This shall pass too…

It rains and then it stops… Everything has a beginning and an end. And as they say, when there is no more water in the pail, there is no more moon in the water. I know, our children cannot understand this in time to listen to their parents before they go. Tales go to sleep with their tellers, other, new people are needed to give them life, again. This reminds me of a story:

Well, the Mullah was growing old indeed.

People still giggled when he said funny things; but, they listened anyway, worried that he might have hidden some life-saving warning into strange words. It was well known after so many years that what he said was useful after all; they have learned in time that wise fools have ears to hear and eyes to see truth that comes from realms we, usual people, cannot understand. A world without such fools becomes very stupid.

His clay house by the old well, the house of "Nasr Ed din our beloved Hoca" looked lonely on the hillside, surrounded by aged fig trees unkempt but still heavy with sweet fruit. Strangely, the solitary house was rarely lonesome. Day in, day out, flocks of people came to seek counsel from the old jester of the kings. Because he never lied. What Hodja said, came about somehow. It always did.

Yes, the Mullah was growing old. In the evenings, as he was limping from the well, with a right foot that hurt, it happened more and more often that the bucket slipped out of his hand, the water spilled and lo, when there was no more water in the pail, there was no more moon in the water. Only his mind kept shining in the dark, as Allah had mercy on him.

One morning, some folks from Akşehir came to ask:

"Pray Hoca, is tomorrow the right day to marry Selim and Aisha?"

Nasrudin rose tall, leaned on his staff, looked for a while somewhere far away and said, with a clear, sad voice:

"There will be no tomorrow."

The visitors hastened away silent and frightened. Such bad news spread like husk in the wind:

"Nasr Ed din gave us terrible tidings: Tomorrow is the End of the World. Give up doing whatever you are about to do and pray. Prepare for the Last Day."

Moon over water by P. Klinger Flickr

When the next dawn broke people waited lost in dread.

...And nothing happened. Everything went on. As usual.

A puzzled crowd made its way to the door of the Hodja. How could he say what he said? They never got to the house though.

On the way, they discovered Nasreddin by the well, the bucket at his feet. He had died, the night before.

The wisdom of the world

It takes a life to learn what is really important; so that you would speak less, about fewer, meaningful things. But silence, as meaningful as it is, is rarely understood. You can of course point the way or give your own action as an example... However, most of the time you must use words, many, many words, to say first what you will say, then to say it, and at last to say again what you said. The wise must repeat themselves for a long, long time before they are heeded. This reminds me of a story:

“Human wisdom is contained in no more than seven stories” declared Nasreddin after numerous years of deep reflection. "All the rest is silly repetition, routine explaining the obvious.”

“Then, pray Oh Mullah, why is your life adorned with so many hundreds of silly stories repeating forever the same simple things?”

“For the sake of people such as you, my good man.”

Skilful augur

Bold people practise the art of self-fulfilling prophesy knowing that a large part of our future is of our own making. This reminds me of a story:

At one time Nasreddin bragged that he had the power to see the future. This proved to be a dangerous gift. As soon as Tamerlane was informed about the sinful claim he called Hodja and, as he unsheathed his sword, asked with a vicious smile:

“Tell me quickly: when will you die? Who knows, I may be a seer myself in such matters.”

Hodja felt that very moment that the best way to know one's future is to make it. He also knew that the Emir would stretch luck but never play with it. He looked bravely into Timur’s face and said:

“Great Emir, hearing you is obeying, even when I dread to disclose Allah’s will. I am not given to know without doubt my last day. I only had a blurred vision that I died one day before your Majesty. Inch Allah!

Sharing with God

It is most profitable to associate with Divinity when you beg. You are looked at down and up, at the same time. This reminds me of a story:

Tamerlane’s dark army was streaming along a dusty trail under a boring dry succession of sandy gusts. In front, Tamerlane on his stallion. Behind, Hodja tottering on his mule.

Towards noon, in the precise middle of nowhere, the cavalcade came upon a skinny dervish curled up inside a white circle chalked on the dry ground. Tamerlane stopped. Nasreddin stopped. The legions stopped. Timur leaned forward and asked the man how he was surviving there.

“I ask human alms and humbly share them with God Almighty,” answered the dervish with a virtuous grin.

“By what means do you share with Allah?” inquired Timur.

“By self-restraint and modesty,” replied the anchorite, turning an insinuating critical eye towards the plump Hodja. “Whatever money I’m offered, I cast it up and use it depending where it falls. If it drops inside my white circle, I use it for myself. If it descends outside the ring it is God’s and I don’t touch it.”

Timur turned to Nasreddin :

“What do you say of this admirable moderation, worm? You, the always complaining.”

“I say: Isn’t the snake that spends all his life crawling in the dust the humblest creature?”

“Maybe,” insisted Tamerlane, “but how do you share with Allah?”

“I don’t have such impudent pretence, as I know that everything is His. Whatever money I obtain from your generosity I throw it all in the air for God’s judgement. Allah keeps what he wills. I only take for myself what falls back.”

I will fool you

Nothing fools you like yourself. Great deceivers know this best. This reminds me of a story:

Tamerlane loved to cheat people and he was proud of his ruses. One evening at the court feast, after many drinks of arak, he remembered how in his youth he feigned dying, to appease a dangerous enemy:

“Shah-Mansur sent me ambassadors to size me up. Before their entry I had a lamb slaughtered and drank its blood. Then I called them in and in front of a multitude I had a copper vessel brought and vomited out the lamb’s blood. The ambassadors left delighted and reported prince Shah-Mansur that I was a dying man. Two days later I surprised him with my army. I tell you: I can fool anyone but no one can fool me!”

Nasreddin’s somewhat cheeky voice interrupted:

“Maybe I could do it…if it pleases your Majesty.”

“Would you dare?!”

“I have to, great Emir. I am your fool. My work is to fool. I will do my work for my master. As I am your fool I can fool you.”

“No one lies to me without dying.” growled Timur.

“Then I will fool you, without lying to you, even this night, before sunrise if you order so,” tempted Nasreddin .

Tamerlane became intrigued enough to take the bet:

“Be it! Try your luck tonight!”

That night the great Emir doubled his already unsurpassable guard and slept like a rabbit anxious to catch the devious Hodja trying to fool him – him, Master of all ruses.

Nothing happened until the sun was well above the horizon.

Tired and disappointed Timur had Hodja carried and cast at his feet:

“Where was you fooling, worm!?”

Nasreddin bowed respectfully:

“I promised to fool you, Majesty. Didn’t I?”

“You promised.”

“And I didn’t fool you. Did I”

“You didn’t.”

“But your Highness waited all night to be fooled. Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And nothing happened. Is that right?”

“It is.”

“So, without doing anything,  I fooled you, didn’t I?”

