Herman Hesse - Siddartha

Siddhartha – Hermann Hesse – Spoken Script (~450–500 words)

Have you ever wondered what it truly means to search for meaning, to follow a path not dictated by tradition, and to seek enlightenment through experience rather than instruction? // Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha takes us into precisely such a journey — a timeless story of spiritual awakening and self-discovery.

The novel follows Siddhartha, a young man in ancient India, who leaves the comforts of home and the teachings of his family to seek wisdom and the true essence of life. // Along the way, he meets teachers, experiences desire, wealth, and loss, and learns that understanding cannot simply be taught—it must be lived. // Siddhartha’s journey is not linear; it is a series of encounters and reflections, each shaping his path toward self-realization.

Hesse’s prose is simple yet lyrical, immersing the reader in the sights, sounds, and inner landscapes of his world. // The story moves between the external — the rivers, forests, and cities of India — and the internal, where Siddhartha wrestles with questions of identity, purpose, and the nature of reality. // Each chapter becomes a meditation on life itself, exploring the tension between worldly experience and spiritual insight.

At its core, Siddhartha explores themes of awakening, the impermanence of life, and the pursuit of harmony between the self and the universe. // It shows that true understanding arises from balance: observing the world without attachment, embracing experience without losing the soul, and listening deeply to the rhythms of life. // Through Siddhartha, we learn that enlightenment is less a destination than a continual process of learning, listening, and living with awareness.

Philosophically, the novel blends elements of Eastern thought — including Buddhism and Hinduism — with universal questions about human existence. // It asks: Can wisdom be inherited or taught, or must it be discovered in the world and within ourselves? // How do love, suffering, and joy shape our understanding of life? // Siddhartha’s story is both specific and timeless, offering insights that resonate across cultures and eras.

So — why read Siddhartha? // Because it is a story that teaches without preaching, inspires without dictating, and invites us to reflect on our own lives and choices. // It’s perfect for anyone drawn to spiritual inquiry, personal growth, or tales that combine profound reflection with compelling storytelling.

In the end, Hermann Hesse leaves us with a vision of life as a journey, a river flowing through challenges and revelations alike. // Siddhartha reminds us that the search for truth is as much about living fully as it is about thinking deeply — and that every step along the path can bring insight, if we are willing to see it.

Reading 1 (Part 2)

THE SON OF THE BRAHMIN

In the shade of the house, in the sunlight on the riverbank where the

boats were moored, in the shade of the sal wood and the shade of the

fig tree, Siddhartha grew up, the Brahmin’s handsome son, the young

falcon, together with his friend Govinda, the son of a Brahmin.

Sunlight darkened his fair shoulders on the riverbank as he bathed,

performed the holy ablutions, the holy sacrifices. Shade poured into

his dark eyes in the mango grove as he played with the other boys,

listened to his mother’s songs, performed the holy sacrifices, heard the

teachings of his learned father and the wise men’s counsels.

Siddhartha had long since begun to join in the wise men’s counsels, to

practice with Govinda the art of wrestling with words, to practice

with Govinda the art of contemplation, the duty of meditation. He had

mastered Om, the Word of Words, learned to speak it soundlessly into

himself while drawing a breath, to speak it out soundlessly as his

breath was released, his soul collected, brow shining with his mind’s

clear thought. He had learned to feel Atman’s presence at the core of

his being, inextinguishable, one with the universe.

Joy leaped into his father’s heart at the thought of his son, this

studious boy with his thirst for knowledge; he envisioned him

growing up to be a great wise man and priest, a prince among

Brahmins.

Delight leaped into his mother’s breast when she beheld him,

watched him as he walked and sat and stood, Siddhartha, the strong

handsome boy walking on slender legs, greeting her with flawless

grace.

Love stirred in the hearts of the young Brahmin girls when

Siddhartha walked through the streets of their town with his radiant

brow, his regal eye, his narrow hips.

