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 forest-covered mountains and setting over the distant palm beaches. 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 deep blue. He saw trees, stars, animals, clouds, rainbows, rocks, herbs, flowers, stream and river, the glistening dew in the bushes in the morning, distant high mountains pale and blue, singing birds and the bees, wind wafting like silver through the rice fields. All of these thousands of colorful things had always been there; the sun and the moon had always shone, rivers had always roared and bees had always buzzed, but in former times all of this had been nothing more to Siddhartha than a fleeting, deceptive veil before his eyes. He had looked upon these with mistrust, as if their destiny was to be penetrated and destroyed by thought, since material things were not essential to existence, the essence of which lay beyond, on the other side of what was visible. But now, his liberated eyes stayed on this side; he saw and became aware of that which was visible and sought to be at home in this world. He did not search for true essence and did not aim at a world beyond. It was beautiful and wonderful to go through the world in this childlike way. The moon and the stars were beautiful, as were the stream and the riverbanks, the forest and the rocks, the goat and the gold beetle, the flower and the butterfly. It was lovely and beautiful to walk through the world like this, childlike and fully awake, open to what is near and without mistrust. The sun shone differently upon the head, the shade of the forest cooled him differently, the stream and the cistern were different, the pumpkin and the banana tasted different. The days were short, the nights also short; every hour sped swiftly away like a sail on the sea, and under the sail was a ship full of treasures and joy. Siddhartha saw a troop of monkeys moving through the high canopy of the forest 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 its dinner; he saw young fish propelling themselves away from it in fear, wiggling and sparkling, jumping in droves out of the water. The scent of strength and passion came forcefully out of the swift eddies of the water which were stirred up by the pike, who hunted endlessly.

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, and the stars and moon ran through his heart.

On the way, Siddhartha also recollected everything he had experienced in the Garden of Jetavana: the teaching he had heard there, the divine Buddha, the farewell from Govinda, his conversation with the exalted one. He remembered again the words that 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. What he had said to Gotama—that is, that the Buddha's treasure and secret was not the teachings, but the ineffable and non-transferable thing that he had experienced in the hour of his enlightenment—it was this very thing which he had now gone to experience and now began to experience. He now 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 he had never really found this self because he had wanted to capture it in the snare of thought. The body was certainly not the self, and the game of the senses wasn't, and in the same way neither thoughts, nor the rational mind, nor learned wisdom, nor the learned ability to draw conclusions and to develop new thoughts from prior ones was the self. No, this world of thought was also still on this side, and it was pointless to kill the coincidental self of the senses, if the coincidental self of thoughts and learned knowledge was fattened thereby. Both, the thoughts as well as the senses, were pretty things, and the ultimate meaning was hidden behind both of them. Both had to be listened to, both had to be played with, both should be neither scorned nor overestimated; both secret voices of the innermost truth had to be clearly perceived. He wanted to strive for nothing but what the voice commanded him to strive for, dwell on nothing but what the voice would have him do. Why had Gotama, in the hour of all hours, seated himself down under the fig tree where the enlightenment struck 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 be obedient like this (not to an external command, only to the voice), to be ready like this, was both good and 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. Govinda looked sad, and in a sad voice he asked: “Why have you forsaken me?” At this, Siddhartha embraced Govinda, wrapped his arms around him, and as he was pulling Govinda close to his chest and kissed him, it was not Govinda any more, but a female, and out of the female gown poured a spring from a full breast, at which Siddhartha lay and drank, and strong and sweet did the milk from this breast taste. It tasted of woman and man, of sun and forest, of animal and flower, of every fruit, of every desire. It made him drunk and 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 while the wide water had a reddish sheen in the morning light.

“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. One can learn much from a river.”

“I thank you, my benefactor,” spoke Siddhartha, disembarking on the other side of the river. “I have no gift I could give you for your hospitality, good sir, and also no payment for your work. I am a man without a home, a son of a Brahmin and a Samana.”

“I did see it,” spoke the ferryman, “and I expected no payment from you and no gift in exchange for hospitality. 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 comes again! You too, Samana, will come again. Now farewell! Let your friendship be my reward. May you think of me when you 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. They are all submissive, they all want to be friends, happily obeying and not thinking much. People are all like children.”

