“Weren’t you standing out there yesterday, greeting me?” asked Kamala.
“It’s true that I saw 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, O 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, 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 has this happened to me, my friend, that a Samana from the forest came to me and wanted to learn from me! Never before has this happened to me, that a Samana comes to me with long hair and an old, torn loincloth! Many young men come to me, and there are also sons of Brahmins 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, O Samana, what 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 my hair, have oil in my hair. There is little which is still missing in me, O 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?”
“Why 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 that. 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. 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 what he still lacks: clothes, shoes, money. But speak, lovely Kamala, couldn’t you still give me one small piece of advice?”
“Advice? Why not? Who wouldn’t like to give 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
