The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho PDF Download

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho PDF Download

The Alchemist is a novel by Brazilian author Paulo Coelho. It was first published in 1988.Paulo Coelho's masterpiece tells the mystical story of Santiago, an Andalusian shepherd boy who yearns to travel in search of a worldly treasure. His quest will lead him to riches far different—and far more satisfying—than he ever imagined. Santiago's journey teaches us about the essential wisdom of listening to our hearts, of recognizing opportunity and learning to read the omens strewn along life's path, and, most importantly, to follow our dreams.

Here are first few pages of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho :
THE BOY’S NAME WAS SANTIAGO. DUSK WAS FALLING AS the boy arrived
with his herd at an abandoned church. The roof had fallen in long
ago, and an enormous sycamore had grown on the spot where the
sacristy had once stood.
He decided to spend the night there. He saw to it that all the
sheep entered through the ruined gate, and then laid some planks
across it to prevent the flock from wandering away during the night.
There were no wolves in the region, but once an animal had strayed
during the night, and the boy had had to spend the entire next day
searching for it.
He swept the floor with his jacket and lay down, using the book
he had just finished reading as a pillow. He told himself that he
would have to start reading thicker books: they lasted longer, and
made more comfortable pillows.
It was still dark when he awoke, and, looking up, he could see
the stars through the half-destroyed roof.
I wanted to sleep a little longer, he thought. He had had the same
dream that night as a week ago, and once again he had awakened
before it ended.
He arose and, taking up his crook, began to awaken the sheep
that still slept. He had noticed that, as soon as he awoke, most of his
animals also began to stir. It was as if some mysterious energy
bound his life to that of the sheep, with whom he had spent the past
two years, leading them through the countryside in search of food
and water. “They are so used to me that they know my schedule,” he
muttered. Thinking about that for a moment, he realized that it could be the other way around: that it was he who had become
accustomed to their schedule.
But there were certain of them who took a bit longer to awaken.
The boy prodded them, one by one, with his crook, calling each by
name. He had always believed that the sheep were able to
understand what he said. So there were times when he read them
parts of his books that had made an impression on him, or when he
would tell them of the loneliness or the happiness of a shepherd in
the fields. Sometimes he would comment to them on the things he
had seen in the villages they passed.
But for the past few days he had spoken to them about only one
thing: the girl, the daughter of a merchant who lived in the village
they would reach in about four days. He had been to the village only
once, the year before. The merchant was the proprietor of a dry
goods shop, and he always demanded that the sheep be sheared in
his presence, so that he would not be cheated. A friend had told the
boy about the shop, and he had taken his sheep there.
“I NEED TO SELL SOME WOOL,” THE BOY TOLD THE merchant.
The shop was busy, and the man asked the shepherd to wait
until the afternoon. So the boy sat on the steps of the shop and took
a book from his bag.
“I didn’t know shepherds knew how to read,” said a girl’s voice
behind him.
The girl was typical of the region of Andalusia, with flowing
black hair, and eyes that vaguely recalled the Moorish conquerors.
“Well, usually I learn more from my sheep than from books,” he
answered. During the two hours that they talked, she told him she was the merchant’s daughter, and spoke of life in the village, where
each day was like all the others. The shepherd told her of the
Andalusian countryside, and related the news from the other towns
where he had stopped. It was a pleasant change from talking to his
sheep.
“How did you learn to read?” the girl asked at one point.
“Like everybody learns,” he said. “In school.”
“Well, if you know how to read, why are you just a shepherd?”
The boy mumbled an answer that allowed him to avoid
responding to her question. He was sure the girl would never
understand. He went on telling stories about his travels, and her
bright, Moorish eyes went wide with fear and surprise. As the time
passed, the boy found himself wishing that the day would never
end, that her father would stay busy and keep him waiting for three
days. He recognized that he was feeling something he had never
experienced before: the desire to live in one place forever. With the
girl with the raven hair, his days would never be the same again.
But finally the merchant appeared, and asked the boy to shear
four sheep. He paid for the wool and asked the shepherd to come
back the following year.
AND NOW IT WAS ONLY FOUR DAYS BEFORE HE WOULD BE back in that same
village. He was excited, and at the same time uneasy: maybe the girl
had already forgotten him. Lots of shepherds passed through,
