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Dedicated to Wilhelm Gu, my cousin in JapanSiddhartha learned something new on every step of his path, for the world was transformed, and his heart was ented. He saw the sun rising over the mountains with their forests aing over the distant beach with its palm-trees. At night, he saw the stars in the sky in their fixed positions and the crest 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 m, 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, destio be peed aroyed by thought, si was not the essential existence, sihis essence lay beyond, oher 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 searg, 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 uhe sail was a ship full of treasures, full of joy. Siddhartha saw a group of apes moving through the high opy 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 st of strength and passion came forcefully out of the hasty eddies of the water, which the pike stirred up, impe<big></big>tuously 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 art 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 Gardeavana, the teag he had heard there, the divine Buddha, the farewell from Govinda, the versation 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 know this time. What he had said to Gotama: his, the Buddhas, treasure a was not the teags, but the unexpressable and not teachable, which he had experienced in the hour of his enlighte--it was nothing but this very thing which he had now goo experience, what he now began to experienow, 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 wao capture it i 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 clusions 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 oher 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 listeo, both had to be played with, both her had to be sed nor overestimated, from both the secret voices of the innermost truth had to be attentively perceived. He wao strive for nothing, except for what the voianded 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 uhe bo-tree, where the enlighte hit him? He had heard a voice, a voi his ow, which had anded him to seek rest uhis tree, and he had her preferred self-castigation, s, ablutions, nor prayer, her food nor drink, her sleep nor dream, he had obeyed the voice. To obey like this, not to aernal and, 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 iraw 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 forsake this, he embraced Govinda, ed his arms around him, and as he ulling 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 womans 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 unscious.--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 m.
"This is a beautiful river," he said to his panion.
"Yes," said the ferryman, "a very beautiful river, I love it more than anything. Often I have listeo it, often I have looked into its eyes, and always I have learned from it. Much be learned from a river."
"I than you, my beor," spoke Siddhartha, disembarking oher 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 havent expected any payment from you and no gift which would be the fuests to bear. You will give me the gift aime."
"Do you think so?" asked Siddhartha amusedly.
"Surely. This too, I have learned from the river: everything is ing back! You too, Samana, will e baow farewell! Let your friendship be my reward. orate me, when youll make s to the gods."
Smiling, they parted. Smiling, Siddhartha was happy about the friendship and the kindness of the ferryman. "９9ｌib?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 ireet, 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 ong travellers, and asked how far he still had to go to reach the large city. The up and came to him, beautifully her wet mouth was shimmering in her young face. She exged 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 sin 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 tracted pupils, begging with desire.
Siddhartha also felt desire ahe source of his sexuality moving; but since he had ouched 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 womans smiling face, he no longer saw anything else but the damp glance of a female animal i. 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 o 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 oral sedan-chair, sat a woman, the mistress, on red pillows under a colourful opy. Siddhartha stopped at the entrao 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 th 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 <var>９9ｌｉｂ?</var>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 rejeg.
I am still a Samana, he thought, I am still an ascetid beggar. I must not remain like this, I will not be able to ehe grove like this. And he laughed.
The 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 iy.
Theered 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 oairs of stone by the river. When the evening came, he made friends with barbers assistant, whom he had seen w in the shade of an ar 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 m, before the first ers came into his shop, he had the barbers assistant shave his beard and cut his hair, b his hair and anoint it with fine oil. Then he went to take his bath in the river.
When late iernooiful Kamala approached her grove in her sedan-chair, Siddhartha was standing at the entrance, made a bow and received the courtesans greeting. But that servant who walked at the very end of her traiioo him and asked him to inform his mistress that a young Brahman would wish to talk to her. After a while, the servaurned, asked him, who had been waiting, to follow him ducted him, who was following him, without a word into a pavilion, where Kamala was lying on a couch, a him aloh her.
"Werent you already standing out there yesterday, greeting me?" asked Kamala.
"Its true that Ive already seen and greeted you yesterday."
"But didnt you yesterday wear a beard, and long hair, and dust in your hair?"
"You have observed well, you have seehing. You have seen Siddhartha, the son of a Brahman, who has left his home to bee 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 ehe city, was you. To say this, I have e to you, oh Kamala! You are the first woman whom Siddhartha is not addressing with his eyes turo the ground. Never again I want to turn my eyes to the ground, when Im ing across a beautiful woman."
