At times he felt, deep in his chest, a dying, quiet voice, which admonished him quietly, lamented quietly; he hardly perceived it. And then, for an hour, he became aware of the strange life he was leading, of him doing lots of things which were only a game, of, though being happy and feeling joy at times, real life still passing him by and not touching him. As a ball-player plays with his balls, he played with his business-deals, with the people around him, watched them, found amusement in them; with his heart, with the source of his being, he was not with them. The source ran somewhere, far away from him, ran and ran invisibly, had nothing to do with his life any more. And at several times he suddenly became scared on account of such thoughts and wished that he would also be gifted with the ability to participate in all of this childlike-naive occupations of the daytime with passion and with his heart, really to live, really to act, really to enjoy and to live instead of just standing by as a spectator. Butagain and again, he came back to beautiful Kamala, learned the art of love, practised the cult of lust, in which more than in anything else giving and taking becomes one, chatted with her, learned from her, gave her advice, received advice. She understood him better than Govinda used to understand him, she was more similar to him. 有时，他感到胸膛深处有一种衰亡的微弱声音，轻声提醒，轻声抱怨，几乎听不清。后来他开始意识到自己过的是一种奇怪的生活，他所做的事只是一种游戏，他很愉快，感到很快乐，但真正的生活却从身边流逝了，并没有触及他。就像一个球员玩球一样他拿他的生意来玩耍，与他周围的人玩耍，观察他们，跟他们寻开心，而他的心、他的生命的源泉却并不在那儿。这源泉流向了某个地方，离他很远走高飞，渐渐看不到了，不再与他的生活相关。有几次，他由于这样的想法而吓了一跳，希望自己也能满腔热忱、全心全意地参与日常的这些孩子般的行动，真正地生活，真正地做事，真正地享受和生活，而不仅仅是作为旁观者站在一边。他经常去拜访美丽的卡玛拉，学习爱情技巧，崇拜性满足，奉献和索取在这儿比在任何地方都更加合而为一。他跟卡玛拉闲聊，向她学习，给她出主意，也接受她的忠告。而卡玛拉也更加了解他，甚至胜过了当初戈文达对他的了解，她跟他更加相似了。 Once, he said to her: "You are like me, you are different from most people. You are Kamala, nothing else, and inside of you, there is a peace and refuge, to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home at yourself, as I can also do. Few people have this, and yet all could have it." 有一次他对卡玛拉说："你像我一样，跟大多数人不同你是卡玛拉，而不是别人，在你内心有一种沉静，那是个避难所，你随时都可以躲进去，就像到了家一样，我也是这样。只有为数不多的人会这样，但大家也可能学会。" "Not all people are smart," said Kamala. "并不是所有人都聪明。"卡玛拉说。 "No," said Siddhartha, "that's not the reason why. Kamaswami is just as smart as I, and still has no refuge in himself. Others have it, who are small children with respect to their mind. Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, which is blown and is turning around through the air, and wavers, and tumbles to the ground. But others, a few, are like stars, they go on a fixed course, no wind reaches them, in themselves they have their law and their course. Among all the learned men and Samanas, of which I knew many, there was one of this kind, a perfected one, I'll never be able to forget him. It is that Gotama, the exalted one, who is spreading that teachings. Thousands of followers are listening to his teachings every day, follow his instructions every hour, but they are all falling leaves, not in themselves they have teachings and a law." "不，"席特哈尔塔说，"关键并不在这里。卡马斯瓦密像我一样聪明，可是他心里就没有避难所。其他人有，但是在智力上却是小孩子。卡玛拉，大多数人都好像一片落叶，在空中飘舞、翻卷，摇摇摆摆地落到地面上。可是也有一些人，为数不多的一些人，却像沿着一条固定轨道运行的星星，没有风吹到它们，它们有自身的规律和轨道。我认识不少学者和沙门，但其中只有一个是这种类型的完人，我永远也忘不了。那就是戈塔马，那个活佛，那个讲经的人。每天都有成千的信徒听他讲经，听他的每一堂课，可他们全都是飘落的树叶，自己内心并没有学说和规律。" Kamala looked at him with a smile. "Again, you're talking about him," she said, "again, you're having a Samana's thoughts." 卡玛拉含笑注视着他。"你又在说他了，"她说，"你又回到沙门的想法去了。"