But none of them loved him more dearly than Govinda, his friend,

the Brahmin’s son. He loved Siddhartha’s eyes and his sweet voice,

loved the way he walked and the flawless grace of his movements; he

loved all that Siddhartha did and all he said and most of all he loved

his mind, his noble, passionate thoughts, his ardent will, his noble

calling. Govinda knew: This would be no ordinary Brahmin, no

indolent pen pusher overseeing the sacrifices, no greedy hawker of

incantations, no vain, shallow orator, no wicked, deceitful priest, and

no foolish, good sheep among the herd of the multitude. Nor did he,

Govinda, have any intention of becoming such a creature, one of the

tens of thousands of ordinary Brahmins. His wish was to follow

Siddhartha, the beloved, splendid one. And if Siddhartha should ever

become a god, if he were ever to take his place among the Radiant

Ones, Govinda wished to follow him, as his friend, his companion, his

servant, his spear bearer, his shadow.

Thus was Siddhartha beloved by all. He brought them all joy, filled

them with delight.

To himself, though, Siddhartha brought no joy, gave no delight.

Strolling along the rosy pathways of the fig garden, seated in the blue￾tinged shade of the Grove of Contemplation, washing his limbs in the

daily expiatory baths, performing sacrifices in the deep-shadowed

mango wood, with his gestures of flawless grace, he was beloved by

all, a joy to all, yet was his own heart bereft of joy Dreams assailed

him, and troubled thoughts—eddying up from the waves of the river,

sparkling down from the stars at night, melting out of the sun’s rays;

dreams came to him, and a disquiet of the soul wafting in the smoke

from the sacrifices, murmuring among the verses of the Rig-Veda,

welling up in the teachings of the old Brahmins.

Reading 2 (Part 3)

Siddhartha went to see the merchant Kamaswami and was shown into

a mansion; servants led him between precious tapestries to a chamber,

where he waited for the master of the house to appear.

Kamaswami entered, a quick, agile man with heavily graying hair,

very clever, cautious eyes, and a covetous mouth. Master and guest

exchanged a friendly greeting.

“They tell me,” the merchant began, “that you are a Brahmin, a

learned man, but that you wish to enter the service of a merchant.

Has hardship befallen you, Brahmin, to make you seek such a post?”

“No,” Siddhartha said, “hardship has not befallen me. Indeed, I

have never suffered hardship. Know that I have come to you from the

Samanas, among whom I lived for a long time.”

“If you come from the Samanas, how could you not be suffering

hardship? Are not the Samanas utterly without possessions?”

“Possessions I have none,” Siddhartha said, “if this is what you

mean. Certainly I have no possessions. But I lack possessions of my

own free will, so this is not a hardship.”

“But what will you live on if you have nothing?”

“Never before, sir, have I occupied myself with this question. I have

been without possessions for a good three years now and never found

myself wondering what to live on.”

“Then you lived off the possessions of others.”

“No doubt this is so. A merchant too lives off the wealth of others.”

“Well put. But he does not take from others without giving in

return; he gives his goods in exchange.”

“This would indeed appear to be true. Each person gives; each

person takes. Such is life.”

“But with your permission: If you have no possessions, what can

you give?”

“Each person gives what he has. The warrior gives strength, the

merchant gives his goods, the teacher his doctrine, the farmer rice, the

fisherman fish.”

“Most certainly. And so what is it you have to give? What have you

learned? What are your abilities?”

“I can think. I can wait. I can fast.”

“Is that all?”

“I believe it is.”

“And what use are these things? Fasting, for instance—what

purpose does it serve?”

“It is most excellent, sir. If a person has nothing to eat, then fasting

is the most sensible thing he can do. If, for example, Siddhartha had

not learned to fast, he would be compelled to take up some service or

other straightaway, be it with you or wherever else, for his hunger

would force him to do so. But Siddhartha can wait calmly. He knows

no impatience, no urgent hardship; hunger can besiege him for a long

time and just make him laugh. This, sir, is the usefulness of fasting.”

“You are right, Samana. Wait for a moment.”

Kamaswami went out and returned with a scroll, which he handed

to his guest. “Can you read this?”

Siddhartha looked at the scroll, on which a bill of sale was written,

and began to read its contents aloud.

“Splendid,” Kamaswami said. “And would you mind writing

something on this paper for me?”

He gave him paper and a stylus, and Siddhartha wrote and gave the

paper back to him. Kamaswami read: “Writing is good, thinking is better.

Cleverness is good, patience is better.”

“You write admirably,” the merchant said in praise. “We still have

many things to discuss together. For today I would ask that you be my

guest and take up residence in my home.”