KAMALA

Siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path, for the

world was transformed, and his heart was enchanted.  He saw the sun

rising over the mountains with their forests and setting over the

distant beach with its palm-trees.  At night, he saw the stars in the

sky in their fixed positions and the crescent of the moon floating like

a boat in the blue.  He saw trees, stars, animals, clouds, rainbows,

rocks, herbs, flowers, stream and river, the glistening dew in the

bushes in the morning, distant hight mountains which were blue and

pale, birds sang and bees, wind silverishly blew through the rice-field.

All of this, a thousand-fold and colourful, had always been there,

always the sun and the moon had shone, always rivers had roared and

bees had buzzed, but in former times all of this had been nothing more

to Siddhartha than a fleeting, deceptive veil before his eyes,

looked upon in distrust, destined to be penetrated and destroyed by

thought, since it was not the essential existence, since this essence

lay beyond, on the other side of, the visible.  But now, his liberated

eyes stayed on this side, he saw and became aware of the visible, sought

to be at home in this world, did not search for the true essence, did

not aim at a world beyond.  Beautiful was this world, looking at it thus,

without searching, thus simply, thus childlike.  Beautiful were the moon

and the stars, beautiful was the stream and the banks, the forest and

the rocks, the goat and the gold-beetle, the flower and the butterfly.

Beautiful and lovely it was, thus to walk through the world, thus

childlike, thus awoken, thus open to what is near, thus without

distrust.  Differently the sun burnt the head, differently the shade

of the forest cooled him down, differently the stream and the cistern,

the pumpkin and the banana tasted.  Short were the days, short the

nights, every hour sped swiftly away like a sail on the sea, and under

the sail was a ship full of treasures, full of joy.  Siddhartha saw a

group of apes moving through the high canopy of the forest, high in the

branches, and heard their savage, greedy song.  Siddhartha saw a male

sheep following a female one and mating with her.  In a lake of reeds,

he saw the pike hungrily hunting for its dinner; propelling themselves

away from it, in fear, wiggling and sparkling, the young fish jumped in

droves out of the water; the scent of strength and passion came

forcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water, which the pike stirred

up, impetuously hunting.

All of this had always existed, and he had not seen it; he had not been

with it.  Now he was with it, he was part of it.  Light and shadow

ran through his eyes, stars and moon ran through his heart.

On the way, Siddhartha also remembered everything he had experienced in

the Garden Jetavana, the teaching he had heard there, the divine Buddha,

the farewell from Govinda, the conversation with the exalted one.  Again

he remembered his own words, he had spoken to the exalted one, every

word, and with astonishment he became aware of the fact that there he

had said things which he had not really known yet at this time.  What he

had said to Gotama: his, the Buddha's, treasure and secret was not the

teachings, but the unexpressable and not teachable, which he had

experienced in the hour of his enlightenment--it was nothing but this

very thing which he had now gone to experience, what he now began to

experience.  Now, he had to experience his self.  It is true that he had

already known for a long time that his self was Atman, in its essence

bearing the same eternal characteristics as Brahman.  But never, he had

really found this self, because he had wanted to capture it in the net

of thought.  With the body definitely not being the self, and not the

spectacle of the senses, so it also was not the thought, not the

rational mind, not the learned wisdom, not the learned ability to draw

conclusions and to develop previous thoughts in to new ones.  No, this

world of thought was also still on this side, and nothing could be

achieved by killing the random self of the senses, if the random self of

thoughts and learned knowledge was fattened on the other hand.  Both,

the thoughts as well as the senses, were pretty things, the ultimate

meaning was hidden behind both of them, both had to be listened to, both

had to be played with, both neither had to be scorned nor overestimated,

from both the secret voices of the innermost truth had to be attentively

perceived.  He wanted to strive for nothing, except for what the voice

commanded him to strive for, dwell on nothing, except where the voice

would advise him to do so.  Why had Gotama, at that time, in the hour

of all hours, sat down under the bo-tree, where the enlightenment hit

him?  He had heard a voice, a voice in his own heart, which had

commanded him to seek rest under this tree, and he had neither preferred

self-castigation, offerings, ablutions, nor prayer, neither food nor

drink, neither sleep nor dream, he had obeyed the voice.  To obey like

this, not to an external command, only to the voice, to be ready like

this, this was good, this was necessary, nothing else was necessary.

