Siddhartha reached the large river in the forest, the same river over which a long time ago, when he had still been a young man and came from the town of Gotama, a ferryman had conducted him. By this river he stopped, hesitantly he stood at the bank. Tiredness and hunger had weakened him, and whatever for should he walk on, wherever to, to which goal? No, there were no more goals, there was nothing left but the deep, painful yearning to shake off this whole desolate dream, to spit out this stale wine, to put an end to this miserable and shameful life.
A hang bent over the bank of the river, a coconut-tree; Siddhartha leaned against its trunk with his shoulder, embraced the trunk with one arm, and looked down into the green water, which ran and ran under him, looked down and found himself to be entirely filled with the wish to let go and to drown in these waters. A frightening emptiness was reflected back at him by the water, answering to the terrible emptiness in his soul. Yes, he had reached the end. There was nothing left for him, except to annihilate himself, except to smash the failure into which he had shaped his life, to throw it away, before the feet of mockingly laughing gods. This was the great vomiting he had longed for: death, the smashing to bits of the form he hated! Let him be food for fishes, this dog Siddhartha, this lunatic, this depraved and rotten body, this weakened and abused soul! Let him be food for fishes and crocodiles, let him be chopped to bits by the daemons!
With a distorted face, he stared into the water, saw the reflection of his face and spit at it. In deep tiredness, he took his arm away from the trunk of the tree and turned a bit, in order to let himself fall straight down, in order to finally drown. With his eyes closed, he slipped towards death.
Then, out of remote areas of his soul, out of past times of his now weary life, a sound stirred up. It was a word, a syllable, which he, without thinking, with a slurred voice, spoke to himself, the old word which is the beginning and the end of all prayers of the Brahmans, the holy "Om", which roughly means "that what is perfect" or "the completion". And in the moment when the sound of "Om" touched Siddhartha's ear, his dormant spirit suddenly woke up and realized the foolishness of his actions.
Siddhartha was deeply shocked. So this was how things were with him, so doomed was he, so much he had lost his way and was forsaken by all knowledge, that he had been able to seek death, that this wish, this wish of a child, had been able to grow in him: to find rest by annihilating his body! What all agony of these recent times, all sobering realizations, all desperation had not brought about, this was brought on by this moment, when the Om entered his consciousness: he became aware of himself in his misery and in his error.
Om! he spoke to himself: Om! and again he knew about Brahman, knew about the indestructibility of life, knew about all that is divine, which he had forgotten.
But this was only a moment, flash. By the foot of the coconut-tree, Siddhartha collapsed, struck down by tiredness, mumbling Om, placed his head on the root of the tree and fell into a deep sleep.
席特哈尔塔来到森林中的一条大河边，这正是当年他年轻时从戈塔马那个城里出来，一个船夫为他摆渡的那条河。他在河边停下，犹豫不决地站在河岸上。疲劳和饥饿已经使得他虚弱不堪，他干吗还继续走呢？他前往何处，奔什么目标呢？不，已经没有目标了，只有这种深深的痛苦的渴望：甩掉这乱七八糟的梦境，吐掉这变了味的酒，结束这糟糕的可耻的生活！
从河岸上探出一棵树，弯着伸向河面，那是一棵椰子树。席特哈尔塔让肩膀靠在树干上，用一只胳臂搂住树干，俯视着身下流过的碧绿的河水。他往下看，感到心中涌动着这个愿望：松开手，让自己沉溺到水里去。从水中映也一种可怕的空虚，而他心中的可怕的空虚则与之呼应。是的，他要完蛋了。留给他的出路就是毁灭自己，砸烂自己生活的失败产物，丢弃它，把它丢到幸灾乐祸的神灵脚下。为正是他所渴望的巨大突破：死亡，毁掉他所憎恶的形体！但愿水中的鱼把他吃掉，把席特哈尔塔这条狗、这个疯子、这个腐朽的身躯、这颗衰微和滥用了的灵魂吃掉！但愿鱼类和鳄鱼把他吃掉，但愿恶魔把他撕成碎片！
他面容扭曲地呆望着水面，看见了映出的那张脸，便朝它吐口水。他疲惫不堪，让胳臂松开树干，轻了一下身子，以便垂直地落进水中，最终葬身水底。他沉下去，闭着眼睛，迎向死亡。
这时，从他心灵深处的偏僻角落里，从他这疲倦一生的历历往事中，传来了一个声音。那是一个字，一个音节，他不假思索就喃喃地念了出来。那正是所有婆罗门在祈祷的开头和结尾时都用的古字，那个神圣的“唵”字，意思是“功德圆满”或“完美无瑕”。就在这声“唵”传入席特哈尔塔耳中的一刹那，他那沉睡的心灵突然苏醒了，他看清了自己行为的愚蠢。
席特哈尔塔深感震惊。他现实的境况就是这样，这么无可救药，误入歧途，背离了一切真敌国，以至于他想自寻短见，而这个愿望，这个孩子般的愿望，却在他心中变大起来：不惜毁灭自己的肉体来求得安宁！这最后时刻的全部痛苦、全部醒悟和全部绝望没能实现的东西，却在“唵”闯入他的意识这一瞬间完成了：他在自己的愁苦和迷乱中认识了自己。
“唵！”他喃喃自语着，“唵！”他想起婆罗门，想起生活的坚不可摧，想起了他已经淡忘的所有神圣的东西。
但这仅只是一刹那，像一道闪电。席特哈尔塔倒在了那棵椰子树下，把头枕在树根上，陷入了沉沉的梦乡。