名著精讀:《悉達多》 婆羅門之子(3)

Siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself, he had started to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother, and also the love of his friend, Govinda, would not bring him joy for ever and ever, would not nurse him, feed him, satisfy him. He had started to suspect that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the wise Brahmans had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom, that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness, and the vessel was not full, the spirit was not content, the soul was not calm, the heart was not satisfied. The ablutions were good, but they were water, they did not wash off the sin, they did not heal the spirit's thirst, they did not relieve the fear in his heart. The sacrifices and the invocation of the gods were excellent--but was that all? Did the sacrifices give a happy fortune? And what about the gods? Was it really Prajapati who had created the world? Was it not the Atman, He, the only one, the singular one? Were the gods not creations, created like me and you, subject to time, mortal? Was it therefore good, was it right, was it meaningful and the highest occupation to make offerings to the gods? For whom else were offerings to be made, who else was to be worshipped but Him, the only one, the Atman? And where was Atman to be found, where did He reside, where did his eternal heart beat, where else but in one's own self, in its innermost part, in its indestructible part, which everyone had in himself? But where, where was this self, this innermost part, this ultimate part? It was not flesh and bone, it was neither thought nor consciousness, thus the wisest ones taught. So, where, where was it? To reach this place, the self, myself, the Atman, there was another way, which was worthwhile looking for? Alas, and nobody showed this way, nobody knew it, not the father, and not the teachers and wise men, not the holy sacrificial songs! They knew everything, the Brahmans and their holy books, they knew everything, they had taken care of everything and of more than everything, the creation of the world, the origin of speech, of food, of inhaling, of exhaling, the arrangement of the senses, the acts of the gods, they knew infinitely much--but was it valuable to know all of this, not knowing that one and only thing, the most important thing, the solely important thing?

Surely, many verses of the holy books, particularly in the Upanishades of Samaveda, spoke of this innermost and ultimate thing, wonderful verses. "Your soul is the whole world", was written there, and it was written that man in his sleep, in his deep sleep, would meet with his innermost part and would reside in the Atman. Marvellous wisdom was in these verses, all knowledge of the wisest ones had been collected here in magic words, pure as honey collected by bees. No, not to be looked down upon was the tremendous amount of enlightenment which lay here collected and preserved by innumerable generations of wise Brahmans.-- But where were the Brahmans, where the priests, where the wise men or penitents, who had succeeded in not just knowing this deepest of all knowledge but also to live it? Where was the knowledgeable one who wove his spell to bring his familiarity with the Atman out of the sleep into the state of being awake, into the life, into every step of the way, into word and deed? Siddhartha knew many venerable Brahmans, chiefly his father, the pure one, the scholar, the most venerable one. His father was to be admired, quiet and noble were his manners, pure his life, wise his words, delicate and noble thoughts lived behind its brow --but even he, who knew so much, did he live in blissfulness, did he have peace, was he not also just a searching man, a thirsty man? Did he not, again and again, have to drink from holy sources, as a thirsty man, from the offerings, from the books, from the disputes of the Brahmans? Why did he, the irreproachable one, have to wash off sins every day, strive for a cleansing every day, over and over every day? Was not Atman in him, did not the pristine source spring from his heart? It had to be found, the pristine source in one's own self, it had to be possessed! Everything else was searching, was a detour, was getting lost.

Thus were Siddhartha's thoughts, this was his thirst, this was his suffering.

Often he spoke to himself from a Chandogya-Upanishad the words: "Truly, the name of the Brahman is satyam--verily, he who knows such a thing, will enter the heavenly world every day." Often, it seemed near, the heavenly world, but never he had reached it completely, never he had quenched the ultimate thirst. And among all the wise and wisest men, he knew and whose instructions he had received, among all of them there was no one, who had reached it completely, the heavenly world, who had quenched it completely, the eternal thirst.

"Govinda," Siddhartha spoke to his friend, "Govinda, my dear, come with me under the Banyan tree, let's practise meditation."

They went to the Banyan tree, they sat down, Siddhartha right here, Govinda twenty paces away. While putting himself down, ready to speak the Om, Siddhartha repeated murmuring the verse:

Om is the bow, the arrow is soul, The Brahman is the arrow's target, That one should incessantly hit.

After the usual time of the exercise in meditation had passed, Govinda rose. The evening had come, it was time to perform the evening's ablution. He called Siddhartha's name. Siddhartha did not answer. Siddhartha sat there lost in thought, his eyes were rigidly focused towards a very distant target, the tip of his tongue was protruding a little between the teeth, he seemed not to breathe. Thus sat he, wrapped up in contemplation, thinking Om, his soul sent after the Brahman as an arrow.

Once, Samanas had travelled through Siddhartha's town, ascetics on a pilgrimage, three skinny, withered men, neither old nor young, with dusty and bloody shoulders, almost naked, scorched by the sun, surrounded by loneliness, strangers and enemies to the world, strangers and lank jackals in the realm of humans. Behind them blew a hot scent of quiet passion, of destructive service, of merciless self-denial.

In the evening, after the hour of contemplation, Siddhartha spoke to Govinda: "Early tomorrow morning, my friend, Siddhartha will go to the Samanas. He will become a Samana."

