“Of course I can. There are many who can.”
“Most people cannot. Even I cannot. It is very good that you can read and write, very good. You will even be able to put the magic spells to good use.”
At that moment a servant girl came running and whispered something into her mistress’s ear.
“I have a visitor,” Kamala declared. You must go Siddhartha, quickly, you need to be aware that no-one should ever see you here! I will see you again tomorrow.”
But she ordered the maid to give the pious brahmin a white shirt. Before he knew what was happening to him the maid had led Siddhartha away through indirect paths to a summerhouse, given him the shirt, drawn him into the undergrowth and emphasised to him that he should leave the grove as quickly as possible and without being seen by anyone.
He was content to do as he had been told. He was used to the woods and made his way out of the grove and over the hedge without a sound. He was content to make his way back into the town, the shirt, rolled into a bundle, under his arm. He went to the door of a travellers’ hostel and asked silently for food, and silently accepted a piece of rice cake. This is probably the last day, he thought, when I will ever beg for food.
Pride suddenly flamed up in him. He was no longer a samana, it was no longer appropriate for him to beg. He gave the rice cake to a dog and, himself, went without food.
“Life here in the world is simple,” Siddhartha thought. “There are no difficulties. When I was still a samana everything was difficult, it took much effort and, in the end, it was without hope. Everything is easy now, the lesson in kissing that Kamala gave me was easy. I need clothes and money, that is all, and aims like that are petty and close at hand, no-one would lose any sleep about them.”
He had long since discovered where Kamala’s house in the city was, and the following day he arrived at its door.
“It is going well,” she called out to him. “You are expected by Kamaswami, and he is the richest businessman in the city. If he likes you he will take you into his service, so do be clever, won’t you, brown samana. I have had others tell him all about you. Be friendly to him, he is very powerful. But do not be too modest about yourself! I do not want you to be just one of his servants, you will have to be his equal, or else I will not be happy with you. Kamaswami is getting old, he is becoming complacent. If he likes you he will place a lot of trust in you.”