Kamala smiled and played with her fan of peacocks feathers. And asked: "And only to tell me this, Siddhartha has e to me?"
"To tell you this and to thank you for being so beautiful. And if it doesnt displease you, Kamala, I would like to ask you to be my friend and teacher, for I know nothi of that art which you have mastered in the highest degree."
At this, Kamala laughed aloud.
"Never before this has happeo me, my friend, that a Samana from the forest came to me and wao learn from me! Never before this has happeo me, that a Samana came to me with long hair and an old, torn loin-cloth! Many young men e to me, and there are also sons of Brahmans among them, but they e iiful clothes, they e 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 e to me."
Quoth Siddhartha: "Already I am starting to learn from you. Eveerday, I was already learning. I have already taken off my beard, have bed 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 shouldnt I reach that goal, which I have set for myself yesterday: to be your friend and to learn the joys of love from you! Youll see that Ill learn quickly, Kamala, I have already learned harder things than what youre supposed to teach me. And now lets get to it: You arent 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 doesnt 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 ing 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, youll see.--But tell me, beautiful Kamala, arent you at all afraid of the Samana from the forest, who has e to learn how to make love?"
"Whatever for should I be afraid of a Samana, a stupid Samana from the forest, who is ing from the jackals and doesnt even know yet what women are?"
"Oh, hes strong, the Samana, and he isnt 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 e 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 Kamalas mouth, but just try to kiss it against Kamalas will, and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from it, whiows how to give so many sweet things! You are learning easily, Siddhartha, thus you should also learn this: love be obtained by begging, buying, receiving it as a gift, finding it ireet, but it ot be stolen. In this, you have e 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 sht! 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 hell have have what he still lacks: clothes, shoes, money. But speak, lovely Kamala, couldnt you still give me one small advice?"
"An advice? Why not? Who wouldnt like to give an advice to a pnorant Samana, who is ing from the jackals of the forest?"
"Dear Kamala, thus advise me where I should go to, that Ill find these three things most quickly?"
"Friend, many would like to know this. You must do what youve learned and ask for money, clothes, and shoes iurn. There is no other way for a poor man to obtain money. What might you be able to do?"
"I think. I wait. I fast."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing. But yes, I also write poetry. Would you like to give me a kiss for a poem?"
"I would like to, if Ill 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 groves entraood the brown Samana. Deeply, seeing the lotuss blossom, Bowed that man, and smiling Kamala thanked. More lovely, thought the young man, than s fods, More lovely is to pretty Kamala.
Kamala loudly clapped her hands, so that the golden bracelets ged.
"Beautiful are your verses, oh brown Samana, and truly, Im losing nothing when Im giving you a kiss for them."
She beed 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 trolled him, rejected him, lured him, and how after this first ohere 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 remaianding where he was, and was in this moment astonished like a child about the ucopia 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 Kamalas friend."
"The way youre 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 bee of you? Arent 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. "Youre able to read? And write?"
"Certainly, I do this. Many people do this."
"Most people t. I also t do it. It is very good that youre 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 mistresss ear.
"Theres a visitor for me," exclaimed Kamala. "Hurry a yourself away, Siddhartha, nobody may see you in here, remember this! Tomorrow, Ill see you again."
But to the maid she gave the order to give the pious Brahman white upper garments. Without fully uanding 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 admoo get himself out of the grove as soon as possible without being seen.
tently, he did as he had been told. Being aced to the forest, he mao get out of the grove and over the hedge without making a sound. tently, he returo 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 being 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 wont make a person lose any sleep."
He had already discovered Kamalas house iy long before, there he turned up the following day.
"Things are w out well," she called out to him. "They are expeg you at Kamaswamis, he is the richest mert of the city. If hell like you, hell 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 dooo modest! I do not want you to bee his servant, you shall bee his equal, or else I woisfied with you. Kamaswami is starting to get old and lazy. If hell like you, hell entrust you with a lot."
Siddhartha thanked her and laughed, and when she found out that he had en anythierday and today, she sent for bread and fruits and treated him to it.
"Youve been lucky," she said when they parted, "Im opening one door after another for you. How e? 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, youll see. Youll see that the stupid Samanas are learning and able to do many pretty things in the forest, which the likes of you arent capable of. The day before yesterday, I was still a shaggy beggar, as soon as yesterday I have kissed Kamala, and soon Ill be a mert 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 wasnt helping you?"
