So for a long time he lay in the borderland of death, and had this been the end—O Light of the World extinguished, O Sun set at dawn!—but it was not to be, and slowly, very slowly, consciousness returned, and his heavy eyelids lifted and once more he beheld the light. And he thought: “If I could creep down to the river the waters, warm and kindly, would refresh me, and thought would perhaps return to me, and a little rest.” And painful inch by inch Siddhartha crept down to the river, supporting himself as he went by the extended hands of branches, and in a warm shallow of water, sparkling in green shade he lay, foredone, and it flowed about him gently, bringing healing. And the five ascetics watching him from far off said to each other: “He will die now; the ascetic Gotama will die now. It is not possible that a man so worn and exhausted should live.” And indeed, when he tried to struggle up and leave the kindly water, there was no strength in him and he could not rise. And it is told that a heavenly spirit pressed down a branch that he might reach it and support himself. This it is certain he did, laying hold on a bough which dipped over its own image in still water, and he crept up the bank, dizzily, and seated himself beneath a tree, supporting his weakness against it, with closed eyes. And now, being refreshed, he had power to reflect, and he said within himself. “This way of mortification has failed me also. Like other ways I have sought this beats against a shut door and there is no help in it. My body is so broken that it can no longer support the intellect. I will eat and drink and strengthen this tortured body that it may still be the servant of the higher in me, no longer complaining of its own griefs and diverting attention from the goal. For it is possible that what I have already learned has prepared the way to Right Ecstasy and that in ecstasy I may behold the beginning of the Wisdom which in all the methods I have tried has been hidden from me.” And even as he thought this the strong weakness overwhelmed him again and he could think no more. Now, on the other side of the wood dwelt a chief herdsman, very wealthy in cattle and rice, owning land far-spreading and fertile in the rich water-meadows by the river, and he had a daughter fair and wise, named Sujata. And reaching womanhood this fair maiden had made a vow to the Tree-Spirit of the forest, saying: “If I should wed a husband of equal rank with myself and my first-born should be a son, then would I make a noble offering every year, never forgetting the benefit.” And this prayer was heard, and her first-born son lay upon her bosom.