席特哈爾塔心中的不滿足開始增加。他開始感到，父親的愛，母親的愛，以及好友戈文達的愛，並不能永遠使他幸福，使他平靜，使他知足，使他心滿意足。他開始擔心，他的可敬的父親以及別的老師，那些聰明的婆羅門，已經把智慧的精華傳給了他，把他們的豐富知識注入了他那期待的容器，而這個容器卻沒能盛滿，精神沒能滿足，靈魂沒能安寧，心也沒能平靜下來。洗禮雖好，但它們是水，洗不掉罪孽，治不好精神的焦渴，解除不了內心的恐懼。對神靈的祭祀和祈求當然很好——可是，這就是一切了嗎?祭祀可曾帶來了幸福?而神靈的作品又怎麼樣呢?真的是生主創造了世界?難道不是阿特曼，這個獨一無二的萬物之主?神靈們又何嘗不像你我一樣是被創造出來的形象，受制於時間，是暫時而非永恆的?祭祀神靈果真是好事，果真對頭，是合情合理和至高無上的行動?除了獨一無二的阿特曼，還有誰值得祭祀，還有誰值得崇拜?到哪兒才能找到阿特曼，他住在何處，他那永恆的心在何處跳動?除了在自我之中，在內心深處，在每個人內心的堅不可摧之中，還會在何處?而這個自我，這個內心深處，這個最後的東西，又在何處?它不是肉和腿，不是思想也不是意識，那些聖賢就是這麼教導的。那麼，它在哪兒，到底在哪兒呢?要擠到那兒去，滲入自我，滲入我心中，滲入阿特曼——但是否還有另一條路值得去探索呢?啊，沒有人指出這條路，沒有人知道它，父親不知道，老師和賢人不知道，那些神聖的祭祀歌也不知道!而波羅門以及他們的神聖經書卻知道一切。他們知道一切，關心一切，甚至超出了一切，世界的創造，言語、飲食和呼吸的產生，感覺和呼吸的產生，感覺的秩序，神靈們的業績——他們知道無限多的東西——但是，如果不知道這獨一無二的東西，這最最重要的東西，這唯一重要的東西，知道那一切又有什麼價值呢?

確實，在神聖經書中的許多詩，尤其是在《娑摩吠陀》的《奧義書》裏，都講到了這種最內在、最終的東西，真是了不起的詩。“你的靈魂就是整個世界。”裏面這樣寫道，還寫着人在睡覺時，在酣睡中，便進入自己內心深處，到了阿特曼之中。在這些詩裏顯示了驚人的智慧，最聰明的人的所有知識都集中在這裏，體現爲具有魔力的語句，純淨得就像蜜蜂採到的蜜。不，千萬別小看這巨大的知識財富，它們被數不清的一代代聰明的婆羅門蒐集和保存在這裏。——可是，那些不僅瞭解而且體驗了這種最深刻知識的人，那些婆羅門，那些僧侶，那些賢人或懺悔者，究竟在哪兒?而能夠把沉湎於阿特曼之中的人從酣睡中喚醒，使之清醒，進入生活，邁步前行，說話做事的內行人又在何處?席特哈爾塔認識許多可敬的婆羅門，首先是他的父親，那個高尚的人，那個學者，那個值得敬重的人。他父親令人敬佩，舉止安詳和高貴，生活純樸，言語聰明，頭腦裏有機智和高尚的思想 但即便是他，有那麼多知識，就算是生活在幸福之中，擁有平靜安寧了嗎?難道它不也是一個探索者、渴求者嗎?難道他不也是一個焦渴的人，不得不再三地跑到聖泉邊痛飲，從祭祀中，從書籍中，從婆羅門的交談中汲取養分嗎?他這個無可非議的人，爲什麼每天都得洗滌罪孽，每天都要努力洗滌，每天都要重新努力呢?難道阿特曼不在他身上，難道根本不源不在他心裏流淌?必須找到它，這個自我之中的根本之源，必須擁有它!而別的一切都是探索，都是走彎路，都是誤入歧途。

席特哈爾塔的想法就是這樣，這是他的渴望，這是他的苦惱。

他經常朗讀一篇《奧義書》裏的話:“確實，婆羅門這個名稱就是真理——真的，誰明白了這點，就能天天進入天上的世界。”那天上的世界往往已經臨近，可是他卻從來沒完全達到，從來沒消除過最後的焦渴。所有聖賢，凡是他認識並受到教誨的，沒有一個完全到達了那天上的世界，完全消除了永恆的焦渴。

“戈文達，”席特哈爾塔對他的朋友說，“戈文達，親愛的，跟我一起到榕樹下面去吧，咱們該專心潛修了。”

他們走到榕樹那兒，坐下來，這邊是席特哈爾塔，離他二十步遠是戈文達。席特哈爾塔坐下，做好了唸經的準備，接着便喃喃地反覆念起來:

口奄是弓，心靈是箭，婆羅門便是箭之靶，應當始終不渝射向它。

在正常的沉思潛修的時間過去之後，戈文達站了起來。傍晚降臨了，到晚間沐浴的時候了。他呼喚席特哈爾塔的名字，席特哈爾塔卻沒回答。席特哈爾塔仍在沉思打坐，眼睛呆呆地凝視着一個遠遠的目標，舌尖稍稍從牙齒間伸出，似乎沒有了呼吸。他就這樣坐着，沉浸在專注之中，默默唸誦着“口奄”，心靈已作爲箭射向婆羅門。

那時，有幾個沙門經過席特哈爾塔所在的城市。他們是去朝聖的苦行僧，三個瘦削、憔悴的漢子，既不年老也不年輕，風塵僕僕，肩上出血，幾乎光着身子，被太陽曬得焦黑，生活在孤獨之中，對塵世既生疏又敵對，稱是人世間的陌生人和瘦狼。從他們身後飄過來一股強烈的氣味，那是充滿了平靜的激情、堅忍的修行和無情的抑制的自我的氣味。

晚上，在沉思潛修的功課之後，席特哈爾塔對戈文達說:“明天清早，朋友，席特哈爾塔要去找沙門，他要當一個沙門。”