“Hmm…”

Bad debt

Feelings may be more hurtful that facts. If you can’t treat the fact, you can still cure the feeling. This reminds me of a story:

For several days now, Hodja kept his eye on Selim, his neighbour, over the fence. Poor Selim looked worried; all day he paced around the garden, like a bear in a cage. At night too you could hear him walking up and down inside his house, and sometimes coming out into the garden through his creaking door to sit and look at the moon.

One evening, Nasrudin, overcome with pity, put his elbows on the fence and asked:

“What’s wrong, Selim? Are you sick? Did you lose something?”

“Oh, no Hodja, thank you for asking. It is something else."

"What then? Someone you know is sick? Don't be shy, tell me."

Selim hesitated for a long moment, but eventually said:

"Well, the problem is that I owe one thousand dirham to Hassan by the end of the month. I don’t have it. Worry will kill me.”

Nasrudin didn’t say anything. He took his coat and staff and rushed away.

One hour later he knocked at Selim’s door triumphantly:

“It’s done,” he said.

“How? You paid for me?”

“Certainly not, how could I? But I went and told Hassan that for the time being you have no money at all. Now you can sleep in peace. It’s up to him to worry.”

Just a trifle

Don’t ask for news from hungry people. This reminds me of a story:

The Cadi, returning from Ankara after three month of absence, was resting for lunch on the road-side by the forest. The meal was as rich as the cadi, Aksehir in sight but still far away downhill. Tired and hungry, Hodja appeared and was pleasantly surprised to meet food at the right time, when his belly urged for it.

“Salaam Aleicum, Cadi Effendi”

“Aleicum Salaam, Hodja Effendi”

Hodja, hopeful, sat down by the Cadi’s carpet. The Cadi went on eating alone. After a while, Nasrudin said:

“You were away for a long while…”

Chewing a good morsel, the cadi replied:

“Yes. There are good news home, I hope.”

“Well…” said Hodja, "This reminds me of a story.” And without waiting he continued:

“You know, there was a rich man having lunch on the roadside. A hungry old man from his hometown came by and sat with him. The rich man asked:

"'How are things home? Good news I hope!' The old man replied, careful not to spoil his appetite:

“'Don’t worry, all’s well. Except for a trifle; your dog died.'

“'My dog died? Sad news, she was a good dog. How did that come to be?' the rich man asked.

“'Don’t worry! She died happy! She choked on one of your horse's bones.'

“'My horse? My horse died too? How did such a thing happen?'

“'It so happened that he got crushed when the stable collapsed.'

“'The stable collapsed? This is terrible! How did that come to pass?'

“'Keep calm! It’s only that your house burned, and lit the stable too.'

“'Allah have mercy! Why did my house burn?'

“'Because of a mere candle. It fell on the carpet when your wife dropped dead. She knocked it down…'

“'My wife, Fatima dead? This is too much! I can’t see any more, my eye-sight is turning black!'

“'Oh, compose yourself! Be a man! She died of a broken heart like a good mother, since your three sons perished.'

“'I’m cursed!'

“'You know how life is. What is born will die. They were not the only ones. Many people were taken by the plague this summer. It was Allah’s will.'"

At this point the Cadi couldn’t bear it any more:

“Stop!” he said. “I don’t want news. Why don’t you finish my lunch, while I hurry home. It happens that I lost my appetite.”

And he rushed away while Nasrudin returned his right sleeve and stretched out his hand above the food. Of course, not before thanking Allah: "In the name of God, most gracious, most merciful. Thank you Lord for this food which I am about to receive..."

Art of begging

Beware the one who swells your pride. A flatterer gives nothing for what he takes. This reminds me of a story:

In those charming old times when Nasrudin was poor like the fleas in his beard, but still forever young and full of resource, a complicated chain of lucky and unlucky circumstances led his pilgrim path to the city of Ankara. There he exercised the temporary profession of begging for his daily bread.

And quite successful he was, among the other members of the charity-seeking fraternity. His unique feature, that made him notorious, consisted in only accepting the smaller coin and rejecting with disdain the larger, whenever he was offered such a choice. The fact is that he was offered many such choices, enough to eat well and sleep in an inn.

Inevitably, a truly alms giving Muslim had to take him aside to explain the mistake:

“Brother,” he said softly, “Why persist in error? You should take the larger coin. It’s worth more. Stop being the laughing stock of the town.”

Hodja whispered back with a friendly smile:

“Thank you, brother, for teaching me. Unfortunately that would stop my alms too. Don’t you see that people flock to give me coins only to see how clever they are compared with me?”

Random acts of kindness

In one hundred occasions there may be ninety-nine when you don’t have a choice. But there is one when you can choose to do what you think to be good and right. That one decides who you are, with no excuse. This reminds me of a story*:

The sand of the Black Sea coast was covered with myriads of starfish washed ashore by the storm, doomed to be soon dried out by the sun. Nasreddin picked them up patiently and threw them back, one by one, undisturbed by the hopeless immensity of the task.

A passer-by wondered and asked him,

“Why are you wasting your time? It’s all Allah’s will. Don’t you see that all you can do doesn’t count at all?”

“It counts for me, and it counts for this one,” answered Hodja, tossing yet another starfish into the tide.

* (The original was written by Loren Eiseley (1907–1977) "The Star Thrower"1978, Times Books, Random House)

Last wishes

To him that is joined to all the living there is hope. A living dog is better than a dead lion. This reminds me of a story:

Timur's death mask

The years had passed without mercy. Tamerlane grew to conceive that time was the one enemy he could not conquer. He became interested in what the world would do after him. At the usual hour of leisurely repose, so much deserved by a king of kings, he addressed the following deep thought to his humble jester Nasrudin:

“When I am set down in my casket, mourned by my soldiers, ready to be taken to my last repose, I want people to look at my unmoving face and say: Here is one man whose glory is eternal!"

Timur was silent for a while, satisfied with his thought, then he turned his heavy gaze to Hodja and asked generously:

“And you, worm, what would you like people to say about you at such a moment?”

Nasrudin thought for a moment, and then replied with a wry smile:

“I, Master would love them to say: Look! He’s moving!”

Big fish, small fish

Could someone please explain once more why you have to do unto others that which you want to have done unto you? This reminds me of a story:

Two fishes to feed 5000 CC Grauesel

Abu Hassan al-Mutakallim al-Hikma, utmost authority in the study of Divine Knowledge and Ethics, hearing too much and too often about the aforementioned Mullah Nasreddin, came to examine this man in his village of Horto. In order to make the small Mullah feel at ease and in confidence, open to investigation, Abu Hassan invited him to eat together at the local inn. That day they served fish.

When the ordered course arrived, at last, it was easy to observe that on the platter there where two fishes; one larger and the second much smaller, both attractively prepared and smelling definitely appetising, sprinkled with fresh parsley. Nasreddin reached out without hesitation and pulled the large fish on his own plate. The distinguished guest and moralist looked at him in consternation and couldn’t contain his righteous observation.

“My dear colleague, isn’t this act selfish and immoral?”

“Why, Maulana, what would you do in my stead?” replied Hodja, looking up from his steaming dish with candid eyes.