In the night when he slept in the straw hut of a ferryman by the river,

Siddhartha had a dream:  Govinda was standing in front of him, dressed

in the yellow robe of an ascetic.  Sad was how Govinda looked like,

sadly he asked:  Why have you forsaken me?  At this, he embraced

Govinda, wrapped his arms around him, and as he was pulling him close

to his chest and kissed him, it was not Govinda any more, but a woman,

and a full breast popped out of the woman's dress, at which Siddhartha

lay and drank, sweetly and strongly tasted the milk from this breast.

It tasted of woman and man, of sun and forest, of animal and flower,

of every fruit, of every joyful desire.  It intoxicated him and rendered

him unconscious.--When Siddhartha woke up, the pale river shimmered

through the door of the hut, and in the forest, a dark call of an owl

resounded deeply and pleasantly.

When the day began, Siddhartha asked his host, the ferryman, to get him

across the river.  The ferryman got him across the river on his

bamboo-raft, the wide water shimmered reddishly in the light of the

morning.

"This is a beautiful river," he said to his companion.

"Yes," said the ferryman, "a very beautiful river, I love it more than

anything.  Often I have listened to it, often I have looked into its

eyes, and always I have learned from it.  Much can be learned from a

river."

"I than you, my benefactor," spoke Siddhartha, disembarking on the other

side of the river.  "I have no gift I could give you for your

hospitality, my dear, and also no payment for your work.  I am a man

without a home, a son of a Brahman and a Samana."

"I did see it," spoke the ferryman, "and I haven't expected any payment

from you and no gift which would be the custom for guests to bear.  You

will give me the gift another time."

"Do you think so?" asked Siddhartha amusedly.

"Surely.  This too, I have learned from the river: everything is coming

back!  You too, Samana, will come back.  Now farewell!  Let your

friendship be my reward.  Commemorate me, when you'll make offerings to

the gods."

Smiling, they parted.  Smiling, Siddhartha was happy about the

friendship and the kindness of the ferryman.  "He is like Govinda," he

thought with a smile, "all I meet on my path are like Govinda.  All are

thankful, though they are the ones who would have a right to receive

thanks.  All are submissive, all would like to be friends, like to

obey, think little.  Like children are all people."

At about noon, he came through a village.  In front of the mud cottages,

children were rolling about in the street, were playing with

pumpkin-seeds and sea-shells, screamed and wrestled, but they all

timidly fled from the unknown Samana.  In the end of the village, the

path led through a stream, and by the side of the stream, a young

woman was kneeling and washing clothes.  When Siddhartha greeted her,

she lifted her head and looked up to him with a smile, so that he saw

the white in her eyes glistening.  He called out a blessing to her, as

it is the custom among travellers, and asked how far he still had to go

to reach the large city.  Then she got up and came to him, beautifully

her wet mouth was shimmering in her young face.  She exchanged humorous

banter with him, asked whether he had eaten already, and whether it was

true that the Samanas slept alone in the forest at night and were not

allowed to have any women with them.  While talking, she put her left

foot on his right one and made a movement as a woman does who would want

to initiate that kind of sexual pleasure with a man, which the textbooks

call "climbing a tree".  Siddhartha felt his blood heating up, and since

in this moment he had to think of his dream again, he bend slightly

down to the woman and kissed with his lips the brown nipple of her

breast.  Looking up, he saw her face smiling full of lust and her

eyes, with contracted pupils, begging with desire.

Siddhartha also felt desire and felt the source of his sexuality moving;

but since he had never touched a woman before, he hesitated for a

moment, while his hands were already prepared to reach out for her.  And

in this moment he heard, shuddering with awe, the voice if his innermost

self, and this voice said No.  Then, all charms disappeared from the

young woman's smiling face, he no longer saw anything else but the damp

glance of a female animal in heat.  Politely, he petted her cheek,

turned away from her and disappeared away from the disappointed woman

with light steps into the bamboo-wood.

On this day, he reached the large city before the evening, and was

happy, for he felt the need to be among people.  For a long time, he

had lived in the forests, and the straw hut of the ferryman, in which

he had slept that night, had been the first roof for a long time he has

had over his head.

Before the city, in a beautifully fenced grove, the traveller came

across a small group of servants, both male and female, carrying

baskets.  In their midst, carried by four servants in an ornamental

sedan-chair, sat a woman, the mistress, on red pillows under a colourful

canopy.  Siddhartha stopped at the entrance to the pleasure-garden and

watched the parade, saw the servants, the maids, the baskets, saw the

sedan-chair and saw the lady in it.  Under black hair, which made to

tower high on her head, he saw a very fair, very delicate, very smart

face, a brightly red mouth, like a freshly cracked fig, eyebrows which

were well tended and painted in a high arch, smart and watchful dark

eyes, a clear, tall neck rising from a green and golden garment, resting

fair hands, long and thin, with wide golden bracelets over the wrists.

