For a long time, Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men, practis- ing debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of reflection. Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Adobe PDF icon. Download this document as a. pdf: File size: MB What's this? light bulb idea Many people prefer to read. Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg.
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Siddharta - Hermann Hesse - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or several times before the war, and wrote Siddhartha, the story of an Indian. Books Download Siddhartha (PDF, Kindle) by Hermann Hesse Complete Read Online. You can download all the latest and older version of Siddhartha PDF for free. El escritor expresa en este libro su amor y su sensibilidad por la cultura, las.
A major preoccupation of Hesse in writing Siddhartha was to cure his "sickness with life" Lebenskrankheit by immersing himself in Indian philosophy such as that expounded in the Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita. In an attempt to do so, Hesse lived as a virtual semi- recluse and became totally immersed in the sacred teachings of both Hindu and Buddhist scriptures.
His intention was to attain to that 'completeness' which, in the novel, is the Buddha 's badge of distinction. True, but it's not just intellectual cognition, not just learning and knowing, but spiritual experience that can be earned only through strict discipline in a selfless life". It stars Shashi Kapoor and was directed by Conrad Rooks. In , a surrealistic adaptation as a musical Western was released as Zachariah. John Rubinstein starred in the title role and George Englund was the director.
Don Johnson played Matthew, the equivalent of Govinda. He forms attachments and begets a household of servants and wealth. Through experiencimg such things, he learns that they are shallow and transitory; they will never create the feeling of lasting happiness within his soul, so he walks out once more with the full realisation that peace can only come from one place: himself.
I had to experience despair, I had to sink to the greatest mental depths, to thoughts of suicide, in order to experience grace. Suffering exists, suffering will always exist, and it is how we deal with this suffering that defines us: it is how we pick ourselves up afterwards not letting it ruin our lives, and those around us, that makes us stronger.
In this Hesse capture something extremely difficult to put into words, which is something the novel frequently recognises. How does one accurately define these vague concepts of belief? So we rely on allegories to teach us these ideals, to make us understand that happiness is not equitable with materialism, and to make us realise that seeking something too ardently may mean we miss it altogether.
You have done so by your own seeking, in your own way, through thought, through mediation, through knowledge, through enlightenment. You have learned nothing through teachings, and so I think, O Illustrious One, that nobody finds salvation through teachings. To nobody, O Illustrious One, can you communicate in words and teachings what happened to you in the hour of your enlightenment.
The teachings of the enlightened Buddha embrace much, they teach much - how to live righteously, how to avoid evil. But there is one thing that this clear, worthy instruction does not contain; it does not contain the secret of what the Illustrious One himself experienced - he alone among hundreds of thousands.
That is what I thought and realized when I heard your teachings. That is why I am going on my way - not to seek another and better doctrine, for I know there is none, but to leave all doctrines and all teachers and to reach my goal alone - or die.
But I will often remember this day, O Illustrious One, and this hour when my eyes beheld a holy man. But tell me, have you seen my gathering of holy men, my many brothers who have sworn allegiance to the teachings? Do you think, O Samana from afar, that it would be better for all these to relinquish the teachings and to return to the life of the world and desires?
May they reach their goal! It is not for me to judge another life. I must judge for myself. I must choose and reject. If I were one of your followers, I fear that it would only be on the surface, that I would deceive myself that I was at peace and had attained salvation, while in truth the Self would continue to live and grow, for it would have been transformed into your teachings, into my allegiance and love for you and for the community of the monks.
Be on your guard against too much cleverness. I have never seen a man look and smile, sit and walk like that, he thought. I, also, would like to look and smile, sit and walk like that, so free, so worthy, so restrained, so candid, so childlike and mysterious.
A man only looks and walks like that when he has conquered his Self. I also will conquer my Self. I have seen one man, one man only, thought Siddhartha, before whom I must lower my eyes. I will never lower my eyes before any other man. No other teachings will attract me, since this man's teachings have not done so. The Buddha has robbed me, thought Siddhartha. He has robbed me, yet he has given me something of greater value.
He has robbed me of my friend, who believed in me and who now believes in him; he was my shadow and is now Gotama's shadow. But he has given to me Siddhartha, myself.
As Siddhartha left the grove in which the Buddha, the Perfect One, remained, in which Govinda remained, he felt that he had also left his former life behind him in the grove.
As he slowly went on his way, his head was full of this thought. He reflected deeply, until this feeling completely overwhelmed him and he reached a point where he recognized causes; for to recognize causes, it seemed to him, is to think, and through thought alone feelings become knowledge and are not lost, but become real and begin to mature.