“I would have, of course,” said the distinguished scholar, “taken the smaller fish for myself and given the larger one, unselfishly, to my fellow man.”

“And here we are, doing the right thing!” concluded Nasreddin elegantly tossing the small fish into the guest’s plate.

Precise justice

You can do what you want, but can you want what you want? This reminds me of a story:

Two merchants came to Nasrudin the cadi to obtain justice. One, Selim explained:

“Before I left for a long and dangerous voyage earlier this year I wanted to keep my money, three hundred gold curush, safe. I went to my old time and respectable acquaintance Ahmed, here present and asked him to keep my money until I come back. Ahmed, I said, hold my money for one year. If I don’t come back, pray for me and do with it what you want. But if I do come back, as I hope, before that time, you will give me back what you want and keep the rest. Do you agree? He did. Allah be praised, I came back after only six month and asked for my money. Ahmed, says that he wants to keep two hundred and eighty for himself and he will give me back twenty curush, following our agreement. I don’t know how to put it in plain words but this is not fair.”

Ahmed made clear that he was in his right, since a contract is a contract. “I was to give him what I want,” he reminded.

Nasrudin rested his forehead on his palms and meditated for a long time about the fickleness of words and the useful power of interpreting them. In the end he decided:

“A contract must be respected to the last letter. You Ahmed want to take two hundred and eighty curush. Selim requested, and you agreed that you give him what you want and keep the rest. My decision is this: You Ahmed, will give Selim the two hundred and eighty curush which you want and keep the rest which you don’t want.”

Good food

There is always higher than high and lower than low. This reminds me of a story:

Once you have tasted good food, you will remember it from time to time. Nasrudin, who, being retired from Tamerlane’s court, lived in modesty, walked once by the sultan’s palaces and observed a big feast offered to important people under a splendid tent. His feet decided at once and carried him inside, straight to one of the chairs of honour, on the right hand of the throne.

“And what do you think you are doing here?” asked the Chief Guard. “These places are for the guests of honour.”

“I am more than a guest.”

“Is that so? Are you an envoy of a foreign king?”

“More than that.”

The guard considered Hodja from the slippers to the turban:

“Are you one of the ministers in disguise?”

“Much more than that,“ said Nasrudin looking him in the eye.

“So, you must be His Majesty the Sultan, himself!” scowled the soldier.

“I am above this,” persisted Hodja without flinching.

“Above the Sultan?! Nobody’s higher than the Sultan.”

“Now you understand,” concluded Hodja. “I am nobody.”

Flirting with humility

Truly, to practice humility you need a certain well-being. This reminds me of a story:

One Friday afternoon, at the mosque, Nasrudin felt suddenly hit by modesty and depression for this life, so short, in a world so endless. He fell down on his knees, lifted his arms and cried out:

“Oh, Everlasting One! I’m nothing! I’m nothing!”

The Imam looked at him, saw that this was good and knelt down exclaiming in his turn:

“I’m nothing! I’m nothing!

A beggar in dregs was so impressed he threw himself down too, tears in his eyes:

“I’m nothing! Nothing!”

At this the Imam turned to Nasrudin and sneered:

“Look who thinks he’s nothing now!”

The way

Good horses, determination and good hope are good companions but poor guides. Before you charge ahead make certain you want the right thing. This reminds me of a story:

One sunny spring afternoon Nasrudin was sitting peacefully by the imposing North gate of Samarkand watching the colourful string of caravans following each other and followed in turn by the curious glances of the populace.

A stranger, an obviously rich merchant from Persia about to leave town, felt attracted by Hodja’s honest-looking turban and stopped his convoy to inquire about the dangers of travel.

“Salutations to you venerable Mullah,” he said. “I am going to Herat. Is the road secure? Will I get there safely?”

“You will not reach your destination,” answered Hodja in a confidential low voice.

“So there are robbers on the road?” worried the merchant lowering his own voice.

“No, there aren’t. They are too afraid of Emir Timur.”

“Is the road difficult? I have good camels and my horses are strong!” continued the traveller.

“The road is good, but you will never get there.”

By now the merchant was deeply disturbed:

“Is there a lack or water and food on the path? I took many provisions in my luggage.”

“That will not suffice.”

“Other hardships to expect? I have money to replace whatever is needed.”

“No use. You better change your plan.”

The traveller grew irritated: “But I must go to Herat and I am a determined man. And who are you to be so certain that I will not arrive?”

“Look, my good man,” replied Nasrudin, “let me make it plain for you: the better the camels and horses, the more provisions, money and resolve, the less you will get to Herat. Herat is South and you are heading North.”

Teaching the perplexed

For many, complication is menace and subtlety an insult. With such, keep things flat. This reminds me of a story:

Tired with the world, Mullah Nasrudin - the enlightened Hoca- lived secluded in a mountain cave. The perfumed rose of Sufi wisdom alone illuminated his nights and mystic love helped him ignore the cold of the dawn. But his renown could not let him in peace. Like swarms of hornets, would-be disciples assailed the worn barrel top that prevented the Sun to see him through the day and the iyldiz blow to scatter his dreams at midnight.

One wintry afternoon, as the Hodja was about to roll his prayer rug with icy fingers, an aspiring apprentice arrived, after many weeks of vicissitudes, across mounts and valleys. The traveller was tired and frozen but hopeful to learn at the feet of the master. Another one! The mullah greeted him and asked him into his humble abode. Eager to start learning, and knowing that every action of a saint is soaked with sweet meaning like a honeycomb, the believer asked:

"O Mullah, why do you blow onto your hands?"
"To warm them my friend, why else?"

Inside, the mullah poured two bowls of hot soup to share with his visitor. He started blowing into his own.

"Why are you doing that, master?" inquired the pilgrim.
"To cool my steaming brew, of course" answered Nasrudin.

Hearing these words, the disciple could take no more. He threw up his bowl and ran away screaming:

"Curses of Iblis! How could I ever learn from a man who blows hot and cold from the same mouth?"

An arm’s length

Being a public man is an art of the harlot. With one hand you lure the crowd with another you shun it. This reminds me of a story:

One day the Imam visited Nasrudin, in all discretion to ask his counsel:

“Dear Hodja, “he said, “you are seasoned in the art of giving advice. Like you, and even more, I am submerged with all these shallow believers who come, everyday, from morning to dusk, to solicit my counsel and direction in worldly matters: One wants this. Another wants that. The third wants this and that. The fourth wants this but not that. It never ends. I need time for peace and prayer. I can’t take it any more! I am tired. But I cannot reject them. Do you have one of your good pieces of advice to give to a fellow adviser?”

The Hodja pondered for a while and found:

“I have a way out for you, it comes from your fellow, the rabbi. Do the following: If the ones coming to see you are poor, lend them money. You will not see them any more. If they are rich, ask them to give you money. They will disappear, all the same.”

