and lank jackals in the realm of humans. Behind them blew a hot scent
of quiet passion, of destructive service, of merciless self-denial.

In the evening, after the hour of contemplation, Siddhartha spoke to
Govinda: "Early tomorrow morning, my friend, Siddhartha will go to the
Samanas. He will become a Samana."

Govinda turned pale, when he heard these words and read the decision in
the motionless face of his friend, unstoppable like the arrow shot from
the bow. Soon and with the first glance, Govinda realized: Now it is
beginning, now Siddhartha is taking his own way, now his fate is
beginning to sprout, and with his, my own. And he turned pale like a
dry banana-skin.

"O Siddhartha," he exclaimed, "will your father permit you to do that?"

Siddhartha looked over as if he was just waking up. Arrow-fast he read
in Govinda´s soul, read the fear, read the submission.

"O Govinda," he spoke quietly, "let's not waste words. Tomorrow, at
daybreak I will begin the life of the Samanas. Speak no more of it."

Siddhartha entered the chamber, where his father was sitting on a mat of
bast, and stepped behind his father and remained standing there, until
his father felt that someone was standing behind him. Quoth the
Brahman: "Is that you, Siddhartha? Then say what you came to say."

Quoth Siddhartha: "With your permission, my father. I came to tell you
that it is my longing to leave your house tomorrow and go to the
ascetics. My desire is to become a Samana. May my father not oppose