I couldn't help but write this after reading Siddhartha. It's about what happens to the Samana priest whose will Siddhartha conquers.
WARNING! Do not read this unless you've read the book!
The Samana Priest’s Fate
I learn much from the River that taught me the beauty of all things. Some say that I have attained Nirvana; perhaps it is so, but even those who have attained understanding and peace with their illusionary lives still gain knowledge and wisdom. It is an ongoing process, for just as life cannot be bound to halt in its course, so does knowledge and wisdom course through the veins of even the most learned of men. But that is a story for another time.
I learn much from the River. Often times I behold events which I do not directly participate – the River presents them to me; its effervescent flow sets me into a deep level of meditation so that I may indeed observe the past, the present, and even glimpses of a future yet to come. I often become part of a person; I can hear his thoughts and feel his emotions. To explain the nature of this is folly – for again I drift from the path that I wish to follow. This story is of events that the River showed me while I stood transfixed with its depth. These events are not meant to be told from my perception – I who am Siddhartha – but from the viewpoint of the Samana priest whom I bewildered prior to what I now consider my Third Birth. His name is Gakkai, and this is his Truth that wishes itself be shared.......
“My son,” I said, putting enough edge into my voice so as to convince the boy and his follower to stay. “You will not leave. You have learned too much. I cannot permit it.”
I was met back with a gaze more intense than the Buddha himself. The boy’s dark eyes pierced me to the core of my being. It took me an instant to realize that boy was using one of our own tricks, one that I had not suspected he had yet attained the level to master. The young fool. I attempted to stare back for a split second, only to be startled with the epiphany that I could not meet the boy’s gaze. I fell back helpless, hypnotized by the boy’s extraordinary control. I began to shake as my aged muscles went into spasm, and eventually lapsed into unconsciousness.
That was five years ago. When I awoke, my most trusted disciple informed me that the young Siddhartha and his youthful friend Govinda had left our ascetic lives in search of the Illustrious One with my consent and blessing. I was deeply disturbed, however, not by the fact that Siddhartha had left, but in the manner by which he had done it. He had mastered me, one of the most respected Samana priests in India – I who had spent many decades of my life devoted to the escape from Self; I who had learned the art of Control – the mastery of walking on water. Yet, Siddhartha, a boy who had spent merely three years as an ascetic, had mastered my will. I felt no anger, for long have I learned to become devoid of emotion that clouds our escape from Self like a layer of palpable mist. Instead, Siddhartha left me with a thirst – a thirst for the knowledge he had obtained in a fraction of the time I had spent as a Samana that I had yet to even explore. I am certain that Siddhartha learned how to permanently escape from Self – for in no other way could he have possibly overcome me. That was five years ago – and still Siddhartha’s secret remains hidden from me.
I have tried many things in those five years – I have starved myself to the brink of death, escaped from Self for what my disciples told me was days on end, and wandered many places in search of the right atmosphere. The list goes on. As do my failures. For, as always I wound up back in the same place – Self. But, now, I think I will finally achieve escape from Self - and do so in a manner Siddhartha never will – at least not for a long while.
I stand now at the edge of the great mountain range in the north of India. I can feel within my whole being that indeed my five years of searching have led me here – to this moment of triumph. From the edge of the precipice which I stand great white mountains jut out from all around, great monoliths that make me wonder whether or not this illusion of life could possibly be real. There is no turning back. Soon, I will escape from the dungeon that is Self, and be as free as the clouds above me. More aware of the resplendent world before me than I ever have been, I leap from the edge of the precipice and into the gaping window of infinity.