myself into thinking that Siddhartha was wise! But this one thing I have done well, this I like, this I must praise, that there is now an end to that hatred against myself, to that foolish and dreary life! I praise you, Siddhartha, after so many years of foolishness, you have once again had an idea, have done something, have heard the bird in your chest singing and have followed it!
他扪心自问：你这种快乐从何而来？也许它来自这次使我十分惬意的长长的酣睡？或是来自我念出的那个“唵”字？或是来自我的逃遁，我终于逃脱了，重新自由了，像一个孩子站在了蓝天下？哦，这样摆脱了羁绊、这样自由自在是多么美好！这儿的空气是多么纯净、美好，呼吸起来是多么畅快！而在我逃离的那个地方，一切都散发出油膏、香料、美酒、奢侈和懒散的气味。我是多么憎恶那个有钱人、饕餮者和赌徒的世界啊！我是多么憎恨我自己，恨自己在那个可恶的世界里待了这么久啊！我是多么憎恨自己，掠夺自己，毒害自己，折磨自己，使得自己又老又坏啊！不，我永远也不会再像那样自以为席特哈尔塔聪明过人了！但这次我确实干得漂亮，我很满意，我要赞美，我终于结束了对自己的憎恨，结束了荒唐、无聊的生活！我赞美你，席特哈尔塔，在经过了多年的愚昧之后，你终于又有了一个想法，做了一点事，听见了胸中那只鸟儿的啼鸣，并且随它而去！
Thus he praised himself, found joy in himself, listened curiously to his stomach, which was rumbling with hunger. He had now, so he felt, in these recent times and days, completely tasted and spit out, devoured up to the point of desperation and death, a piece of suffering, a piece of misery. Like this, it was good. For much longer, he could have stayed with Kamaswami, made money, wasted money, filled his stomach, and let his soul die of thirst; for much longer he could have lived in this soft, well upholstered hell, if this had not happened: the moment of complete hopelessness and despair, that most extreme moment, when he hang over the rushing waters and was ready to destroy himself. That he had felt this despair, this deep disgust, and that he had not succumbed to it, that the bird, the joyful source and voice in him was still alive after all, this was why he felt joy, this was why he laughed, this was why his face was smiling brightly under his hair which had turned gray.
他就这样赞美着自己，对自己很满意，并且好奇地听着肚子里咕咕直叫。他觉得，在最近的时日里，他已尝够了痛苦与烦恼，一直至绝望得要死。这样也好。不然他还会在卡马斯瓦密那儿待很久，赚钱，挥霍钱，填饱肚子，却让心灵焦渴难忍。不然他还会在那个温柔的、软绵绵的地狱里住很久，那也就不会发生今天的事了：那个彻底失望和绝望的时刻，他悬在滚滚流淌的河面上，准备自尽的那个极端的时刻。他感受到了这种绝望，这种极深的厌恶，但是他没有被压倒。那只鸟儿，那快乐的源泉和声音，依然活跃在他心里。他为此而深感快乐，为此而欢笑，花白头发下的脸为此而容光焕发。
“It is good,” he thought, “to get a taste of everything for oneself, which one needs to know. That lust for the world and riches do not belong to the good things, I have already learned as a child. I have known it for a long time, but I have experienced only now. And now I know it, don’t just know it in my memory, but in my eyes, in my heart, in my stomach. Good for me, to know this!”
“这很好，”他想，“把应当知道的一切都亲自尝尝。世俗的欢娱和财富并不是什么好东西，这我从小就学过。我早就知道，可是现在才算是亲身体会到。现在我明白了，不仅是脑子记住了，而且是亲眼目睹，心知肚明。好极了，我总算明白了！”
For a long time, he pondered his transformation, listened to the bird, as it sang for joy. Had not this bird died in him, had he not felt its death? No, something else from within him had died, something which already for a long time had yearned to die. Was it not this what he used to intend to kill in his ardent years as a penitent? Was this not his self, his small, frightened, and proud self, he had wrestled with for so many years, which had defeated him again and again, which was back again after every killing, prohibited joy, felt fear? Was it not this, which today had finally come to its death, here in the forest, by this lovely river? Was it not due to this death, that he was now like a child, so full of trust, so without fear, so full of joy?
