like those children, and in all this, his life had
been much more miserable and poorer than theirs, and
their goals were not his, nor their worries; after
all, that entire world of the Kamaswami-people had
only been a game to him, a dance he would watch, a
comedy. Only Kamala had been dear, had been valuable
to him—but was she still thus? Did
he still need her, or she him? Did they not play
a game without an ending? Was it necessary to
live for this? No, it was not necessary!
The name of this game was Sansara, a game for children,
a game which was perhaps enjoyable to play once, twice,
ten times—but for ever and ever over again?
Then, Siddhartha knew that the game was over, that
he could not play it any more. Shivers ran over
his body, inside of him, so he felt, something had
died.
That entire day, he sat under the mango-tree, thinking
of his father, thinking of Govinda, thinking of Gotama.
Did he have to leave them to become a Kamaswami?
He still sat there, when the night had fallen.
When, looking up, he caught sight of the stars, he
thought: “Here I’m sitting under
my mango-tree, in my pleasure-garden.”
He smiled a little —was it really necessary,
was it right, was it not as foolish game, that he
owned a mango-tree, that he owned a garden?
He also put an end to this, this also died in him.
He rose, bid his farewell to the mango-tree, his
farewell to the pleasure-garden. Since he had
been without food this day, he felt strong hunger,
and thought of his house in the city, of his chamber
and bed, of the table with the meals on it.
He smiled tiredly, shook himself, and bid his farewell
to these things.
In the same hour of the night, Siddhartha left his
garden, left the city, and never came back.
For a long time, Kamaswami had people look for him,
thinking that he had fallen into the hands of robbers.
Kamala had no one look for him. When she was
told that Siddhartha had disappeared, she was not
astonished. Did she not always expect it?
Was he not a Samana, a man who was at home nowhere,
a pilgrim? And most of all, she had felt this
the last time they had been together, and she was
happy, in spite of all the pain of the loss, that she
had pulled him so affectionately to her heart for
this last time, that she had felt one more time to
be so completely possessed and penetrated by him.
When she received the first news of Siddhartha’s
disappearance, she went to the window, where she held
a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage.
She opened the door of the cage, took the bird out
and let it fly. For a long time, she gazed after
it, the flying bird. From this day on, she received
no more visitors and kept her house locked. But
after some time, she became aware that she was pregnant
from the last time she was together with Siddhartha.