Moving

Some, will learn from you and pay you with respect. Most, will steal from you whatever you teach and hasten away. Lucky if they let you live. This reminds me of a story:

At one time when Hodja was a poor man, he got visited by a thief. Nasrudin was lying in his bed. To avoid being hurt, he pretended that he was sleeping. The man packed whatever he considered worth into a big bundle and finally carried it away.

Hodja pulled the blanket over his shoulders and tiptoed after the thief along the streets.

At his own house, the thief entered and deposed the load. Someone knocked on the door. The thief opened and looked startled at the Hodja and at his blanket:

“What are you doing here Hodja?”

Nasrudin entered and showed the bundle:

“I brought the blanket too. Haven’t we moved over here?

You never know

A touch of eastern wisdom will always be good for your health provided you don’t get drowned in its endless flow. This reminds me of a story:


For once, the Mullah was almost rich. Tamerlane had offered him a pure breed stallion as a gift for being amused on one occasion. Besides, he had saved some good money. Homesick and wiser as he felt, he decided to settle again in his native village of Horto, where his wife and son were longing for him in the old peaceful family house. Home, sweet home!

This was not to last long. The stallion ran away in the woods. The neighbours came to express how sorry they were:

"Your precious stallion gone! Such a terrible loss, Hoca!" they said.

"Maybe yes, maybe no," said Nasrudin.

One week later, the stallion returned with seven wild mares. The neighbours marvelled and congratulated our mullah:

"Hoca, you happy man! Such good luck!"

"Maybe yes, maybe no," he said.

No more than one day later, the Hodja's son mounted one of the new horses. The wild animal threw him and broke his leg and arm. Now the people said:

"Misfortune! Fate is so cruel with you Hoca!"

"Maybe yes, maybe no."

At the time when the harvest grew ripe, the army of the Padishah came by that place and the recruiters fastened all the young men with ropes and took them away to refresh the troops for the winter war. The son of the Hodja alone was rejected with his disabled limb. Heart-broken neighbours came to say:

"From all of us you are the lucky one, Hoca!"

"Maybe yes, maybe no."

How much

In overseeing your possessions it helps to have a long term view. Not too long though. This reminds me of a story:

Every child can imagine the cavern of Ali Baba. But who on earth could have been able to picture the treasuries of Tamerlane? What is robbing a caravan compared with plundering twenty-seven kingdoms? For an example, eight hundred camels were insufficient to carry the gold pillaged only from Damascus. Nobody ever counted the wealth ravished from India… Rivers of gold and silver poured over the gravel of diamond and pearls at the feet of the Master. It was said that the loot gathered by Gengis Khans’s hordes ended up in Timur’s hands too. In Samarkand, like all over the empire, endless numbers of palaces, gardens and treasury chambers belonged all to one man – the Emir. Everything belonged to him.

Then, one cold winter day, on his way to conquering China, the old tyrant died. Unexpectedly, for the Iron Emir seemed immortal. After this event, Nasrudin hastened back to Horto, his childhood village. Even there, the death of the emperor was on people’s lips. Everybody wondered what wealth was bequeathed to his heirs by the great Tamerlane, richest man on earth.

“Hodja,” asked Camal the barber,” you lived at Tamerlane’s court, spent your day in his presence and luxury, saw his possessions. You must know. How much did he leave?”

Nasrudin, closed his eyes in concentration and counted for a long while in his mind. At last he opened his eyes and said:

“Everything!”

Multiplying with one hundred

There is strength in numbers; the best place to hide may be amidst a crowd. This reminds me of a story:

Tamerlane, the protector of the arts, became very fond of spending his leisure time and soothing his soul in the sound of the zummarah reed pipe. Soon, from one performer, the kingly orchestra grew to no less than one hundred blindfolded pipers, replenishing the gallery above the emir's resting pavilions.

When Hoca was told about Timur's new passion, he let the word spread that he, Nasrudin was the best zummarah player of the empire, too expensive for mere princes to employ. Rushed into the presence of the Emir he was offered as expected to choose between a big salary or else. As you can guess, he accepted and added to his income a nice sinecure and pleasant moments of drowsing in the rank of the court musicians.

One day Timur was advised by a guest that pleasure is multiplied hundred fold when one hundred courtiers listen in silence to one artist performing alone, rather than one person alone, even a king, hearing one hundred musicians all at the same time. After this, he ordered that each performer would delight him in turn.

Long before his own turn to shine in front of the master, the Mullah felt so sick in the chest that he had to give up playing the zummarah forever.

Either or

Don’t let choices choose for you. There may be a choice of choices. This reminds me of a story:

Friday noon at the mosque, the Imam decided to preach by making people feel, in their own being, the meaning of salvation and damnation.

“Let’s see,” he said, "those of you who choose to go to Hell, stand up!”

Nobody rose.

“Now, those who want to go to Heaven,” continued the Imam with intent.

Everybody stood up. Except Nasrudin.

The Imam fixed him with a blameful piercing eye:

“Don’t you think, brother, that it is high time to decide?"

“I did,” replied Hodja with a deep honest gaze. “I want to stay here.”

Find the stupid

Instruct a jester with care. He may do what you request instead of what you want. This reminds me of a story:

Said Tamerlane:

“Mulla, here is a task that fits a fool. Find out for me who are the ten most foolish people in Samarkand. Have fear of no one, I request the truth. Rasti Rusti! What means do you need to do it?”

Nasrudin considered carefully and replied:

“Hearing is obeying, Sahib Qiran! I only need a bucket, and a week of time.”

The bucket was provided. Nasrudin filled it with water and went to sit in the middle of the fruit market of Samarkand. He also took a fishing line with him, which he cast into the bucket.

Three days later the impatient Emir had himself accompanied to the market to inquire of the advancement of the research. He found Nasrudin fishing in a bucket.

“Hmm...” said the monarch, “how many did you catch?”

“Nine, with you, Majesty, only one more left to find.”

What it seems and what it is

When you place the cheese in the mousetrap, you are advised to leave some space for the mouse too. This reminds me of a story:

The Hodja strolled away at the butchers’ and bought three oka of his favourite mutton. Back home he asked his wife, the faithful Kadidja to prepare from it the meal he liked most – meatballs.

The dish was cooked as ordered that afternoon.

What a pity that the Mullah was still away when the tasty spicy browned meatballs sizzled ready in the pan! And what a pity that a neighbour happened to drop by! What a pity that the two women had such a pleasant chat while munching up all the meat!

That evening, a Mullah full of expectation sat down waiting for his favourite meal. The only thing he got was a meagre plate of fried beans with garlic sauce.

“Where is my mutton, Kadidja?”

“I am sorry to say that your wicked cat snatched it away and ate it all up.”

“I can’t believe it! Such a big piece of meat?”

“Well, just look at his cheeky snout and you’ll see he’s guilty!”

The Hodja grabbed the cat, saw that he looked guilty indeed, put it on a scale and said:

“Woman, I’m lost. The scales show exactly three oka. So, here is my meat.