"Dear Kamala," said Siddhartha and straightened up to his full height, "when I came to you into yrove, 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 khat I would carry it out. I khat you would help me, at your first gla the entrance of the grove I already k."
"But what if I hadnt been willing?"
"You were willing. Look, Kamala: When you throw a roto 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 draws himself fall. His goal attracts him, because he does anythier his soul which might oppose the goal. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. This is what fools call magid of which they think it would be effected by means of the daemons. Nothing is effected by daemons, there are no daemons. Everyone perform magic, everyone reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast."
Kamala listeo 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 therefood fortune is ing 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 e to me out of your dire!"
WITH THE CHILDLIKE PEOPLE
Siddhartha went to Kamaswami the mert, he was directed into a rich house, servants led him between precious carpets into a chamber, where he awaited the master of the house.
Kamaswami entered, a swiftly, smoothly moving man with very gray hair, with very intelligent, cautious eyes, with a greedy mouth. Politely, the host and the guest greeted one another.
"I have been told," the mert began, "that you were a Brahman, a learned man, but that you seek to be in the service of a mert. Might you have bee destitute, Brahman, so that you seek to serve?"
"No," said Siddhartha, "I have not bee destitute and have never beeute. You should know that Im ing from the Samanas, with whom I have lived for a long time."
"If youre ing from the Samanas, how could you be anything but destitute? Arent the Samairely without possessions?"
"I am without possessions," said Siddhartha, "if this is what you mean. Surely, I am without possessions. But I am so voluntarily, and therefore I am not destitute."
"But what are you planning to live of, being without possessions?"
"I havent thought of this yet, sir. For more than three years, I have been without possessions, and have hought about of what I should live."
"So youve lived of the possessions of others."
"Presumable this is how it is. After all, a mert also lives of what other people own."
"Well said. But he wouldnt take anything from another person for nothing; he would give his merdise iurn."
"So it seems to be indeed. Everyoakes, everyone gives, such is life."
"But if you dont mind me asking: being without possessions, what would you like to give?"
"Everyone gives what he has. The warriives strength, the mert gives merdise, the teacher teags, the farmer rice, the fisher fish."
"Yes indeed. And what is it now what youve got to give? What is it that youve learned, what youre able to do?"
"I think. I wait. I fast."
"Thats everything?"
"I believe, thats everything!"
"And whats the use of that? For example, the fasting-- what is it good for?"
"It is very good, sir. When a person has nothing to eat, fasting is the smartest thing he could do. When, for example, Siddhartha hadnt learo fast, he would have to accept any kind of service before this day is up, whether it may be with you or wherever, because hunger would force him to do so. But like this, Siddhartha wait calmly, he knows no impatience, he knows no emergency, for a long time he allow huo besiege him and laugh about it. This, sir, is what fasting is good for."
"Youre right, Samana. Wait for a moment."
Kamaswami left the room aurned with a scroll, which he hao his guest while asking: " you read this?"
Siddhartha looked at the scroll, on which a sales-tract had been written down, and began to read out its tents.
"Excellent," said Kamaswami. "And would you write something for me on this piece of paper?"
He handed him a piece of paper and a pen, and Siddhartha wrote aurhe paper.
Kamaswami read: "Writing is good, thinking is better. Being smart is good, being patient is better."
"It is excellent how youre able to write," the mert praised him. "Many a thing we will still have to discuss with one another. For today, Im asking you to be my guest and to live in this house."
Siddhartha thanked and accepted, and lived in the dealers house from now on. Clothes were brought to him, and shoes, and every day, a servant prepared a bath for him. Twice a day, a plentiful meal was served, but Siddhartha only ate once a day, and ate her meat nor did he drink wine. Kamaswami told him about his trade, showed him the merdise and ste-rooms, showed him calculations. Siddhartha got to know mahings, he heard a lot and spoke little. And thinking of Kamalas words, he was never subservient to the mert, forced him to treat him as an equal, yes even more than an equal. Kamaswami ducted his business with care and often with passion, but Siddhartha looked upon all of this as if it was a game, the rules of which he tried hard to learn precisely, but the tents of which did not touch his heart.