Siddhartha reflected deeply as he went on his way. He realized that he was no longer a youth; he was now a man. He realized that something had left him, like the old skin that a snake sheds. He had left the last teacher he had met, even he, the greatest and wisest teacher, the holiest, the Buddha.
He had to leave him; he could not accept his teachings. Slowly the thinker went on his way and asked himself: What is it that you wanted to learn from teachings and teachers, and although they taught you much, what was it they could not teach you? And he thought: It was the Self, the character and nature of which I wished to learn. I wanted to rid myself of the Self, to conquer it, but I could not conquer it, I could only deceive it, could only fly from it, could only hide from it.
Truly, nothing in the world has occupied my thoughts as much as the Self, this riddle, that I live, that I am one and am separated and different from everybody else, that I am Siddhartha; and about nothing in the world do I know less than about myself, about Siddhartha.
The thinker, slowly going on his way, suddenly stood still, gripped by this thought, and another thought immediately arose from this one.
It was: The reason why I do not know anything about myself, the reason why Siddhartha has remained alien and unknown to myself is due to one thing, to one single thing - I was afraid of myself, I was fleeing from myself. I was seeking Brahman, Atman, I wished to destroy myself, to get away from myself, in order to find in the unknown innermost, the nucleus of all things, Atman, Life, the Divine, the Absolute.
But by doing so, I lost myself on the way. Siddhartha looked up and around him, a smile crept over his face, and a strong feeling of awakening from a long dream spread right through his being. Immediately he walked on again, quickly, like a man who knows what he has to do. Yes, he thought breathing deeply, I will no longer try to escape from Siddhartha.
I will no longer devote my thoughts to Atman and the sorrows of the world. I will no longer mutilate and destroy myself in order to find a secret behind the ruins. I will no longer study Yoga-Veda, Atharva-Veda, or asceticism, or any other teachings. I will learn from myself, be my own pupil; I will learn from myself the secret of Siddhartha.
He looked around him as if seeing the world for the first time. The world was beautiful, strange and mysterious. Here was blue, here was yellow, here was green, sky and river, woods and mountains, all beautiful, all mysterious and enchanting, and in the midst of it, he, Siddhartha, the awakened one, on the way to himself.
All this, all this yellow and blue, river and wood, passed for the first time across Siddhartha's eyes. River was river, and if the One and Divine in Siddhartha secretly lived in blue and river, it was just the divine art and intention that there should be yellow and blue, there sky and wood - and here Siddhartha. Meaning and reality were not hidden somewhere behind things, they were in them, in all of them. How deaf and stupid I have been, he thought, walking on quickly.
When anyone reads anything which he wishes to study, he does not despise the letters and punctuation marks, and call them illusion, chance and worthless shells, but he reads them, he studies and loves them, letter by letter. But I, who wished to read the book of the world and the book of my own nature, did presume to despise the letters and signs. I called the world of appearances, illusion. I called my eyes and tongue, chance. Now it is over; I have awakened. I have indeed awakened and have only been born today.
But as these thoughts passed through Siddhartha's mind, he suddenly stood still, as if a snake lay in his path. Then suddenly this also was clear to him: When he left the Jetavana grove that morning, the grove of the Illustrious One, already awakened, already on the way to himself, it was his intention and it seemed the natural course for him after the years of his asceticism to return to his home and his father.
Now, however, in that moment as he stood still, as if a snake lay in his path, this thought also came to him: I am no longer what I was, I am no longer an ascetic, no longer a priest, no longer a Brahmin. What then shall I do at home with my father? Offer sacrifices? Practice meditation? All this is over for me now.
Siddhartha stood still and for a moment an icy chill stole over him. He shivered inwardly like a small animal, like a bird or a hare, when he realized how alone he was. He had been homeless for years and had not felt like this. Now he did feel it. Previously, when in deepest meditation, he was still his father's son, he was a Brahmin of high standing, a religious man.
Now he was only Siddhartha, the awakened; otherwise nothing else. He breathed in deeply and for a moment he shuddered. Nobody was so alone as he. He was no nobleman, belonging to any aristocracy, no artisan belonging to any guild and finding refuge in it, sharing its life and language. He was no Brahmin, sharing the life of the Brahmins, no ascetic belonging to the Samanas. Even the most secluded hermit in the woods was not one and alone; he also belonged to a class of people.
