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."
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