Around noon, he passed through a village. In front of the mud cottages, children were rolling about in the street, playing with pumpkinseeds and sea-shells, screaming and wrestling. The children all fled timidly 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 at him with a smile; he saw the white in her eyes glistening. He called out a blessing to her, as is customary among travelers, and asked how far he still had to go to reach the large city. Then she got up and came to him, her moist lips shimmering beautifully 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 when they want to initiate sexual pleasure with a man of the kind 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 desire; her eyes, with contracted pupils, begged with longing.

Siddhartha also felt desire and felt the source of his sexuality stirring; but since he had never touched a woman before, he hesitated for a moment; his hands were already prepared to reach out for her. And in this moment he heard, shuddering with awe, the voice of 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 sweaty glance of a female animal in heat. Politely, he petted her cheek, turned away from her and, with light steps, he vanished away from the disappointed woman into the bamboo wood.

On this day, he reached the large city before the evening. He was happy, for he felt the need to be among people. He had lived in the forests for quite some time, and the straw hut of the ferryman, in which he had slept that night, had been the first roof in a long while that had been over his head.

Before the city, in a beautifully fenced grove, the traveler 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 on red pillows under a colorful canopy—their mistress. Siddhartha stopped at the entrance to the pleasure-garden and watched the parade; he saw the servants, the maids, the baskets, the sedan-chair and the lady within it. Under black hair, which towered high on her head, he saw a very fair, very delicate, and very smart face; a bright red mouth, like a freshly cracked fig, eyebrows which were well tended and painted in a high arch, and intelligent, watchful, dark eyes adorned this face. She had a clear, tall neck rising from a gold and green garment, still, fair hands that were long and thin, and wide golden bracelets over her 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 the intelligent eyes with the high arches above it, breathed in a slight fragrance which he did not know. With a smile, the beautiful women nodded for a moment and disappeared into the grove, and then the servants went 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 became aware of how the servants and maids had looked at him at the entrance, with scorn, with mistrust, with rejection.

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.

He asked the next person who came along his way about the grove and the name of the woman, and he was told that this was the grove of Kamala, the famous courtesan, and that in addition to the grove, she owned a house in the city.

He then entered the city. He now had a goal.

He allowed the city to suck him in as he pursued his goal. He drifted through the flow of the streets, stood still in the squares, rested on the the stone stairs by the river. When evening came, he became friends with a barber's assistant whom he had seen working in the shade of a building's arch, whom he found again praying in a temple of Vishnu, and whom he told stories of Vishnu and the Lakshmi. He slept among the boats by the river 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 bathe in the river.

When the beautiful Kamala approached her grove in her sedan-chair late in the afternoon, Siddhartha was standing at the entrance. He made a bow and received the courtesan's greeting. He motioned to the servant who walked at the very end of her train and asked him to inform his mistress that a young Brahmin would like to speak with her. After a while, the servant returned, gesturing for the guest to follow him. Without a word the servant conducted Siddhartha into a pavilion, where Kamala was lying on a couch, and the servant left him alone with her.

“Weren't you standing out there just yesterday, greeting me?” asked Kamala.

“It's true that I've seen you and greeted you only yesterday.”

“But didn't you wear a beard yesterday, and have long hair with dust in it?”

“You have observed well; you have seen everything. You have seen Siddhartha, the son of a Brahmin, who has left his home to become a Samana, and who has been a Samana for three years. But I have now left that path and come into this city, and, even before I had entered the city, the first one I met was you. I say this: I have come to you, O Kamala! You are the first woman whom Siddhartha addresses without downcast eyes. I never again want to turn my eyes toward the ground when I encounter a beautiful woman.”

Kamala smiled and played with her fan of peacock feathers. She asked: “Was it only to tell me this that 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 loincloth! Many young men come to me, and among them are also sons of Brahmins, but they come in beautiful clothes and fine shoes, with perfume in their hair and money in their pouches. This, oh Samana, is what the young men who come to me are like.”

Said Siddhartha: “I am already starting to learn from you. I was already learning even yesterday. I have already taken off my beard, combed my hair, and have oil in my hair. There is little that I still lack, O excellent one: fine clothes, fine shoes, and money in my pouch. You should know that Siddhartha has set harder goals for himself than such trifles, and he has reached them. How then should I not reach the 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 that which you should teach me. And so: you aren't satisfied with Siddhartha as he is, with oil in his hair, but without clothes, shoes, or money?”

