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, 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 fragrance, 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.

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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 the 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 Brahmin would wish to talk to her. After a while, the servant returned, asked him, who had been waiting, to follow him, and conducted 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 Brahmin, 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 loincloth! Many young men come to me, and there are also sons of Brahmins Siddhartha: An Open-Source Text

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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.”

Siddhartha replied, “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 Brahmin 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.”

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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 what he still lacks: clothes, shoes, money. But speak, lovely Kamala, couldn’t you still give me some small advice?”

From the reading. . .

“Did any Samana or Brahmin ever fear, someone might come and grab him and steal his learning, and his religious devotion, and his depth of thought? . . . Like this it is, precisely like this it is also with Kamala and with the pleasures of love.”

“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.”