He was not in Kamaswamis house for long, when he already took part in his landlords business. But daily, at the hour appointed by her, he visited beautiful Kamala, wearing pretty clothes, fine shoes, and soon he brought her gifts as well. Much he learned from her red, smart mouth. Much he learned from her tender, supple hand. Him, who was, regarding love, still a boy and had a tendency to plunge blindly and insatiably into lust like into a bottomless pit, him she taught, thhly starting with the basics, about that school of thought which teaches that pleasure ot be be taken without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every look, every spot of the body, however small it was, had its secret, which would bring happio those who know about it and unleash it. She taught him, that lovers must not part from one another after celebrating love, without one admiring the other, without being just as defeated as they have been victorious, so that with none of them should start feeling fed up or bored ahat evil feeling of having abused or having been abused. Wonderful hours he spent with the beautiful and smart artist, became her student, her lover, her friend. Here with Kamala was the worth and purpose of his present life, nit with the business of Kamaswami.
The mert passed to duties of writing importaers and tracts on to him and got into the habit of discussing all important affairs with him. He soon saw that Siddhartha knew little about rid wool, shipping and trade, but that he acted in a fortunate manner, and that Siddhartha surpassed him, the mert, in ess and equanimity, and i of listening and deeply uanding previously unknown people. "This Brahman," he said to a friend, "is no proper mert and will never be ohere is never any passion in his soul when he ducts our business. But he has that mysterious quality of those people to whom success es all by itself, whether this may be a good star of his birth, magic, or something he has learned among Samanas. He always seems to be merely playing with out business-affairs, they never fully bee a part of him, they never rule over him, he is never afraid of failure, he is never upset by a loss."
The friend advised the mert: "Give him from the business he ducts for you a third of the profits, but let him also be liable for the same amount of the losses, when there is a loss. Then, hell beore zealous."
Kamaswami followed the advice. But Siddhartha cared little about this. When he made a profit, he accepted it with equanimity; when he made losses, he laughed and said: "Well, look at this, so this ourned out badly!"
It seemed indeed, as if he did not care about the business. At oime, he travelled to a village to buy a large harvest of rice there. But whe there, the rice had already been sold to another mert. heless, Siddhartha stayed for several days in that village, treated the farmers for a drink, gave copper-s to their children, joined in the celebration of a wedding, aurremely satisfied from his trip. Kamaswami held against him that he had not turned back right away, that he had wasted time and money. Siddhartha answered: "Stop scolding, dear friend! Nothing was ever achieved by scolding. If a loss has occurred, let me bear that loss. I am very satisfied with this trip. I have gotten to know many kinds of people, a Brahman has bey friend, children have sat on my knees, farmers have showheir fields, nobody khat I was a mert."
"Thats all very nice," exclaimed Kamaswami indignantly, "but in fact, you are a mert after all, one ought to think! ht you have only travelled for your amusement?"
"Surely," Siddhartha laughed, "surely I have travelled for my amusement. For what else? I have gotten to know people and places, I have received kindness and trust, I have found friendship. Look, my dear, if I had been Kamaswami, I would have travelled back, being annoyed and in a hurry, as soon as I had seen that my purchase had been rendered impossible, and time and money would indeed have been lost. But like this, Ive had a few good days, Ive learned, had joy, Ive her harmed myself nor others by annoyand hastiness. And if Ill ever return there again, perhaps to buy an uping harvest, or for whatever purpose it might be, friendly people will receive me in a friendly and happy manner, and I will praise myself for not showing any hurry and displeasure at that time. So, leave it as it is, my friend, and dont harm yourself by scolding! If the day will e, when you will see: this Siddhartha is harmihen speak a word and Siddhartha will go on his own path. But until thes be satisfied with one another."
Futile were also the merts attempts, to vince Siddhartha that he should eat his bread. Siddhartha ate his own bread, or rather they both ate other peoples bread, all peoples bread. Siddhartha never listeo Kamaswamis worries and Kamaswami had many worries. Whether there was a business-deal going on which was in danger of failing, or whether a shipment of merdise seemed to have been lost, or a debtor seemed to be uo pay, Kamaswami could never vince his parthat it would be useful to utter a few words of worry er, to have wrinkles on the forehead, to sleep badly. When, one day, Kamaswami held against him that he had learned everything he knew from him, he replied: "Would you please not kid me with such jokes! What Ive learned from you is how much a basket of fish costs and how muterests may be charged on loaned mohese are your areas of expertise. I havent learo think from you, my dear Kamaswami, you ought to be the one seeking to learn from me."
