Indulging in gambling and worldly pleasures

Siddhartha's indulgence in gambling and worldly pleasures represents the nadir of his long spiritual journey, the phase in which the former Samana, who had once prided himself on his ability to think, wait, and fast, becomes a prisoner of his own senses and a slave to the very passions he had spent years trying to extinguish. This period, which unfolds during his years as a merchant in partnership with Kamaswami, is not a sudden fall but a slow, almost imperceptible erosion of the soul, a process by which the world and sloth entered Siddhartha's soul, filling it slowly and making it heavy, tired, and sleepy, until the bright and reliable voice inside him that had once guided his best moments fell silent.

The Descent into Sensuality and Greed

Having learned to trade, to use his power over people, and to enjoy himself with women, Siddhartha gradually adopted the habits of the wealthy: he learned to eat tenderly prepared food, including fish, meat, and poultry, to drink wine that caused sloth and forgetfulness, to play dice and chess, to watch dancing girls, to be carried in a sedan-chair, and to sleep on a soft bed. Yet even as he accumulated these pleasures, he maintained a sense of superiority, watching the childlike people with mocking disdain, the same disdain a Samana feels for the worldly. But slowly, as the harvest seasons and rainy seasons passed, his mockery grew tired and his superiority quieted. He began to envy the very people he had once scorned, envying them for the importance they attached to their lives, the passion in their joys and fears, the sweet happiness of being constantly in love—a quality he could not learn from them, though he did learn their unpleasant traits: discontent, sickliness, ill-humor, sloth, and a lack of love. The disease of the soul that afflicts rich people gradually grabbed hold of him.

The Gambling Addiction and Self-Loathing

The most destructive of his new vices was gambling. Siddhartha began to play dice for money and precious things with an increasing rage and passion, becoming a feared gambler who staked high and audacious sums. He played not for the joy of winning but out of a pain in his heart; losing and wasting his money brought him an angry joy, a way to demonstrate his disdain for wealth, the merchants' false god. He gambled with high stakes and mercilessly, hating himself and mocking himself, winning thousands and throwing away thousands, losing money, jewelry, and a house in the country, only to win again and lose again. The fear he felt while rolling the dice—the terrible, petrifying fear of losing high stakes—became the only feeling that still gave him something like happiness, an intoxication, an elevated form of life in the midst of his saturated, lukewarm, dull existence. After each big loss, he would pursue trade more zealously and force his debtors more strictly, wanting to continue gambling and squandering. He who had once laughed at losing tens of thousands became strict and petty in business, occasionally dreaming at night about money. Whenever he woke from this ugly spell and saw his aged, uglier face in the mirror, he would flee into a new game, into a numbing brought on by sex and wine, and from there back into the urge to pile up possessions, running in a pointless cycle, growing tired, growing old, growing ill.

The Dream of the Dead Bird and the Awakening of Disgust

The crisis reached its peak in a dream that warned him. After an evening with Kamala, during which she spoke of Gotama with longing and then made love with a painful fervor as if squeezing the last sweet drop out of a fleeting pleasure, Siddhartha returned home to spend the night with dancing girls and wine. He drank heavily and went to bed long after midnight, tired yet excited, close to weeping and despair, unable to sleep, his heart full of misery and a disgust that penetrated his entire body like the lukewarm, repulsive taste of wine, the too-sweet music, the too-soft smile of the dancing girls, the too-sweet scent of their hair and breasts. Most of all, he was disgusted by himself—by his perfumed hair, the smell of wine on his breath, the flabby tiredness of his skin. He wished to free himself of these pleasures, these habits, and this pointless life in an immense burst of disgust, like someone who has eaten and drunk far too much and vomits it back up with agonizing pain but is glad for the relief. In a brief, half-conscious sleep, he dreamed of Kamala's rare singing bird in its golden cage: the bird had become mute, and when he looked inside, it was dead and stiff. He took it out, weighed it in his hand, and threw it into the street, feeling terribly shocked, his heart hurting as if he had thrown away all value and everything good. Waking from this dream, he felt encompassed by a deep sadness, realizing that his life had been worthless and pointless, that nothing alive or worth keeping remained in his hands. He stood alone and empty like a castaway on the shore.

The End of the Game

Siddhartha went to his pleasure-garden, locked the gate, and sat under a mango-tree, feeling death in his heart and horror in his chest, sensing how everything in him withered and came to an end. Reviewing his life, he realized that for many long years he had heard no high voice, reached no height, and had lived without a goal, without thirst, without elevation, content with small lustful pleasures yet never satisfied. He had tried to become like the childlike people, but their world had only been a game to him, a comedy he watched. Only Kamala had been dear to him, but even that relationship now seemed like a game without an ending. He knew then that the game was over, that he could not play it any longer. Shivers ran over his body; inside him, something had died. He rose, bid farewell to the mango-tree and the garden, and in the same hour of the night, he left the city, never to return. Kamaswami had people look for him, but Kamala was not astonished; she had always expected it, and when she received the news, she opened the golden cage, let the singing bird fly free, and kept her house locked from that day on, soon discovering she was pregnant from their last time together.