Laughing, Kamala exclaimed: “No, my dear, 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 which are coming 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, aren’t you at all afraid of the Samana from the forest, who has come to learn how to make love?”
“Why should I be afraid of 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 isn’t afraid of anything. He could force you, beautiful girl. He could kidnap you. He could hurt you.”
“No, Samana, I am not afraid of that. 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. Like this it is, precisely like this it is also with Kamala and with the pleasures of love. Beautiful and red is Kamala’s mouth, but just try to kiss it against Kamala’s will, and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from it, which knows how to give so many sweet things! You are learning easily, Siddhartha, thus you should also learn this: love can be obtained by begging, buying, receiving it as a gift, finding it in the street, but it cannot be stolen. In this, you have come up with the wrong path. No, it would be a pity, if a pretty young man like you would want to tackle it in such a wrong manner.”