Indeed his soul was not with the trade. The business was good enough to provide him with the money for Kamala, and it earned him much more than he needed. Besides from this, Siddharthas i and curiosity was only ed with the people, whose businesses, crafts, worries, pleasures, and acts of foolishness used to be as alien and distant to him as the moon. However easily he succeeded in talking to all of them, in living with all of them, in learning from all of them, he was still aware that there was something which separated him from them and this separating factor was him being a Samana. He saw mankind going trough life in a childlike or animallike manner, which he loved and also despised at the same time. He saw them toiling, saw them suffering, and being gray for the sake of things which seemed to him to entirely unworthy of this price, for money, for little pleasures, for being slightly honoured, he saw them scolding and insulting each other, he saw <tt></tt>them plaining about pain at which a Samana would only smile, and suffering because of deprivations which a Samana would not feel.
He en to everything, these people brought his way. Wele was the mert who offered him linen for sale, wele was the debtor who sought another loan, wele was the beggar who told him for one hour the story of his poverty and who was not half as poor as any given Samana. He did not treat the rich fn mert any different than the servant who shaved him and the street-vendor whom he let cheat him out of some small ge when buying bananas. When Kamaswami came to him, to plain about his worries or to reproach him ing his business, he listened curiously and happily, uzzled by him, tried to uand him, sehat he was a little bit right, only as much as he sidered indispensable, and turned away from him, towards the person who would ask for him. And there were many who came to him, many to do business with him, many to cheat him, many to draw some secret out of him, many to appeal to his sympathy, many to get his advice. He gave advice, he pitied, he made gifts, he let them cheat him a bit, and this entire game and the passion with which all people played this game occupied his thoughts just as much as the gods and Brahmans used to occupy them.
At times he felt, deep in his chest, a dying, quiet voice, which admonished him quietly, lamented quietly; he hardly perceived it. And then, for an hour, he became aware of the strange life he was leading, of him doing lots of things which were only a game, of, though being happy and feeling joy at times, real life still passing him by and not toug him. As a ball-player plays with his balls, he played with his business-deals, with the people around him, watched them, found amusement in them; with his heart, with the source of his being, he was not with them. The source ran somewhere, far away from him, ran and ran invisibly, had nothing to do with his life any more. And at several times he suddenly became scared on at of such thoughts and wished that he would also be gifted with the ability to participate in all of this childlike-naive occupations of the daytime with passion and with his heart, really to live, really to act, really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator. But again and again, he came back to beautiful Kamala, learhe art of love, practised the cult of lust, in which more than in anything else giving and taking bees one, chatted with her, learned from her, gave her advice, received advice. She uood him better than Govinda used to uand him, she was more similar to him.
Once, he said to her: "You are like me, you are different from most people. You are Kamala, nothing else, and inside of you, there is a pead refuge, to which you go at every hour of the day a home at yourself, as I also do. Few people have this, a all could have it."
"Not all people are smart," said Kamala.
"No," said Siddhartha, "thats not the reason why. Kamaswami is just as smart as I, and still has ne in himself. Others have it, who are small children with respect to their mind. Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, which is blown and is turning around through the air, and wavers, and tumbles to the ground. But others, a few, are like stars, they go on a fixed course, no wind reaches them, in themselves they have their law and their course. Among all the learned men and Samanas, of which I knew many, there was one of this kind, a perfected one, Ill never be able tet him. It is that Gotama, the exalted one, who is spreading that teags. Thousands of followers are listening to his teags every day, follow his instrus every hour, but they are all falling leaves, not in themselves they have teags and a law."
Kamala looked at him with a smile. "Again, youre talking about him," she said, "again, youre having a Samanas thoughts."
Siddhartha said nothing, and they played the game of love, one of the thirty or forty different games Kamala knew. Her body was flexible like that of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter; he who had learned from her how to make love, was knowledgeable of many forms of lust, mas. For a long time, she played with Siddhartha, enticed him, rejected him, forced him, embraced him: enjoyed his masterful skills, until he was defeated aed exhausted by her side.
The courtesa over him, took a long look at his face, at his eyes, which had grown tired.
"You are the best lover," she said thoughtfully, "I ever saw. Youre strohan others, more supple, more willing. Youve learned my art well, Siddhartha. At some time, when Ill be older, Id want to bear your child. A, my dear, youve remained a Samana, a you do not love me, you love nobody. Isnt it so?"
"It might very well be so," Siddhartha said tiredly. "I am like you. You also do not love--how else could you practise love as a craft? Perhaps, people of our kind t love. The childlike people ; thats their secret."
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