Govinda had become a monk and thousands of monks were his brothers, wore the same gown, shared his beliefs and spoke his language. But he, Siddhartha, where did he belong? Whose life would he share? Whose language would he speak? That was the last shudder of his awakening, the last pains of birth. Immediately he moved on again and began to walk quickly and impatiently, no longer homewards, no longer to his father, no longer looking backwards.
Siddhartha learned something new on every step of his path, for the world was transformed and he was enthralled. He saw the sun rise over forest and mountains and set over the distant palm shore. At night he saw the stars in the heavens and the sickle-shaped moon floating like a boat in the blue. He saw trees, stars, animals, clouds, rainbows, rocks, weeds, flowers, brook and river, the sparkle of dew on bushes in the morning, distant high mountains blue and pale; birds sang, bees hummed, the wind blew gently across the rice fields.
All this, colored and in a thousand different forms, had always been there. The sun and moon had always shone; the rivers had always flowed and the bees had hummed, but in previous times all this had been nothing to Siddhartha but a fleeting and illusive veil before his eyes, regarded with distrust, condemned to be disregarded and ostracized from the thoughts, because it was not reality, because reality lay on the other side of the visible.
But now his eyes lingered on this side; he saw and recognized the visible and he sought his place in this world. He did not seek reality; his goal was not on any other side. The world was beautiful when looked at in this way - without, any seeking, so simple, so childlike. The moon and the stars were beautiful, the brook, the shore, the forest and rock, the goat and the golden beetle, the flower and butterfly were beautiful. It was beautiful and pleasant to go through the world like that, so childlike, so awakened, so concerned with the immediate, without any distrust.
Elsewhere, the sun burned fiercely, elsewhere there was cool in the forest shade; elsewhere there were pumpkins and bananas. The days and nights were short, every hour passed quickly like a sail on the sea, beneath the sail of a ship of treasures, full of joy. Siddhartha saw a group of monkeys in the depths of the forest, moving about high in the branches, and heard their wild eager cries.
Siddhartha saw a ram follow a sheep and mate. In a lake of rushes he saw the pike making chase in evening hunger. Swarms of young fishes, fluttering and glistening, moved anxiously away from it. Strength and desire were reflected in the swiftly moving whirls of water formed by the raging pursuer. All this had always been and he had never seen it; he was never present. Now he was present and belonged to it.
Through his eyes he saw light and shadows; through his mind he was aware of moon and stars. On the way, Siddhartha remembered all that he had experienced in the garden of Jetavana, the teachings that he had heard there from the holy Buddha, the parting from Govinda and the conversation with the Illustrious One. He remembered each word that he had said to the Illustrious One, and he was astonished that he had said things which he did not then really know.
What he had said to the Buddha - that the Buddha's wisdom and secret was not teachable, that it was inexpressible and incommunicable - and which he had once experienced in an hour of enlightenment, was just what he had now set off to experience, what he was now beginning to experience.
He must gain experience himself. He had known for a long time that his Self was Atman, of the same eternal nature as Brahman, but he had never really found his Self, because he had wanted to trap it in the net of thoughts. The body was certainly not the Self, nor the play of senses, nor thought, nor understanding, nor acquired wisdom or art with which to draw conclusions and from already existing thoughts to spin new thoughts.
No, this world of thought was still on this side, and it led to no goal when one destroyed the senses of the incidental Self but fed it with thoughts and erudition. Both thought and the senses were fine things, behind both of them lay hidden the last meaning; it was worth while listening to them both, to play with both, neither to despise nor overrate either of them, but to listen intently to both voices.
He would only strive after whatever the inward voice commanded him, not tarry anywhere but where the voice advised him. Why did Gotama once sit down beneath the bo tree in his greatest hour when he received enlightenment? He had heard a voice, a voice in his own heart which commanded him to seek rest under this tree, and he had not taken recourse to mortification of the flesh, sacrifices, bathings or prayers, eating or drinking, sleeping or dreaming; he had listened to the voice.
To obey no other external command, only the voice, to be prepared - that was good, that was necessary. Nothing else was necessary. During the night, as he slept in a ferryman's straw hut, Siddhartha had a dream. He dreamt that Govinda stood before him, in the yellow robe of the ascetic. Govinda looked sad and asked him, "Why did you leave me? It tasted of woman and man, of sun and forest, of animal and flower, of every fruit, of every pleasure.