Siddhartha saw how beautiful she was, and his heart rejoiced.  He bowed

deeply, when the sedan-chair came closer, and straightening up again,

he looked at the fair, charming face, read for a moment in the smart

eyes with the high arcs above, breathed in a slight fragrant, he did

not know.  With a smile, the beautiful women nodded for a moment and

disappeared into the grove, and then the servant as well.

Thus I am entering this city, Siddhartha thought, with a charming omen.

He instantly felt drawn into the grove, but he thought about it, and

only now he became aware of how the servants and maids had looked at him

at the entrance, how despicable, how distrustful, how rejecting.

I am still a Samana, he thought, I am still an ascetic and beggar.  I

must not remain like this, I will not be able to enter the grove like

this.  And he laughed.

The next person who came along this path he asked about the grove and

for the name of the woman, and was told that this was the grove of

Kamala, the famous courtesan, and that, aside from the grove, she owned

a house in the city.

Then, he entered the city.  Now he had a goal.

Pursuing his goal, he allowed the city to suck him in, drifted through

the flow of the streets, stood still on the squares, rested on the

stairs of stone by the river.  When the evening came, he made friends

with barber's assistant, whom he had seen working in the shade of an

arch in a building, whom he found again praying in a temple of Vishnu,

whom he told about stories of Vishnu and the Lakshmi.  Among the boats

by the river, he slept this night, and early in the morning, before the

first customers came into his shop, he had the barber's assistant shave

his beard and cut his hair, comb his hair and anoint it with fine oil.

Then he went to take his bath in the river.

When late in the afternoon, beautiful Kamala approached her grove in her

sedan-chair, Siddhartha was standing at the entrance, made a bow and

received the courtesan's greeting.  But that servant who walked at the

very end of her train he motioned to him and asked him to inform his

mistress that a young Brahman would wish to talk to her.  After a while,

the servant returned, asked him, who had been waiting, to follow him

conducted him, who was following him, without a word into a pavilion,

where Kamala was lying on a couch, and left him alone with her.

"Weren't you already standing out there yesterday, greeting me?" asked

Kamala.

"It's true that I've already seen and greeted you yesterday."

"But didn't you yesterday wear a beard, and long hair, and dust in your

hair?"

"You have observed well, you have seen everything.  You have seen

Siddhartha, the son of a Brahman, who has left his home to become a

Samana, and who has been a Samana for three years.  But now, I have

left that path and came into this city, and the first one I met, even

before I had entered the city, was you.  To say this, I have come to

you, oh Kamala!  You are the first woman whom Siddhartha is not

addressing with his eyes turned to the ground.  Never again I want to

turn my eyes to the ground, when I'm coming across a beautiful woman."

Kamala smiled and played with her fan of peacocks' feathers.  And asked:

"And only to tell me this, Siddhartha has come to me?"

"To tell you this and to thank you for being so beautiful.  And if it

doesn't displease you, Kamala, I would like to ask you to be my friend

and teacher, for I know nothing yet of that art which you have mastered

in the highest degree."

At this, Kamala laughed aloud.

"Never before this has happened to me, my friend, that a Samana from the

forest came to me and wanted to learn from me!  Never before this has

happened to me, that a Samana came to me with long hair and an old, torn

loin-cloth!  Many young men come to me, and there are also sons of

Brahmans among them, but they come in beautiful clothes, they come in

fine shoes, they have perfume in their hair and money in their pouches.

This is, oh Samana, how the young men are like who come to me."

Quoth Siddhartha:  "Already I am starting to learn from you.  Even

yesterday, I was already learning.  I have already taken off my beard,

have combed the hair, have oil in my hair.  There is little which is

still missing in me, oh excellent one: fine clothes, fine shoes, money

in my pouch.  You shall know, Siddhartha has set harder goals for

himself than such trifles, and he has reached them.  How shouldn't I

reach that goal, which I have set for myself yesterday:  to be your

friend and to learn the joys of love from you!  You'll see that I'll

learn quickly, Kamala, I have already learned harder things than what

you're supposed to teach me.  And now let's get to it: You aren't

satisfied with Siddhartha as he is, with oil in his hair, but without

clothes, without shoes, without money?"

