Tell me, my
dear: you're not taking control of your son's upbringing? You don't
force him? You don't beat him? You don't punish him?"
"No, Vasudeva, I don't do anything of this."
"I knew it. You don't force him, don't beat him, don't give him orders,
because you know that "soft" is stronger than "hard", Water stronger
than rocks, love stronger than force. Very good, I praise you. But
aren't you mistaken in thinking that you wouldn't force him, wouldn't
punish him? Don't you shackle him with your love? Don't you make him
feel inferior every day, and don't you make it even harder on him with
your kindness and patience? Don't you force him, the arrogant and
pampered boy, to live in a hut with two old banana-eaters, to whom even
rice is a delicacy, whose thoughts can't be his, whose hearts are old
and quiet and beats in a different pace than his? Isn't forced, isn't
he punished by all this?"
Troubled, Siddhartha looked to the ground. Quietly, he asked: "What
do you think should I do?"
Quoth Vasudeva: "Bring him into the city, bring him into his mother's
house, there'll still be servants around, give him to them. And when
there aren't any around any more, bring him to a teacher, not for the
teachings' sake, but so that he shall be among other boys, and among
girls, and in the world which is his own.
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