In the still night, a quest envelops everything like darkness spread across the sky. Among shadows, a journey for light. One last time like the night lingering at the horizon at dawn he looks back: So long dear friend, companion ever on my journey this far; You know everything, yet I cannot bear to leave otherwise; Know not what perils beset my quest, Yasho, this journey is mine. Words echo in the empty silence of this early hour. This morning after, gusts of wind remind of an absence, yet only the fragrance of love fills the empty chambers where memories retire by royal robes cast behind. Too great to be bound, some men; some love too vast to bind.
Siddhartha's journey is immortalized in many tales. But how vast was the love that enabled it?
What must have gone through the protagonists on the night of the epic journey?