It was intoxicating. When Siddhartha awoke, the pale river shimmered past the door of the hut, and in the forest the cry of an owl rang out, deep and clear. As the day began, Siddhartha asked his host, the ferryman, to take him across the river. The ferryman took him across on his bamboo raft. The broad sheet of water glimmered pink in the light of the morning. I love it above everything. I have often listened to it, gazed at it, and I have always learned something from it. One can learn much from a river.
I am homeless, a Brahmin's son and a Samana. You will give it to me some other time. I have learned that from the river too; everything comes back. You, too, Samana, will come back. Now farewell, may your friendship be my payment! May you think of me when you sacrifice to the gods!
Siddhartha was pleased at the ferryman's friendliness. He is like Govinda, he thought, smiling. All whom I meet on the way are like Govinda.
All are grateful, although they themselves deserve thanks. All are subservient, all wish to be my friend, to obey and to think little. People are children. At midday he passed through a village. Children danced about in the lane in front of the clay huts. They played with pumpkin-stones and mussels. They shouted and wrestled with each other, but ran away timidly when the strange Samana appeared.
At the end of the village, the path went alongside a brook, and at the edge of the brook a young woman was kneeling and washing clothes. When Siddhartha greeted her, she raised her head and looked at him with a smile, so that he could see the whites of her eyes shining. He called across a benediction, as is customary among travellers, and asked how far the road still was to the large town.
Thereupon she stood up and came towards him, her moist lips gleaming attractively in her young face. She exchanged light remarks with him, asked him if he had yet eaten, 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.
She then placed her left foot on his right and made a gesture, such as a woman makes when she invites a man to that kind of enjoyment of love which the holy books call "ascending the tree. Looking up he saw her face smiling, full of desire and her half-closed eyes pleading with longing.
Siddhartha also felt a longing and the stir of sex in him; but as he had never yet touched a woman, he hesitated a moment, although his hands were ready to seize her. At that moment he heard his inward voice and the voice said "No! Gently he stroked her cheek and quickly disappeared from the disappointed woman into the bamboo wood.
Before evening of that day he reached a large town and he was glad, because he had a desire to be with people. He had lived in the woods for a long time and the ferryman's straw hut, in which he had slept the previous night, was the first roof he had had over him for a long time.
Outside the town, by a beautiful unfenced grove, the wanderer met a small train of men and women servants loaded with baskets. In the middle, in an ornamented sedan chair carried by four people, sat a woman, the mistress, on red cushions beneath a colored awning. Siddhartha stood still at the entrance to the grove and watched the procession, the men servants, the maids and the baskets.
He looked at the sedan chair and the lady in it. Beneath heaped-up black hair he saw a bright, very sweet, very clever face, a bright red mouth like a freshly cut fig, artful eyebrows painted in a high arch, dark eyes, clever and observant, and a clear slender neck above her green and gold gown.
The woman's hands were firm and smooth, long and slender, with broad gold bangles on her wrists. Siddhartha saw how beautiful she was and his heart rejoiced. He bowed low as the sedan chair passed close by him, and raising himself again, gazed at the bright fair face, and for a moment into the clever arched eyes, and inhaled the fragrance of a perfume which he did not recognize.
For a moment the beautiful woman nodded and smiled, then disappeared into the grove, followed by her servants. And so, thought Siddhartha, I enter this town under a lucky star. He felt the urge to enter the grove immediately, but he thought it over, for it had just occurred to him how the men servants and maids had looked at him at the entrance, so scornfully, so distrustfully, so dismissing in their glance.
I am still a Samana, he thought, still an ascetic and a beggar. I cannot remain one; I cannot enter the grove like this. And he laughed. He enquired from the first people that he met about the grove and the woman's name, and learned that it was the grove of Kamala, the well- known courtesan, and that besides the grove she owned a house in the town. Then he entered the town. He had only one goal. Pursuing it, he surveyed the town, wandered about in the maze of streets, stood still in places, and rested on the stone steps to the river.
Towards evening he made friends with a barber's assistant, whom he had seen working in the shade of an arch. He found him again at prayer in the temple of Vishnu, where he related to him stories about Vishnu and Lakshmi. During the night he slept among the boats on the river, and early in the morning, before the first customers arrived in the shop, he had his beard shaved off by the barber's assistant.
He also had his hair combed and rubbed with fine oil. Then he went to bathe in the river. When the beautiful Kamala was approaching her grove late in the afternoon in her sedan chair, Siddhartha was at the entrance. He bowed and received the courtesan's greeting. He beckoned the servant who was last in the procession, and asked him to announce to his mistress that a young Brahmin desired to speak to her.
