Suddenly, however, through the crowd, the young prince saw something he had never seen before. Chana! Chana! Who are those men?
Tell me, who are those men? They are men like the rest of us, my lord, who once sucked milk from their mother's breast. But why do they look like that? They are old, my lord. What do you mean, old?
Old age destroys memory, beauty and strength. In the end, it happens to us all, my lord. To everyone?
To you and to me? It is better not to concern yourself with these things, my lord. Where are they taking them?
China! No my lord, don't go there, please, you mustn't! No my lord! My lord! My lord, sit down!
What is the matter with those people? Why is she crying like that? She is in pain my lord.
She is very sick. Sick? What is that?
No one reaches the moment of death without falling sick at least once. Even kings? The moment is that.
Show me death. This is death, my lord. Oh Death is the moment of separation Which comes to every person in every family when a body grows cold and stiff like wood It has to be burned like wood It was on this day, from this fire, with these people, that Siddhartha learned about suffering and discovered compassion.
They were him, and he was them.