“An advice?  Why not?  Who wouldn’t like to give an 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 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 grove’s entrance stood the brown Samana. 
Deeply, seeing the lotus’s blossom,
Bowed that man, and smiling Kamala thanked. 
More lovely, thought the young man, than offerings for gods,
More lovely is offering to pretty Kamala.

Kamala loudly clapped her hands, so that the golden bracelets clanged.

“Beautiful are your verses, oh brown Samana, and truly, I’m losing nothing when I’m giving you a kiss for them.”

She beckoned 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 controlled him, rejected him, lured him, and how after this first one there 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 remained standing where he was, and was in this moment astonished like a child about the cornucopia 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 Kamala’s friend.”

“The way you’re 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 become of you?  Aren’t 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.  “You’re able to read?  And write?”

“Certainly, I can do this.  Many people can do this.”

“Most people can’t.  I also can’t do it.  It is very good that you’re able to read and write, very good.  You will also still find use for the magic spells.”