2. Explain the passage, “But never, had he really found this self, because he had wanted to capture it in the net of thought.” Why cannot my “self”
be thought?
41
Chapter 5. Kamala
3. What is the significance of Siddhartha’s dream when he slept by the river.
Does your interpretation of Siddhartha’s dream reflect the recent change in Siddhartha’s world view?
4. Siddhartha seems to think the ferryman is one of the childlike people.
Nevertheless, can you find evidence in this chapter that the ferryman seems to have mystical powers?
5. In the encounter with the young woman by the stream, why did not Siddhartha stay with her? Why, later, does he overlook this encounter when he says to Kamala, “. . . and the first one I met, even before I had entered the city, was you”?
6. Interpret the significance of the keys to Siddhartha’s abilities and success in terms of his stated litany, “I can think, I can wait, I can fast.”
7. Explain Siddhartha’s characterization of the nature of magic in terms of the doctrine of noneffort.
The Reading Selection from “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 cres-cent 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 height mountains which were blue and pale, birds sang and bees buzzed, 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 42
Siddhartha: An Open-Source Text
Chapter 5. Kamala
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 inexpressible 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, had he 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, neither had to be scorned nor had to be 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 Siddhartha: An Open-Source Text
43
Chapter 5. Kamala
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.
From the reading. . .
“. . . he had already known for a long time that his self was Atman, in its essence bearing the same eternal characteristics as Brahman.”
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 reddish 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 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, my dear, 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 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 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 44
Siddhartha: An Open-Source Text
Chapter 5. Kamala
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.”
Children, Madras, Library of Congress
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 seashells, 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 travelers, 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 bent 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 Siddhartha: An Open-Source Text
45
Chapter 5. Kamala
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.
From the reading. . .
“Much can be learned from a river.”
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.