他久久地思索着自己的转变，细听鸟儿欢快的鸣啭。这只鸟儿不是已在他心中死去，他不是感觉到鸟儿已经死了吗？不，是别的什么在他心中死去了，是某种早就渴望死去的东西。那不就是他以前在狂热的忏悔年代里想扼杀的东西吗？那不就是他的自我，他的渺小、不安而又自负的自我，他曾与之搏斗了多年却总是失败的自我，在每次抑制之后又再次出现、弃绝欢乐和带来恐惧的自我吗？那不就是今天终于在这河边树林里死去的东西吗？不正是由于这一死亡，他现在才像个孩子，满怀信心，无所畏惧，充满了欢乐吗？
Now Siddhartha also got some idea of why he had fought this self in vain as a Brahman, as a penitent. Too much knowledge had held him back, too many holy verses, too many sacrificial rules, to much self-castigation, so much doing and striving for that goal! Full of arrogance, he had been, always the smartest, always working the most, always one step ahead of all others, always the knowing and spiritual one, always the priest or wise one. Into being a priest, into this arrogance, into this spirituality, his self had retreated, there it sat firmly and grew, while he thought he would kill it by fasting and penance. Now he saw it and saw that the secret voice had been right, that no teacher would ever have been able to bring about his salvation. Therefore, he had to go out into the world, lose himself to lust and power, to woman and money, had to become a merchant, a dice-gambler, a drinker, and a greedy person, until the priest and Samana in him was dead. Therefore, he had to continue bearing these ugly years, bearing the disgust, the teachings, the pointlessness of a dreary and wasted life up to the end, up to bitter despair, until Siddhartha the lustful, Siddhartha the greedy could also die. He had died, a new Siddhartha had woken up from the sleep. He would also grow old, he would also eventually have to die, mortal was Siddhartha, mortal was every physical form. But today he was young, was a child, the new Siddhartha, and was full of joy.
席特哈尔塔还明白了，当年他作为婆罗门，作为忏悔者，在与自我的斗争中为什么会白费力气。是太多的知识阻碍了他，太多的圣诗，太多的祭祀规矩，太多的苦修，太多的行动与追求！他原来十分高傲，自以为总是最聪明，总是最热诚，总是比所有人先行一步，总是博学和多思，永远是僧侣或智者。他的自我就潜藏在这种僧侣气质、这种高傲和这种睿智里，在那儿扎根、生长，他还以为能用斋戒和忏悔来抑制呢。现在他明白了，明白好秘密的声音是对的，没有任何老师能解救他。因此，他只好进入世俗世界，迷失在情欲和权力、女人和金钱之中，成为一个商人、赌徒、酒鬼和财迷，直到僧侣和沙门在他心中死去。因此，他只好继续忍受丑恶的岁月，忍受恶心，忍受空虚，忍受一种无聊的不可救药的生活的荒唐无稽，直到结束，直到苦涩的绝望，直到荒浮选之徒席特哈尔塔、贪婪之徒席特哈尔塔能够死去。他死去了，一个新的席特哈尔塔已从酣睡中醒来。他会衰老，将来有一天他也会死去，席特哈尔塔不是永恒的，任何生命都是短暂的。但今天他年轻，是个孩子，这个新的席特哈尔塔充满了欢乐。
He thought these thoughts, listened with a smile to his stomach, listened gratefully to a buzzing bee. Cheerfully, he looked into the rushing river, never before he had like a water so well as this one, never before he had perceived the voice and the parable of the moving water thus strongly and beautifully. It seemed to him, as if the river had something special to tell him, something he did not know yet, which was still awaiting him. In this river, Siddhartha had intended to drown himself, in it the old, tired, desperate Siddhartha had drowned today. But the new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this rushing water, and decided for himself, not to leave it very soon.
他思索着这些想法，含笑倾听着肚子里的声响，心怀感激地听到了一只蜜蜂的嗡嗡声。他愉快地望着滚滚流淌的河水，从没有哪条河像这样使他欢迎，他从没听过流水的声音是这么有力和悦耳。他觉得河水似乎想对他诉说什么特别的东西，诉说什么他还不知道、有待他领会的东西。席特哈尔塔曾想在这条河里自溺，原来那个疲乏和绝望的席特哈尔塔今天已在这里淹死了。而新的席特哈尔塔对这奔涌的河水感到一种深深的爱，心里暗自决定，不再很快地离开它。
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