After a time the servant returned, asked Siddhartha to follow him, conducted him silently into a pavilion, where Kamala lay on a couch, and left him. I saw you yesterday and greeted you. You have seen Siddhartha, the Brahmin's son; who left his home in order to become a Samana, and who was a Samana for three years. Now, however, I have left that path and have come to this town, and the first person I met before I reached the town was you.
I have come here to tell you, O Kamala, that you are the first woman to whom Siddhartha has spoken without lowered eyes. Never again will I lower my eyes when I meet a beautiful woman. And if it does not displease you, Kamala, I would like to ask you to be my friend and teacher, for I do not know anything of the art of which you are mistress.
Never has a Samana with long hair and an old torn loincloth come to me. Many young men come to me, including Brahmins' sons, but they come to me in fine clothes, in fine shoes; there is scent in their hair and money in their purses. That is how these young men come to me, O Samana.
I already learned something yesterday. Already I have got rid of my beard, I have combed and oiled my hair. There is not much more that is lacking, most excellent lady: Siddhartha has undertaken to achieve more difficult things than these trifles and has attained them.
Why should I not attain what I decided to undertake yesterday? You will find me an apt pupil, Kamala. I have learned more difficult things than what you have to teach me. So Siddhartha is not good enough for you as he is, with oil in his hair, but without clothes, without shoes and without money! He must have clothes, fine clothes, and shoes, fine shoes, and plenty of money in his purse and presents for Kamala.
Do you know now, Samana from the woods? Do you understand? Your mouth is like a freshly cut fig, Kamala. My lips are also red and fresh, and will fit yours very well, you will see. But tell me, fair Kamala, are you not at all afraid of the Samana from the forest, who has come to learn about love?
He could force you, fair maiden, he could rob you, he could hurt you. Has a Samana or a Brahmin ever feared that someone could come and strike him and rob him of his knowledge, of his piety, of his power for depth of thought? No, because they belong to himself, and he can only give of them what he wishes, and if he wishes. That is exactly how it is with Kamala and with the pleasures of love. Fair and red are Kamala's lips, but try to kiss them against Kamala's will, and not one drop of sweetness will you obtain from them - although they know well how to give sweetness.
You are an apt pupil, Siddhartha, so learn also this. One can beg, download, be presented with and find love in the streets, but it can never be stolen.
You have misunderstood. Yes, it would be a pity if a fine young man like you misunderstood. It would be a very great pity. No, no drops of sweetness must be lost from your lips, nor from mine. So Siddhartha will come again when he has what he is lacking in - clothes, shoes, money. But tell me, fair Kamala, can you not give me a little advice?
Why not? Who would not willingly give advice to a poor, ignorant Samana who comes from the jackals in the forest? You must do what you have learned and obtain money, clothes and shoes for it. A poor man cannot obtain money otherwise. O yes, I can compose poetry. Will you give me a kiss for a poem? What is it called? As he saw the lotus flower, Deeply he bowed. Smiling, acknowledged Kamala, Better, thought the young Samana, To make sacrifices to the fair Kamala Than to ofer sacrifices to the gods.
Kamala clapped her hands loudly, so that the golden bangles tinkled. He put his face against hers, placed his lips against hers, which were like a freshly cut fig.
Kamala kissed him deeply, and to Siddhartha's great astonishment he felt how much she taught him, how clever she was, how she mastered him, repulsed him, lured him, and how after this long kiss, a long series of other kisses, all different, awaited him.
He stood still breathing deeply. At that moment he was like a child astonished at the fullness of knowledge and learning which unfolded itself before his eyes. But it will be hard for you to earn as much money as you want with poetry. For you will need much money if you want to be Kamala's friend.
But what are you going to do? Cannot you do anything else besides think, fast and compose poetry? I also know incantations, but I will not pronounce them any more. I have read the scriptures Many people can do that.
I cannot. It is very good that you know how to read and write, very good. You might even need the incantations. I will see you again tomorrow. Contentedly, he did what he was told. Accustomed to the forest, he made his way silently out of the grove and over the hedge. Contentedly, he returned to the town, carrying his rolledup gown under his arm. He stood at the door of an inn where travellers met, silently begged for food and silently accepted a piece of rice cake.
Perhaps tomorrow, he thought, I will not need to beg for food. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of pride. He was a Samana no longer; it was no longer fitting that he should beg. He gave the rice cake to a dog and remained without food. The life that is lived here is simple, thought Siddhartha. It has no difficulties.