Laughing, Kamala exclaimed:  "No, my dear, he doesn't satisfy me yet.

Clothes are what he must have, pretty clothes, and shoes, pretty shoes,

and lots of money in his pouch, and gifts for Kamala.  Do you know it

now, Samana from the forest?  Did you mark my words?"

"Yes, I have marked your words," Siddhartha exclaimed.  "How should I

not mark words which are coming from such a mouth!  Your mouth is like

a freshly cracked fig, Kamala.  My mouth is red and fresh as well, it

will be a suitable match for yours, you'll see.--But tell me, beautiful

Kamala, aren't you at all afraid of the Samana from the forest, who has

come to learn how to make love?"

"Whatever for should I be afraid of a Samana, a stupid Samana from the

forest, who is coming from the jackals and doesn't even know yet what

women are?"

"Oh, he's strong, the Samana, and he isn't afraid of anything.  He could

force you, beautiful girl.  He could kidnap you.  He could hurt you."

"No, Samana, I am not afraid of this.  Did any Samana or Brahman ever

fear, someone might come and grab him and steal his learning, and his

religious devotion, and his depth of thought?  No, for they are his very

own, and he would only give away from those whatever he is willing to

give and to whomever he is willing to give.  Like this it is, precisely

like this it is also with Kamala and with the pleasures of love.

Beautiful and red is Kamala's mouth, but just try to kiss it against

Kamala's will, and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from

it, which knows how to give so many sweet things!  You are learning

easily, Siddhartha, thus you should also learn this: love can be

obtained by begging, buying, receiving it as a gift, finding it in the

street, but it cannot be stolen.  In this, you have come up with the

wrong path.  No, it would be a pity, if a pretty young man like you

would want to tackle it in such a wrong manner."

Siddhartha bowed with a smile.  "It would be a pity, Kamala, you are so

right!  It would be such a great pity.  No, I shall not lose a single

drop of sweetness from your mouth, nor you from mine!  So it is settled:

Siddhartha will return, once he'll have have what he still lacks:

clothes, shoes, money.  But speak, lovely Kamala, couldn't you still

give me one small advice?"

"An advice?  Why not?  Who wouldn't like to give an advice to a poor,

ignorant Samana, who is coming from the jackals of the forest?"

"Dear Kamala, thus advise me where I should go to, that I'll find these

three things most quickly?"

"Friend, many would like to know this.  You must do what you've learned

and ask for money, clothes, and shoes in return.  There is no other way

for a poor man to obtain money.  What might you be able to do?"

"I can think.  I can wait.  I can fast."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing.  But yes, I can also write poetry.  Would you like to give me

a kiss for a poem?"

"I would like to, if I'll like your poem.  What would be its title?"

Siddhartha spoke, after he had thought about it for a moment, these

verses:

Into her shady grove stepped the pretty Kamala,

At the grove's entrance stood the brown Samana.

Deeply, seeing the lotus's blossom,

Bowed that man, and smiling Kamala thanked.

More lovely, thought the young man, than offerings for gods,

More lovely is offering to pretty Kamala.

Kamala loudly clapped her hands, so that the golden bracelets clanged.

"Beautiful are your verses, oh brown Samana, and truly, I'm losing

nothing when I'm giving you a kiss for them."

She beckoned him with her eyes, he tilted his head so that his face

touched hers and placed his mouth on that mouth which was like a

freshly cracked fig.  For a long time, Kamala kissed him, and with a

deep astonishment Siddhartha felt how she taught him, how wise she was,

how she controlled him, rejected him, lured him, and how after this first

one there was to be a long, a well ordered, well tested sequence of

kisses, everyone different from the others, he was still to receive.

Breathing deeply, he remained standing where he was, and was in this

moment astonished like a child about the cornucopia of knowledge and

things worth learning, which revealed itself before his eyes.

"Very beautiful are your verses," exclaimed Kamala, "if I was rich, I

would give you pieces of gold for them.  But it will be difficult for

you to earn thus much money with verses as you need.  For you need a lot

of money, if you want to be Kamala's friend."

"The way you're able to kiss, Kamala!" stammered Siddhartha.

"Yes, this I am able to do, therefore I do not lack clothes, shoes,

bracelets, and all beautiful things.  But what will become of you?

Aren't you able to do anything else but thinking, fasting, making

poetry?"

