Chapter 3 - Page 2

monks went out with their
alms-dish, to collect food in town for their lunch, the only meal of the
day. The Buddha himself, the enlightened one, was also in the habit of
taking this walk to beg in the morning.

Siddhartha saw him, and he instantly recognised him, as if a god had
pointed him out to him. He saw him, a simple am in a yellow robe,
bearing the alms-dish in his hand, walking silently.

"Look here!" Siddhartha said quietly to Govinda. "This one is the
Buddha."

Attentively, Govinda looked at the monk in the yellow robe, who seemed
to be in no way different from the hundreds of other monks. And soon,
Govinda also realized: This is the one. And they followed him and
observed him.

The Buddha went on his way, modestly and deep in his thoughts, his
calm face was neither happy nor sad, it seemed to smile quietly and
inwardly. With a hidden smile, quiet, calm, somewhat resembling a
healthy child, the Buddha walked, wore the robe and placed his feet
just as all of his monks did, according to a precise rule. But his
face and his walk, his quietly lowered glance, his quietly dangling hand
and even every finger of his quietly dangling hand expressed peace,
expressed perfection, did not search, did not imitate, breathed softly
in an unwhithering calm, in an unwhithering light, an untouchable peace.

Thus Gotama walked towards the town, to collect alms, and the two
Samanas recognised him solely by the perfection of his calm, by the
quietness of his appearance, in which there was no searching, no desire,
no imitation, no effort to be seen, only light and peace.

"Today, we'll hear the teachings from his mouth." said Govinda.

Siddhartha did not answer. He felt little curiosity for the teachings,
he did not believe that they would teach him anything new, but he had,
just as Govinda had, heard the contents of this Buddha's teachings
again and again, though these reports only represented second- or
third-hand information. But attentively he looked at Gotama's head,
his shoulders, his feet, his quietly dangling hand, and it seemed to
him as if every joint of every finger of this hand was of these
teachings, spoke of, breathed of, exhaled the fragrant of, glistened of
truth. This man, this Buddha was truthful down to the gesture of his
last finger. This man was holy. Never before, Siddhartha had venerated
a person so much, never before he had loved a person as much as this
one.

They both followed the Buddha until they reached the town and then
returned in silence, for they themselves intended to abstain from from
on this day. They saw Gotama returning--what he ate could not even have
satisfied a bird's appetite, and they saw him retiring into the shade
of the