“I thank you, Samana, for watching out over my sleep,” spoke Siddhartha. “You’re friendly, you followers of the exalted one. Now you may go then.”
“I’m going, sir. May you, sir, always be in good health.”
“I thank you, Samana.”
Govinda made the gesture of a salutation and said: “Farewell.”
“Farewell, Govinda,” said Siddhartha.
The monk stopped.
“Permit me to ask, sir, from where do you know my name?”
Now, Siddhartha smiled.
“I know you, O Govinda, from your father’s hut, and from the school of the Brahmins, and from the offerings, and from our walk to the Samanas, and from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in the grove Jetavana.”
“You’re Siddhartha,” Govinda exclaimed loudly. “Now, I’m recognising you, and don’t comprehend any more how I couldn’t recognise you right away. Be welcome, Siddhartha, my joy is great to see you again.”
“It also gives me joy to see you again. You’ve been the guard of my sleep, again I thank you for this, though I wouldn’t have required any guard. Where are you going to, O friend?”
“I’m going nowhere. We monks are always travelling, whenever it is not the rainy season, we always move from one place to another, live according to the rules of the teachings passed on to us, accept alms, move on. It is always like this. But you, Siddhartha, where are you going to?”