"But then my sweet," he continued, "if this is my meat, where is my cat?"

Conversations with God

When it comes to miracles, better open your eyes and your ears, and give all your attention to every word you hear. It’s worth it. This reminds me of a story:

“Nasrudin talks to God!” The rumour spread like fire through dry hay. In less than one week the news was whispered into the Emir’s all-knowing ear. As a result Hodja was summoned to the morning divan.

“How could you hide such an important thing from me, worm!” growled Timur when he found a spare moment among the many affairs he had to bid and to forbid that day.

“What thing, Master?” replied Nasrudin, while trying to remember which one of his countless misdeeds could have come to the emperor’s knowledge.

“Don’t try to play with me! Is it or is it not true that you speak with God?”

“Ah, with God the All Powerful! Blessed be his name! Yes, I do. I speak with him every day.”

“And He? What does he say?”

“Nothing. Unfortunately, He doesn’t speak with me.”

The use of boots

Everything is relative; especially man’s solidarity with his fellow. This reminds me of a story:



Far astray, much too far from the holy road to Mecca, tired Nasrudin and a companion of misfortune were lost in the great desert. They pulled their blistered legs through the fine hot sand that flew, on and on, around their boots like an hourglass forever turned. Yes, the day was near to end but not the journey.

And lo! Luck smiled upon them. Out of nowhere, between two yellow dunes, there was an oasis. It was too small and too lucky to have ever had a name, so that it thrived in harmony, just five rich palm trees on a bed of green grass, and fat flowers around an incredible little fresh pond sipping peacefully from a murmuring, cold crystal source.

After first quenching their thirst – for the thirsty plain water is so sweet – and quickly thanking Allah, the travellers pulled off their boots to refresh their weary feet in the cool water.

In the middle of this happiness, there was a huge roar, like a drum of war, and a desert lion presented his majesty on top of a dune.

At this, without delay, Hoca pulled his boots back on, ready to run for his life.

“Fool," cried the other traveller, "do you think that with your boots on you will run faster than the lion?”

“No brother, I will only run faster than you, and that will be good enough for me!”

Too many words

When there is something to say, the wise one speaks the right number of words, not one more, not one less. The only difficulty with this golden rule is to judge which words are the really needed ones. This reminds me of a story:

 After many years of hard work, having at last saved the money, Ali opened his own fish-shop. Around the crates with many kinds of fish and sea-food glimmering on beds of ice, he placed festive green herbs and assorted vegetables promising delicious feasts.

With the help of the schoolmaster Akeem, Mustapha, the painter, calligraphed a wonderful and inviting sign in gorgeous Arabic, on lustrous white cloth:

“Here, we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish.”

The painting took quite a while, since Mustapha did not know Arabic and the schoolmaster was curiously poor at drawing letters. Anyway, at last, it was ready.

Later in the morning Nasreddin had to come by on his usual stroll through the village. He admired the stalls, read the banner and called Ali.

“Allah Bereket Versin, may God give you abundance Ali!” he said, “congratulations for the shop. But what is this silly long phrase you put above the entrance: 'Here, we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish'. Of course it is here and not elsewhere that you opened your shop. Cut the useless beginning!”

"But Nasreddin, this was painted by Mustapha with Akeem's help! They will not like me to damage their work."

"It's your choice, Ali. Do you want clever advertising to sell your fish, or do you want everyone to pass on in confusion?"

After some hesitation, Ali took a pair of scissors and reluctantly cut the word “Here”.

Nasreddin, walked away, but after a couple of minutes he came back and said to Ali,

“Ali, 'we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish' is just silly. Of course you have opened the shop; nobody believes that you closed it down! In the interest of your business, you must cut the absurd 'we have opened'."

Ali, with a broken heart, did as advised. Unfortunately, the Hodja came back, yet again.

“Sorry Ali, but 'a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish' does not work at all. Too many worthless words. 'a fish-shop where' could be spared with. It is common knowledge that fish is sold in a fish-shop and not at the bakers. Cut these words!”

And Ali, complied. Nasreddin did not fail to come again, though. This time he observed wisely,

“Ali, your sign is still flawed. 'We sell good, fresh fish' insults the intelligence of the clients. Why announce that you sell the fish? Are you supposed to give it away? Cut!”

Do you think this was it? Not so. In less than ten minutes Hodja was back delighted to having found a better solution.

“Ali,” he said, 'good, fresh fish' will make people suspicious that perhaps the fish is really rotten. Look, I will help you and cut 'good, fresh' out, myself.

So it was done. Half an hour later, Nasreddin reappeared.

“This sign, 'fish', is no good. Who needs it? Can’t you see the fish? Can’t you smell it? Cut!”

A gift of fruit

Sometimes, for the sake of fun, there is no alternative to calling a spade a spade. This reminds me of a story:

Timur set his camp near Konya. Each morning, the neighbouring villages sent people to him to sweeten his disposition with gifts. One day, Nasrudin was sent, with a small basket of green figs as a gift.

"What!" growled the Emir, "I hate figs! Stick them up his arse."

The guards promptly undressed Nasrudin and began to execute the order.

Unexpectedly, as they did so, Hoca erupted in mad laughter. The punishment proceeded but he continued to giggle.

"What is this?" the Emir asked, curious. "Are you one of those people who like this sort of thing?"

"Oh no, kind master, no," replied the Mullah, "but I think of my neighbour, who's next. He brought you watermelons!"

Or else!

What should you do when the unacceptable happens? Well… what you can. It is definitely forbidden to do what you cannot. This reminds me of a story:

On the way back from Samarkand to Eskisehir the Silk Road seemed never to end and was mainly made of sand. Everywhere, the same dogs were barking, the same caravan passed and then the dusty dogs were barking again and the sand ate up the traces of the camels and horses and donkeys, leaving the weary travellers at the gate of yet another caravan serai, that could have been the same.

That night Hoca, at long last released from the emotions of service at Tamerlane's court, dreamed a strange dream. It appeared to him that he was a young donkey leaping about, free from worry, across green flowery fields. It was such a delightful vision!

In the morning he did not know for certain: Was he the awakened Nasr Eddin the Hodja having dreamt all night that he was a donkey or was he a sleeping donkey making now this strange dream that he wake up as a Hodja?

Anyway, when he got to the stables his donkey - the certainly real one - was missing, stolen.

This was a very unfavourable event as it is much easier to ride than to walk when you have a long way ahead.

In desperation, Nasrudin proceeded to the main court of the inn and there, shouted loud and clear for each and everyone to hear:

"Listen, all of you people! My donkey is gone.
If my donkey doesn't appear where he was, in one hour from now, I will do what my terrible Master, Emir Timur did, in his youth, when the same happened to him! I will say no more."

The travellers looked at each other, then started asking questions and found out from the caravan that this man was indeed seen with Tamerlane's advisers. A cold spell fell upon the assembly. This was by no means a threat to take lightly. Nobody in their right mind would mess with Timur's envoys. Even less with his advisers.