"I also know the sacrificial songs," said Siddhartha, "but I do not want

to sing them any more.  I also know magic spells, but I do not want to

speak them any more.  I have read the scriptures--"

"Stop," Kamala interrupted him.  "You're able to read?  And write?"

"Certainly, I can do this.  Many people can do this."

"Most people can't.  I also can't do it.  It is very good that you're

able to read and write, very good.  You will also still find use for

the magic spells."

In this moment, a maid came running in and whispered a message into

her mistress's ear.

"There's a visitor for me," exclaimed Kamala.  "Hurry and get yourself

away, Siddhartha, nobody may see you in here, remember this!  Tomorrow,

I'll see you again."

But to the maid she gave the order to give the pious Brahman white

upper garments.  Without fully understanding what was happening to him,

Siddhartha found himself being dragged away by the maid, brought into

a garden-house avoiding the direct path, being given upper garments as a

gift, led into the bushes, and urgently admonished to get himself out of

the grove as soon as possible without being seen.

Contently, he did as he had been told.  Being accustomed to the forest,

he managed to get out of the grove and over the hedge without making a

sound.  Contently, he returned to the city, carrying the rolled up

garments under his arm.  At the inn, where travellers stay, he

positioned himself by the door, without words he asked for food, without

a word he accepted a piece of rice-cake.  Perhaps as soon as tomorrow,

he thought, I will ask no one for food any more.

Suddenly, pride flared up in him.  He was no Samana any more, it was no

longer becoming to him to beg.  He gave the rice-cake to a dog and

remained without food.

"Simple is the life which people lead in this world here," thought

Siddhartha.  "It presents no difficulties.  Everything was difficult,

toilsome, and ultimately hopeless, when I was still a Samana.  Now,

everything is easy, easy like that lessons in kissing, which Kamala is

giving me.  I need clothes and money, nothing else; this a small, near

goals, they won't make a person lose any sleep."

He had already discovered Kamala's house in the city long before, there

he turned up the following day.

"Things are working out well," she called out to him.  "They are

expecting you at Kamaswami's, he is the richest merchant of the city.

If he'll like you, he'll accept you into his service.  Be smart, brown

Samana.  I had others tell him about you.  Be polite towards him, he is

very powerful.  But don't be too modest!  I do not want you to become

his servant, you shall become his equal, or else I won't be satisfied

with you.  Kamaswami is starting to get old and lazy.  If he'll like

you, he'll entrust you with a lot."

Siddhartha thanked her and laughed, and when she found out that he had

not eaten anything yesterday and today, she sent for bread and fruits

and treated him to it.

"You've been lucky," she said when they parted, "I'm opening one door

after another for you.  How come?  Do you have a spell?"

Siddhartha said:  "Yesterday, I told you I knew how to think, to wait,

and to fast, but you thought this was of no use.  But it is useful for

many things, Kamala, you'll see.  You'll see that the stupid Samanas are

learning and able to do many pretty things in the forest, which the

likes of you aren't capable of.  The day before yesterday, I was still a

shaggy beggar, as soon as yesterday I have kissed Kamala, and soon I'll

be a merchant and have money and all those things you insist upon."

"Well yes," she admitted.  "But where would you be without me?  What

would you be, if Kamala wasn't helping you?"

"Dear Kamala," said Siddhartha and straightened up to his full height,

"when I came to you into your grove, I did the first step.  It was my

resolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman.  From that

moment on when I had made this resolution, I also knew that I would

carry it out.  I knew that you would help me, at your first glance at

the entrance of the grove I already knew it."

"But what if I hadn't been willing?"

"You were willing.  Look, Kamala:  When you throw a rock into the water,

it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water.  This

is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal, a resolution.  Siddhartha does

nothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he passes through the things

of the world like a rock through water, without doing anything, without

stirring; he is drawn, he lets himself fall.  His goal attracts him,

because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the

goal.  This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas.  This is

what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected by

means of the daemons.  Nothing is effected by daemons, there are no

daemons.  Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if

he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast."

Kamala listened to him.  She loved his voice, she loved the look from

his eyes.

"Perhaps it is so," she said quietly, "as you say, friend.  But perhaps

it is also like this: that Siddhartha is a handsome man, that his glance

pleases the women, that therefore good fortune is coming towards him."

With one kiss, Siddhartha bid his farewell.  "I wish that it should be

this way, my teacher; that my glance shall please you, that always

good fortune shall come to me out of your direction!"