Ibn Khaldoun’s mule
Waiting is a practical art. Menace itself has a course of life: it is born, it dwells around for a while and sooner or later dies out. The wise plan ahead. This reminds me of a story:
Timur Kurgan, Protector of the scholars, enjoyed the company of the learned. Those who gave him right answers were relatively safe. Before he pillaged and burned Damascus, he even bought, as a sign of good will, the grey mule of the celebrated historian and kadi, Ibn Khaldoun, whose noble looks and words (I mean, the kadi's, not the mule's) impressed him.
At a later day, during the house divan, Tamerlane - who suffered that morning from his sore wrist - summoned advice about how to get the best out of the new imperial mule.
There was a respectful silence at this request.
"Better be some good advice," growled the Emir, "and let it come soon. I grow bored with mute company."
No doubt, this was a moment for Nasrudin to step forth and save the day.
"I could, by an old secret recipe, teach the precious beast to read. It will be done in no more than three weeks, Inch Allah. I only need to retire with full provisions for the noble student and for myself."
"Go and do it," resolved Tamerlane.
For three weeks the Hodja enjoyed good food and a quiet time in a royal retreat. As for the mule it had much less to eat. Instead of hay or straw Hoca presented the hungry animal, several times each day, with a large, beautifully bound book: Ibn Khaldoun's Muqaddima in exquisite Arabic calligraphy. Between the pages he scattered tasty grains of rye.
After two weeks of fasting the mule became very interested in the book and able to pick out the grain from among the erudite pages.
The day came when Tamerlane remembered - he always remembered - to have the reading mule produced in his presence.
Nasrudin stepped forth with the big leather-bound book under his arm. He bowed with deep respect to the Master, put one knee to the ground in front of Timur's seat, opened the treatise on his other knee while the mule was brought in.
The clever animal rushed to the book and proceeded, skilfully, to turn the pages with his tongue. As he didn't find anything he turned many more pages and gave various signs that the text was disappointing.
"Here is the proof!" exclaimed Nasrudin. "Under our very eyes my student reads page after page"
Tamerlane offered a half-smile, pondered and decided:
"We are not amused. It reads, maybe, but how do we know, as it doesn't talk..."
"Your thought becomes an order to me even before you utter it O My Emir!" interrupted the Mullah bravely. "If the Master of the Happy Constellation wills the mule to speak, it will speak. I came prepared with my calculations. Under your auspices it will take ten years of my hard work - with only a modest pension - and of course the good food ordered for the both of us. Let my head be where my feet are if I don't teach him."
"I desire that you teach this mule to speak like a man. If you fail, your head will speak from a pole to other cheeky liars."
With this, the Emir left, as he was luckily busy to attend other state affairs.
"How imprudent you are my poor man," said the Grand Vizier. "You will lose the bet and your head with it! Timur has no mercy for the fools."
"Inch Allah!" murmured Nasrudin, "we should not worry for this. The Emir is sixty-four years old. I am quite old myself and the mule has seen many years. Before ten years pass, I die, the mule dies or the sultan dies..."
At a later day, during the house divan, Tamerlane - who suffered that morning from his sore wrist - summoned advice about how to get the best out of the new imperial mule.
There was a respectful silence at this request.
"Better be some good advice," growled the Emir, "and let it come soon. I grow bored with mute company."
No doubt, this was a moment for Nasrudin to step forth and save the day.
"I could, by an old secret recipe, teach the precious beast to read. It will be done in no more than three weeks, Inch Allah. I only need to retire with full provisions for the noble student and for myself."
"Go and do it," resolved Tamerlane.
For three weeks the Hodja enjoyed good food and a quiet time in a royal retreat. As for the mule it had much less to eat. Instead of hay or straw Hoca presented the hungry animal, several times each day, with a large, beautifully bound book: Ibn Khaldoun's Muqaddima in exquisite Arabic calligraphy. Between the pages he scattered tasty grains of rye.
After two weeks of fasting the mule became very interested in the book and able to pick out the grain from among the erudite pages.
The day came when Tamerlane remembered - he always remembered - to have the reading mule produced in his presence.
Nasrudin stepped forth with the big leather-bound book under his arm. He bowed with deep respect to the Master, put one knee to the ground in front of Timur's seat, opened the treatise on his other knee while the mule was brought in.
The clever animal rushed to the book and proceeded, skilfully, to turn the pages with his tongue. As he didn't find anything he turned many more pages and gave various signs that the text was disappointing.
"Here is the proof!" exclaimed Nasrudin. "Under our very eyes my student reads page after page"
Tamerlane offered a half-smile, pondered and decided:
"We are not amused. It reads, maybe, but how do we know, as it doesn't talk..."
"Your thought becomes an order to me even before you utter it O My Emir!" interrupted the Mullah bravely. "If the Master of the Happy Constellation wills the mule to speak, it will speak. I came prepared with my calculations. Under your auspices it will take ten years of my hard work - with only a modest pension - and of course the good food ordered for the both of us. Let my head be where my feet are if I don't teach him."
"I desire that you teach this mule to speak like a man. If you fail, your head will speak from a pole to other cheeky liars."
With this, the Emir left, as he was luckily busy to attend other state affairs.
"How imprudent you are my poor man," said the Grand Vizier. "You will lose the bet and your head with it! Timur has no mercy for the fools."
"Inch Allah!" murmured Nasrudin, "we should not worry for this. The Emir is sixty-four years old. I am quite old myself and the mule has seen many years. Before ten years pass, I die, the mule dies or the sultan dies..."
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