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.”
excerpt from Siddhartha by Herman Hesse
