“I knew it,” he said gently. “Will you go into the woods?”
Vasudeva’s face shone, and he said, “I will go into the woods, I will go into the unity.”
Still beaming he went on his way; Siddhartha watched him as he went. With the deepest joy, with the deepest earnestness, he watched him as he went, saw his steps full of contentment, saw his head as it shone, saw his shape full of light.
GOVINDA
Govinda was spending a rest period with other monks in the pleasure garden which the courtesan, Kamala, had given to the followers of Gotama. He heard there about an aged ferryman who lived by a river about a day’s journey away, and whom many regarded as a wise man. When Govinda resumed his walking he chose to take the path to the ferry, curious to see who this ferryman was. All through his life he had lived according to the regimen of his order, and the younger monks regarded him with veneration because of his age and his modesty, but there was still unrest in his heart and a searching which had not been extinguished.
He arrived at the river and asked the old man to take him across. On the other bank, as they stepped out of the boat, he said to the old man, “You have been very good to us monks and pilgrims, and you have taken many of us across the river. Could it be that you too, ferryman, are a seeker of the right path?”
Siddhartha showed a smile in his aging eyes and said, “Do you call yourself a seeker, venerable sir, when you are already advanced in years and you wear the robes of a monk of Gotama?”
“Yes, I am old,” said Govinda, “but I have never stopped searching. I never will stop searching, this seems to be my destiny. And it seems to me that you, too, have been seeking. Would you like to say a word to me, honoured one?”
“What might I want to say to you, venerable sir?” Siddhartha asked. “Perhaps I should ask you if you are not seeking too hard. Or ask if it is your seeking that prevents you from finding.”
“How do you mean that?” Govinda asked.