selling their wool.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said to his sheep. “I know other girls in
other places.” But in his heart he knew that it did matter. And he knew that
shepherds, like seamen and like traveling salesmen, always found a
town where there was someone who could make them forget the
joys of carefree wandering.
The day was dawning, and the shepherd urged his sheep in the
direction of the sun. They never have to make any decisions, he
thought. Maybe that’s why they always stay close to me.
The only things that concerned the sheep were food and water.
As long as the boy knew how to find the best pastures in Andalusia,
they would be his friends. Yes, their days were all the same, with the
seemingly endless hours between sunrise and dusk; and they had
never read a book in their young lives, and didn’t understand when
the boy told them about the sights of the cities. They were content
with just food and water, and, in exchange, they generously gave of
their wool, their company, and—once in a while—their meat.
If I became a monster today, and decided to kill them, one by
one, they would become aware only after most of the flock had been
slaughtered, thought the boy. They trust me, and they’ve forgotten
how to rely on their own instincts, because I lead them to
nourishment.
The boy was surprised at his thoughts. Maybe the church, with
the sycamore growing from within, had been haunted. It had caused
him to have the same dream for a second time, and it was causing
him to feel anger toward his faithful companions. He drank a bit
from the wine that remained from his dinner of the night before,
and he gathered his jacket closer to his body. He knew that a few
hours from now, with the sun at its zenith, the heat would be so
great that he would not be able to lead his flock across the fields. It
was the time of day when all of Spain slept during the summer. The
heat lasted until nightfall, and all that time he had to carry his jacket. But when he thought to complain about the burden of its
weight, he remembered that, because he had the jacket, he had
withstood the cold of the dawn.
We have to be prepared for change, he thought, and he was
grateful for the jacket’s weight and warmth.
The jacket had a purpose, and so did the boy. His purpose in life
was to travel, and, after two years of walking the Andalusian terrain,
he knew all the cities of the region. He was planning, on this visit, to
explain to the girl how it was that a simple shepherd knew how to
read. That he had attended a seminary until he was sixteen. His
parents had wanted him to become a priest, and thereby a source of
pride for a simple farm family. They worked hard just to have food
and water, like the sheep. He had studied Latin, Spanish, and
theology. But ever since he had been a child, he had wanted to know
the world, and this was much more important to him than knowing
God and learning about man’s sins. One afternoon, on a visit to his
family, he had summoned up the courage to tell his father that he
didn’t want to become a priest. That he wanted to travel.
“PEOPLE FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD HAVE PASSED through this village,
son,” said his father. “They come in search of new things, but when
they leave they are basically the same people they were when they
arrived. They climb the mountain to see the castle, and they wind up
thinking that the past was better than what we have now. They have
blond hair, or dark skin, but basically they’re the same as the people
who live right here.”
“But I’d like to see the castles in the towns where they live,” the
boy explained. “Those people, when they see our land, say that they would like
to live here forever,” his father continued.
“Well, I’d like to see their land, and see how they live,” said his
son.
“The people who come here have a lot of money to spend, so
they can afford to travel,” his father said. “Amongst us, the only ones
who travel are the shepherds.”
“Well, then I’ll be a shepherd!”
His father said no more. The next day, he gave his son a pouch
that held three ancient Spanish gold coins.
“I found these one day in the fields. I wanted them to be a part of
your inheritance. But use them to buy your flock. Take to the fields,
and someday you’ll learn that our countryside is the best, and our
women are the most beautiful.”
And he gave the boy his blessing. The boy could see in his
father’s gaze a desire to be able, himself, to travel the world—a
desire that was still alive, despite his father’s having had to bury it,
over dozens of years, under the burden of struggling for water to
drink, food to eat, and the same place to sleep every night of his life.
THE HORIZON WAS TINGED WITH RED, AND SUDDENLY THE sun appeared.
The boy thought back to that conversation with his father, and felt
happy; he had already seen many castles and met many women (but
none the equal of the one who awaited him several days hence). He
owned a jacket, a book that he could trade for another, and a flock of
sheep. But, most important, he was able every day to live out his
dream. If he were to tire of the Andalusian fields, he could sell his
sheep and go to sea.

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References: Wikipedia, GoodReads.