The Son

You are tormenting yourself. Your son is giving you worries, and also to me. He is used to adifferentlife. He didn’t run away from riches like you did.

Siddharta ordered his son to gather brushwood:

Get your own brushwood, I’m not your servant! I know you are trying to punish me with your kindness, you want me to become like you! I hate you!

Siddharta finally realized he loved someone. How love felt

This was all a foolish longing that drove me here. I feel something dying in my heart, emptiness, there is no more joy, no further goal.

I see young Kamala and a young myself in this place. I see the dice player, the musicians, the banquets, the servants, Kamala’s songbird in its cage.

Siddharta’s son disappeared with the woven basket and their boat

I need to follow him. A child cannot walk through a forest. We must build a raft.

We shall build a raft, to recover our boat. You should let him go, he is no longer a child. I can see you suffering.