Everything was difficult, irksome and finally hopeless when I was a Samana. Now everything is easy, as easy as the instruction in kissing which Kamala gives. I require clothes and money, that is all. These are easy goals which do not disturb one's sleep. He had long since enquired about Kamala's town house and called there the next day.
If you please him, he will take you into his service. Be clever, brown Samana! I had your name mentioned to him through others. Be friendly towards him; he is very powerful, but do not be too modest. I do not want you to be his servant, but his equal; otherwise I shall not be pleased with you. Kamaswami is beginning to grow old and indolent. If you please him, he will place great confidence in you. How does that come about?
Have you a charm? But you will see that they are very useful, Kamala. You will see that the stupid Samanas in the forest learn and know many useful things. The day before yesterday I was still an unkempt beggar; yesterday I already kissed Kamala and soon I will be a merchant and have money and all those things which you value. Where would you be if Kamala did not help you?
From the moment I made that resolution I also knew that I would execute it. I knew that you would help me; I knew it from your first glance at the entrance to the grove. Listen, Kamala, when you throw a stone into the water, it finds the quickest way to the bottom of the water. It is the same when Siddhartha has an aim, a goal.
Siddhartha does nothing; he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the affairs of the world like the stone through the water, without doing anything, without bestirring himself; he is drawn and lets himself fall. He is drawn by his goal, for he does not allow anything to enter his mind which opposes his goal.
That is what Siddhartha learned from the Samanas. It is what fools call magic and what they think is caused by demons. Nothing is caused by demons; there are no demons.
Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goal, if he can think, wait and fast. She loved his voice, she loved the look in his eyes. May my glance always please you, may good fortune always come to me from you!
Siddhartha went to see Kamaswami, the merchant, and was shown into a rich house. Servants conducted him across costly carpets to a room where he waited for the master of the house. Kamaswami came in, a supple, lively man, with graying hair, with clever, prudent eyes and a sensual mouth.
Master and visitor greeted each other in a friendly manner. Are you then in need, Brahmin, that you seek service? I have come from the Samanas with whom I lived a long time.
Are not all the Samanas completely without possessions? I am certainly without possessions, but of my own free will, so I am not in need. I have been without possessions for nearly three years and I have never thought on what I should live.
The merchant also lives on the possessions of others. Everyone takes, everyone gives. Life is like that. The soldier gives strength, the merchant goods, the teacher instruction, the farmer rice, the fisherman fish. What have you learned that you can give? For example, fasting, what good is that? If a man has nothing to eat, fasting is the most intelligent thing he can do. If, for instance, Siddhartha had not learned to fast, he would have had to seek some kind of work today, either with you, or elsewhere, for hunger would have driven him.
But as it is, Siddhartha can wait calmly. He is not impatient, he is not in need, he can ward off hunger for a long time and laugh at it. Therefore, fasting is useful, sir. Wait a moment. Kamaswami read: Cleverness is good, patience is better. He now lived in the merchant's house. Clothes and shoes were brought to him and a servant prepared him a bath daily. Splendid meals were served twice a day, but Siddhartha only ate once a day, and neither ate meat nor drank wine. Kamaswami talked to him about his business, showed him goods and warehouses and accounts.
Siddhartha learned many new things; he heard much and said little. Kamaswami conducted his business with care and often with passion, but Siddhartha regarded it all as a game, the rules of which he endeavored to learn well, but which did not stir his heart.
He was not long in Kamaswami's s house, when he was already taking a part in his master's business. Daily, however, at the hour she invited him, he visited the beautiful Kamala, in handsome clothes, in fine shoes and soon he also brought her presents.
He learned many things from her wise red lips. Her smooth gentle hand taught him many things. He, who was still a boy as regards love and was inclined to plunge to the depths of it blindly and insatiably, was taught by her that one cannot have pleasure without giving it, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance, every single part of the body has its secret which can give pleasure to one who can understand.
She taught him that lovers should not separate from each other after making love without admiring each other, without being conquered as well as conquering, so that no feeling of satiation or desolation arises nor the horrid feeling of misusing or having been misused. He spent wonderful hours with the clever, beautiful courtesan and became her pupil, her lover, her friend.
Here with Kamala lay the value and meaning of his present life, not in Kamaswami's business. The merchant passed on to him the writing of important letters and orders, and grew accustomed to conferring with him about all important affairs.
He soon saw that Siddhartha understood little about rice and wool, shipping and trade, but that he had a happy knack and surpassed the merchant in calmness and equanimity, and in the art of listening and making a good impression on strange people.