And lo, the donkey reappeared in the stable in less than one hour.

A very pleased Hoca, saddled the beloved companion.

"But pray, Hodja," asked some curious travellers, "what would you have done in case the donkey remained missing? What did the iron Emir do in his glorious youth?"

"I will tell you what I was ready to do:

"When fearless young Timur had his horse stolen at Kech, he walked, with his saddle on his back, all the way until he got another horse."

The once a century scheme

There are no old tricks, only old people. A hoax is new, once in every generation and humans are proven to never learn from history. Once in each lifetime it works. Some turns of mind are therefore worth to remember, as they will happen again. You may need to defend yourself against them or even use them when in need. This reminds me of a story:

Nasruddin, adorned with an imposing turban, sat down at the fair, on a beautiful silken carpet, with a dancing snake, a flute and a tall, expensive looking jar by his side. He left the snake rest (it was an old tired one, totally harmless) but proclaimed to everyone to hear, in a voice vibrant with optimism and mysterious promise:

“Throw one akçe in this pitcher at my feet and I will whisper into your ear the unfailing recipe of earning much money without toil!”

The market being crowded, many people put their coin in hodja’s vase. To each, Nasruddin murmured his secret. Each departed somewhat thoughtful, most nodding approvingly. The more the pitcher was filled with little coins, the more people were itching to learn the secret. This is normal, if you consider.

By the time the jar was full with coins to the brim, the subashi came and asked severely:

“What do you think you are doing here, Hodja? Deceiving people?”

“Not at all, Effendi,” answered Nasruddin, “I am teaching them plain truth in exchange of payment.”

“And what is that truth?”

“Toss in your coin and I will tell you too.”

“Here it is. Let me hear your truth. How on earth to earn money without toil?”

Hodja leaned forward and whispered:

“Use my secret sparingly. This works only one first time but it can get you rich.”

He paused and added:

“To earn money without toil, do as I do now.”

Knowledge

Some people insist to measure and judge you by that which you are not, which you do not have, you cannot, or that which you do not know. Reject this stupid abuse; assert credit for who you are, for what you do and what you know. This reminds me of a story:

The splendid court of Samarkand was glittering with the loot of twelve conquered kingdoms.

Maulana Nasr Ed Din, the eating guest of Emir Tamerlane spent his days dressed in pure silk, sat at the King's table, and lay his fingers on the finest delicacies brought from the confines of the empire. The advisers sought his advice and the powerful laughed heartily at the bite of his jokes, while the Kinsman of the Khan showered him with small gold coins.

It is related that a party of young noble princes, still unknowing of the ways of the world, met the old Mullah one day amidst the trees of the royal garden and challenged his worth:

"Now tell us Seeker of the Truth, from all people you must know; how many grains of sand make a heap?"

"I do not know, blue-blooded princes."

"Why, then will you care to tell us Dervish, this simple thing: Why can you see in a mirror your right and left eye and ear reversed in the reflection but not your face up side down?"

"If I only knew, priceless offspring of your lordly fathers."

"Then tell us at the least, Fakir, what is the meaning of life?"

"This, I only know that I do not know, splendid princes."

At this, the young noblemen exclaimed:

"You don't know this, and don't know that! Why then are you, tired old jerk, fed and dressed and honoured at the royal tables as if you were the wisest of all people?"

"O, noble seeds", replied Hoca, "I am dressed in silk and fed with good food for the little that I know. For if I were to be rewarded for what I don't know, all the treasuries of the world put together would not be sufficient."

God’s kingdom

It is hard to correct people who know for certain but there are ways to make them discover the wider truth; here is one of my ways of doing it: to challenge peoples' certitudes from inside grow them. Develop them. Usually, they burst into paradox. Then, help them rise and see themselves from above, at their real dimension, where what they do to other people is applied to them. This reminds me of a story:

One day Nasrudin found a dervish stealing figs in his orchard.

As he grabbed the fakir by the neck he shouted:

“What do you think you are doing here sheikh?”
“Nothing wrong, answered the Sufi with insolent confidence. I am Allah’s loving servant, feeding on the fruit of God’s tree in Allah’s garden.”

“Is that so!”, growled the Hodja and proceeded to beat him with no pity but with a solid wooden stick instead.

“Infidel! screamed the dervish, how do you dare rising your hand upon a saint? Don’t you see what you are doing?”

“Nothing wrong, replied the Hodja. Just hitting the servant of Allah, with the stick of Allah, under the tree of Allah, to preserve Allah’s garden.”

Hearing this, the dervish found enlightenment.

A horse saved me

We don't learn from experience, but from the way we understand it. It is God's hand in everything or simply the work of your own hand. This reminds me of a story:

After another one of his many battles with the rebellious Black Sheep, Timur rode back to his tents and sat on his throne, surrounded by his court. For a long time the roomful of courtiers and noblemen was silent, waiting for him to speak. Until finally he sighed loudly and said:

"A horse saved me."

Everyone started breathing again and rivalled in ooh's and aah's, glad as they were to learn that their master was safe and sound, and, additionally, that he harboured no bad feelings towards them, at least not for the moment.

"How did this happen, Amir?" asked the Grand Vizier of the Grand Emir.

The Grand Emir took a deep breath, and told the story, slowly and eloquently:

"Impetuous in my chasing of an enemy chieftain whose name is already forgotten, and which I wanted to cut to pieces with my own hand, I found myself suddenly surrounded by the vicious scum. Even my huge army is of no use when it is just one stone-throw too far. Five despicable janissaries cornered me in a dried-out riverbed. They fought like enraged dogs, their greedy eyes injected with the mad hope that they would earn their ruler's favour by taking my head. They almost took it, in fact. But then, with my arrows spent and my lance broken, when my strength was beginning to wane and I felt the sword grow heavy in my hand, my faithful Al Sifr did the impossible and jumped up over the riverside. It is good to feel the steppe running free under your stallion."

He paused. Everyone waited for him to finish, and he did:

"This event shall be mentioned in the Malfuzat-i Timuri. Let the future generations learn that once, a horse saved my life!"

The court cheered for the ruler, until Hoca's voice was heard to say:

"Once, a fish saved my life."

Even the Emir was curious to hear how such a miraculous thing happened.

"At one time, shipwrecked, I was about to die, explained Nasruddin, alone in a small boat, drifting on the sea.
I had nothing to eat or drink for so many days I had stopped counting. I was starving.

And then, as I see you and you see me, a fat fish jumped out of the water and fell in my boat.
I caught it and ate it. It saved my life."

Hearing this, the Conqueror waved a weary hand and proceeded to attend usual business.

Nothing

Things that do not exist have an enormous potential; unhindered by fact, everything becomes possible. to imaginary problems you can impart imaginary solutions, at will. Moreover, the non existent is indistructible and forever reliable. Build your castles in imaginary, intangible realms and you will never be proven wrong. This reminds me of a story:

When Hodja was a cadi, two peasants came to plead their case.

