In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbahe boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young fal, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing, perf the sacred ablutions, the sacred s. In the mango grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when his mother sang, when the sacred s were made, when his father, the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practisie with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of refle, the servieditation. He already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all the tration of his soul, the forehead surrounded……（内容加载失败！）
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