“It’s true, I’m old,” spoke Govinda, “but I haven’t stopped searching.  Never I’ll stop searching, this seems to be my destiny.  You too, so it seems to me, have been searching.  Would you like to tell me something, oh honourable one?”

Quoth Siddhartha:  “What should I possibly have to tell you, oh venerable one?  Perhaps that you’re searching far too much?  That in all that searching, you don’t find the time for finding?”

“How come?” asked Govinda.

“When someone is searching,” said Siddhartha, “then it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes still see is that what he searches for, that he is unable to find anything, to let anything enter his mind, because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed by the goal.  Searching means:  having a goal.  But finding means:  being free, being open, having no goal.  You, oh venerable one, are perhaps indeed a searcher, because, striving for your goal, there are many things you don’t see, which are directly in front of your eyes.”

“I don’t quite understand yet,” asked Govinda, “what do you mean by this?”

Quoth Siddhartha:  “A long time ago, oh venerable one, many years ago, you’ve once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by the river, and have sat down with him to guard his sleep.  But, oh Govinda, you did not recognise the sleeping man.”

Astonished, as if he had been the object of a magic spell, the monk looked into the ferryman’s eyes.

“Are you Siddhartha?” he asked with a timid voice.  “I wouldn’t have recognised you this time as well!  From my heart, I’m greeting you, Siddhartha; from my heart, I’m happy to see you once again!  You’ve changed a lot, my friend.—­And so you’ve now become a ferryman?”

In a friendly manner, Siddhartha laughed.  “A ferryman, yes.  Many people, Govinda, have to change a lot, have to wear many a robe, I am one of those, my dear.  Be welcome, Govinda, and spend the night in my hut.”

Govinda stayed the night in the hut and slept on the bed which used to be Vasudeva’s bed.  Many questions he posed to the friend of his youth, many things Siddhartha had to tell him from his life.

When in the next morning the time had come to start the day’s journey, Govinda said, not without hesitation, these words:  “Before I’ll continue on my path, Siddhartha, permit me to ask one more question.  Do you have a teaching?  Do you have a faith, or a knowledge, you follow, which helps you to live and to do right?”

Quoth Siddhartha:  “You know, my dear, that I already as a young man, in those days when we lived with the penitents in the forest, started to distrust teachers and teachings and to turn my back to them.  I have stuck with this.  Nevertheless, I have had many teachers since then.  A beautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time, and a rich merchant was my teacher, and some