The first one was very convinced of his right:

“This man was carrying a big load of dry wood. He lost balance and fell. The wood spread all around him. As I was near him, he asked me for help. I asked him what he would give me for the assistance.

“Nothing.” he answered.

I agreed: “All right, I will do it for nothing.”

I gathered with him all the fallen wood and then put it on his back. When we got to his home I asked him to pay me nothing but he refused. It is my right though. I demand to be paid as agreed.”

The second man confessed that indeed he did agree to pay nothing, so that there was nothing to pay and this is why he refused to pay something that was nothing at all.

Nasrudin considered the case with his usual determination to impart justice:

“Given word must be kept. You helper, come forth!

He pointed to the small rug in front of his chair:

“Lift the rug and tell me what you see under it!”

The man did and said:

“Nothing.”

“Perfect, “said Hodja “now take the nothing and go your way.”

The key to heaven and hell

Few things teach like show-how. Only experience is stronger. Reserve this for the important insights. This reminds me of a story:

One early morning, Tamerlane sent for Nasrudin.

"Listen, worm" he spoke, "Once more I did not find sleep this night. I was thinking of Hell and Heaven. I was trying to figure how those places could be. But there was a veil on my mind's eye.
I thought I give you a chance to teach me today about the kingdoms of the after-world, or, if you don't know, to send you to find out for me. See what I mean?"

Hoca looked the Emir in the eye and said:

"You don't need to know both those places, old thief. And who are you, but a lame duck with a rusty sword, unworthy of even raising your question to such unworldly things?"

Red in the face, Timur drew his formidable scimitar to chop the insolent head and wash his hands in fresh blood.

Nasrudin was flung on his knees. The curved blade rose above him like the wing of Azrael.

"Now this," said quickly the Hoca, catching the eye of the king, "this is Hell."

Timur, fast in spirit as he was short in temper, understood and felt pleased. A smile sweetened his face.

"Be it, you are forgiven for the teaching. I reward you with a sack of gold, a maiden to put your heart back and new silken chalvars, as you may need them. Rise and sit on the pillow by my right side."

"And this is Heaven, sublime Padishah!" bowed the Mullah, sweet like honey, while taking a seat by the feet of Tamerlane.

But in his heart, he was thinking otherwise.

Ask Abdul

Cultivate the art of profuse excuses. Nobody believes them but at least you prove that you care and have imagination. This reminds me of a story:

A neighbour came, again, to ask Hodja to lend him his donkey, Abdul.

“I must go and ask Abdul first,” answered Nasrudin.” If he agrees, he’s yours for the whole day.”

He went and came back after a short while:

“How unfortunate! He is totally unwilling.

He said that things can only go wrong, and I, his master will come out with a disadvantage.

If you go in front of him, he will bite you. If you go behind him, he will kick you. If you mount him he will bolt and throw you. Anyway, whatever of these, you will curse me.”

Monkey

Tempters are those who lure you to be what you are not, or worse, to think no evil. It is a loosing game. This reminds me of a story:

The mighty and terrible Tamerlane, conqueror of numberless kingdoms, had, besides his awesome qualities, a couple of minor shortcomings. He was limping - to the comfort of his enemies who called him Timur the Lame - his hand was crippled and he was also blind in one eye, as it seems. But where he set his foot the grass never grew again and everything he saw with that one evil eye of his he proved able to conquer. At the zenith of his fortunes, he desired to be handsome too.

Alas, the Emir could not conquer, grab and burn himself to the ground to get what he wanted. So, he thought to pay. He promised a shower of gold and emeralds and honours to whomever cured him.

Unfortunately, the healers were shy to come forward, as Tamerlane's temper was notorious.

For want of volunteers, the impatient ruler reverted to his favourite scapegoat, Nasrudin. Thrown at the feet of the Emir, Hoca was given a choice. He could heal the foot, hand and eye of the master and finish his days old, rich and healthy, covered in honours, if Allah wanted so. Alternatively, he could leave this wicked world quickly under the hatchet, Inch Allah.

Nasrudin chose without difficulty.
"If it is an order then with pleasure, Great one! Just allow me two full moons to prepare."

After the second crescent filled, Hoca came forth:

"Here is the cure, master. With Allah's will you can try it once in a lifetime. For three days and three nights, you must not close your eye to sleep, you must only drink holy water from this jar, only eat these magic figs and rule the world from the height of the old palm tree in front of the imperial serai. For three days and three nights, you must ceaselessly recite the verses of the Holy Book while I will faithfully watch your shadow and pray to keep away the evil one. At the fourth dawn, you will be changed, as you like. With one easy condition only. Never ever during the three days and even less in the darkness of the nights will you think of the monkey, that impure fickle creature unable to concentrate on things of the spirit. If even for one instant its image or name profane your soul everything is lost! Do you wish to accept this peril?"
"I do," replied the king.

The courtiers gathered to witness the miracle. All the monkeys were chased out of Samarkand. The exalted person of the Grand Emir was helped up to the top of the palm tree with a jar of holy water, the magic figs and of course the Holy Book.

It was such a sad time for the sultan. Stronger than the prayers, more appetising than the figs, burning more than thirst and the hope of beauty, during three days and three nights one image haunted the mind of the great warrior: the Monkey.

Just playing

He who steals an egg today, will steal an ox tomorrow. Hunger develops imagination; that is true for the fool but not for the idiot. This reminds me of a story:

Once, when Nasrudin was still a kid, his father sent him with a sack of wheat to the mill. There was a long waiting line. Nasrudin spent his time snatching handfuls of wheat from other people’s sacks and adding it to his own. This went on until the miller caught him:

“What do you think you do here!?” he shouted.
“Oh, sorry,” answered Nasrudin “I am such a fool! I imagined myself when I was a baby playing in the sand. In my distraction I was carrying wheat here and there.”
“Since you are a fool, why didn’t you take grain from your bag into the others’?”
“Excuse me” replied Nasrudin, “I am a fool, not an idiot.”

Looking in the mirror

Be careful, kings only, and not all of them, understand that having a jester at court – to tell them bold truth – is a luxury. Common people laugh at your jest and then treat you for an idiot. Be sparing with making a fool of yourself! This reminds me of a story:

The Spanish envoy, chamberlain Clavijo, offered to Tamerlane a precious chest full of barbarian presents. Among the daggers with jewelled hilts, Toledo swords, scarlet brocade, unknown Christian saints’ icons and heavy chains of gold, there was a rare device, a superbly polished silver mirror.

With that mirror the Iron Emir looked at his own royal face and did not like what he saw. A tear escaped from his vulture eye and quickly ran across the ravaged battlefield of his face to hide in the fearsome dark beard.

