Siddhartha stood up, for the power of hunger in his body was becoming unbearable. He walked on not caring whither he went, he followed the path along the river bank as it led him upstream, he listened to its flow, listened to growling hunger in his body.
When he reached the place where the ferry made its crossings he found the boat lying ready and standing in it was the same ferryman who had once taken the young samana across. Siddhartha recognised him, though he too was greatly altered.
“Would you like to take me across?” he asked.
The ferryman, astonished to see such an elegant man travelling alone and on foot, accepted him into the boat and pushed off from the bank.
“You have chosen a nice life for yourself,” said the passenger. “It must be nice to have a life beside this water every day and to travel on it.”
“It is very nice, sir,” said the oarsman, smiling as he rowed, “just as you say. But is not every life nice, is not every job a good job?”
“You could well be right. But I still envy you your job.”
“Oh, you would soon become tired of it. It is not a job for a gentleman in fine clothes.”
Siddhartha laughed. “This is not the first time today that I have been judged by the clothes I wear, judged and mistrusted. Ferryman, would you not like to take these clothes from me? They have become burdensome to me. And I think you already know I have no money to pay your fare.”
“The gentleman is joking with me,” the ferryman laughed.