Laughing, Kamala exclaimed: “No, precious, 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 that come 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, do you not have any fear of the Samana from the forest who has come here to learn love?”

“Why should I fear 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 fears nothing. He could force you, beautiful girl. He could abduct you. He could hurt you.”

“No, Samana, I am not afraid of this. Did any Samana or Brahmin ever fear that 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. It is like this, precisely like this, with Kamala and with the pleasures of love. Kamala's mouth is beautiful and red, but just try to kiss it against Kamala's will, and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from that which knows how to give so many sweet things! You are learning easily, Siddhartha, and you should also learn this: love can be obtained by begging, buying, receiving it as a gift, or finding it in the street, but it cannot be stolen. In this, you have come up with the wrong plan. No, it would be a pity if a handsome young man like you would attack it in such a wrong manner.”

Siddhartha bowed with a smile. “It would be a pity, Kamala, you are 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 has what he still lacks: clothes, shoes, money. But speak, lovely Kamala, couldn't you still give me one small piece of advice?”

“A piece of advice? Why not? Who wouldn't want to give advice to a poor, ignorant Samana coming from the jackals of the forest?”

“Dear Kamala, then advise me about where I should go to find these three things most readily?”

“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. No, on the contrary, I can also write poetry. Would you like to give me a kiss for a poem?”

“I will do that if your poem pleases me. What is it called, then?”

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

Into her shady grove stepped the beautiful Kamala,

At the grove's entrance stood the brown Samana.

Spotting the lotus's blossom, deeply

Bowed that man, and, smiling, Kamala thanked him.

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

More lovely are offerings to beautiful Kamala.

Kamala clapped her hands loudly so that the golden bracelets jingled.

“Your verses are beautiful, oh brown Samana, and I'm truly 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 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 a long, well-ordered, well-practiced sequence of kisses, every one different from the others, that 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 were revealed before his eyes.

“Very beautiful are your verses,” exclaimed Kamala, “if I were rich, I would give you pieces of gold for them. But it will be difficult for you to earn as much money as you need with verses. 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 think, fast, and make 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 can't do it, either. It is very good that you're able to read and write, very good. You will also find use for those magic spells.”

In this moment, a maid came running in and whispered a message into her mistress's ear.

“I have a visitor,” 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 Brahmin white garments. Without fully understanding what was happening to him, Siddhartha found himself being dragged away by the maid, brought into a garden-house by 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.

Content, 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. Content, he returned to the city, carrying the rolled-up garments under his arm. At the inn where travelers stay, he positioned himself by the door, asking without words 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 for him to beg. He gave the rice cake to a dog and remained without food.

“The life which people lead here in this world is easy,” 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 lesson in kissing which Kamala is giving me. I need clothes and money, nothing else; this is a small, near goal, and nobody would lose sleep over it.”

He had already discovered Kamala's house in the city long before, and he showed up there 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 you please him, he'll accept you into his service. Be shrewd, brown Samana. I told him about you through others. Be polite towards him; he is very powerful. But don't be too modest! I don't 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 likes 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 or today, she sent for bread and fruits and treated him to them.

“You've been lucky,” she said when they parted, “I'm opening one door after another for you. How does that happen? Do you have a spell?”

Siddhartha said: “Yesterday, I told you I knew how to think, to wait, and to fast. You, however, thought this was of no use. Yet it is useful for many things, Kamala; you'll see. You'll see that the stupid Samanas learn and accomplish many beautiful things in the forest that you all cannot. The day before yesterday, I was still a shaggy beggar; as soon as yesterday I kissed Kamala, and soon I'll be a merchant and have money and all those things that you value.”

“Well yes,” she admitted. “But where would you be without me? What would you be, if Kamala weren't helping you?”

“Dear Kamala,” said Siddhartha he straightened up to his full height, “when I came to you into your grove, I took the first step. It was my resolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman. From the moment 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 hurries 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 foolish people call magic and what they think is brought about by means of the demons. Nothing is caused by demons; there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic; everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, to wait, and 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 women, and that therefore good fortune is coming towards him.”

Siddhartha took his leave with a kiss. “May it be so, my teacher; may my glance always please you, may good fortune always come to me from your direction!”