Nasrudin Hodja, the wise fool and favourite jester, prostrated at the sultan’s feet, burst into loud crying and laments. Timur was first impressed but Hoca went on and on weeping and tearing his hair out for hours until the Emir grew annoyed:

"Don't you go too far, Mullah? What do you think you are doing?"
"But Majesty, you only saw your worshipped face for one faltering moment and you had a tear in your eye. Consider us your humble loving subjects who have to look at your face for hours, everyday, year after year!"

The right time

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:” A time to be born, and a time to die; …a time to be wise and a time to be like everybody else. Don’t choose the wrong time. This reminds me of a story:

Hodja was travelling alone in the wilderness.

Suddenly a tiger appeared, not far away. Hodja run for his life. As he didn’t have time to look, he slid behind the bushes into a precipice. By chance, he got hold with one hand of a large root hanging out from the rocks. He looked upwards. The tiger growled at him from above. He looked down. Below, another tiger was snarling at him. He felt weary. Two small legendary mice, one black and one white proceeded to slowly gnaw at the firm sustaining root. Nasrudin’s heart filled with fear. Then he saw in the green moss in front of his nose a sweet, fragrant, red strawberry. With a short movement, while clutching one hand on the root he picked the fruit with the other and eat it, and it was marvellous. Then he felt weary again. The mice kept playfully nibbling the root. His hands grew numb. His thoughts grew dark. Now, a noble, calm, quieting voice from nowhere spoke to him:

“Let go, Nasrudin… Relax and let go… Life is but a dream…Let go now…”

To this, Nasrudin replied:

“Get lost! I need help not illumination!”

Tamerlane’s elephant

Noble is sacrifice for the public good! It will be wise though to ask yourself whether a given public is good enough to deserve it. This reminds me of a story:

After trampling so many of Bajazet’s spahis and janissaries in the great battle of Ankara, Tamerlane’s war elephants deserved a vacation and good food. Accordingly, the Emir spread them to pasture one by one in many Turkish villages with orders to let them feed aplenty and to treat them with the respect due to his own envoys. One, ended up in Nasrudin’s village.

First, the villagers gathered to admire that beast never seen before. As they all enjoyed excellent eye-sight, they admired the whole and choose each of them their preferred part. One observed that the animal had legs like trees or stone pillars. Another marveled at the trunk and called it a water spout. The third compared the ears with huge fans, large like carpets. Yet another admired the back, large and haughty, equal to a throne. But while they replenished their eyes the elephant filled its belly.

This huge nosy creature couldn’t help heaving big feet and even bigger appetite. In no time he ate up a good part of the villagers’ crops and that which he didn’t gobble up he crushed into the ground.

Something had to be done. After a couple of days the peasants rebelled. Red with courage they came to Hodja and demanded him to head their complaining delegation to Tamerlane.

Nasrudin tried to shy away but they convinced him for the public good. The numerous delegation started bravely towards Timur’s camp. Curiously, as they advanced, more and more of the villagers were left behind and disappeared. Hodja who didn’t look left or right, absorbed as he was with what to say to the Emperor, suddenly found himself in his presence, alone.

“Miserable cowards, they left me alone” he thought as the Ruler asked him, with a very cold eye, what he wanted.

“I came to tell you, Sultan, that the people in our village greatly admire your wonderful elephant. But we must complain on its behalf.”

Tamerlane rose an eyebrow:

“What?”

“The wonderful beast is lonely without a mate and all of us worry for its health. Our whole village begs your Highness to provide a she-elephant as a company for our guest.”

At this, Timur was pleased. Nasrudin was awarded a robe of honour and told to extend greetings to the population.

On the way home the delegation grew back in size:

“What did the Emperor say?” they inquired.

“Good news,” answered Hodja with enthusiasm. “As he saw me alone while I mentioned the elephant he immediately guessed that our beast also feels lonely. He agreed to send a mate to appease him. We will now be a renowned village displaying two elephants!”

About learning

I witness that besides growing the freedom of choices in your mind, learning helps you feel less lonely when everybody deserted you. Many souls are with you when you learn. This reminds me of a story:

One morning, four years before his days were all counted Tamerlane had Nasrudin called and said:

"This day I feel inclined to ponder. It occurs to me that I spent so much of my life reading the thoughts of my enemies and then, counting their skulls, that I didn't take time all these years to read books and better myself. Is it too late for me? As you are a teacher, teach me. How would that be, to seek improvement at my age?"

"You can always light a small candle, Great Amir"

"Are you testing my patience, worm? What help is a small candle for the master of an empire spread from sunrise to sunset?"

"Sublime Padishah, learning is light:

“For a young child study is like the sun that will make him see the whole world in broad daylight.

“For the middle-aged man learning is like the moon. Under its silvery shine the weary traveller can find his hesitant way on the narrow path through the night.

“As for the old, the one like you Ruler, learning is lighting a small candle in the depth of night. But when it's dark enough one candle is plenty. Instead of the fearful pitch-dark void that grew around you, you see a friendly speck of light that warms your heart.”

Divine Justice

You see this one and that one doing without shame to others what they hate to be done unto them. But when it comes to their own interest they demand justice. This reminds me of a story:

Three robbers, who had stolen a sack of corn, disagreed on how to share it. As each thought to have the highest merit to the booty they decided to go to Nasrudin the Hodja for arbitration.

“Hodja,” said they, “you have read the Quran. We trust that you will find for each the right share of the corn. We will abide by your ruling.”

“Tell me how you stole the corn and what was done by each of you to deserve a share” ordered Nasrudin who was pondering how to treat such dangerous petitioners.

“I knew about the sack, and where it was stored,” said the first. “Without me there would be no corn. I have right to half of it.”

“I kept an eye on the owner’s house, ready to kill him with my yatagan if he ever came out to surprise us.” said the second. “Mine was the riskiest part of the robbing, so that I deserve at least half of the sack.”

“All this is empty talk,“ said the third, for I took and carried away the heavy load. It is obvious that half at least is mine.”

Hodja listened and thought for a while. Then he said:

“There is no doubt that you were all of you involved in the stealing the peasant’s corn. How would you like me to do the sharing: the human way - like a cadi or Allah’s way?”

The thieves did not like to hear about cadis and preferred Allah’s way.

Nasrudin looked at the sack, closed his eyes and withdrew in deep meditation. The robbers waited anxiously.

After a while, without opening his eyes Hodja put his hand in the sack and murmuring: “The Seer of All” took out one grain of corn:

“This is the way Allah hands out goods among men on earth. You Zafer, you who carried the load, take this one grain and be grateful to have your life saved on this day.”

He handed over the grain to confused Zafer and then, still with eyes closed, slipped his hand into the sack and withdrew it full of corn:

To you Süleyman, for your evil deed of watching intent to kill a man, Allah dispenses this rich handful. Not enough to feed you, but, Allah knows, enough maybe to seed in the field and start an honest life. It may produce abundant harvest if you take it with humility.”

“As for you Ahmad,” he continued while opening his eyes, “you who knew where the booty was, Allah lavishes on you the whole sack. Take it with fear and get home with it, if you can, before God decides to divide it again.”