This Reminds Me Of A Story

When you dream, dream big! In need, don’t beg for trifles! The smart pauper looks for changing his condition, not for alms that keep him another day as he is, a beggar. Additionally, mind the old proverb: The man who gives you fish, feeds you for a day. The one who teaches you to fish feeds you for a lifetime. All this reminds me of a story: At one time Nasreddin was a beggar. Worse, as a timid mendicant, he was seeking charity - sweating and itching in his miserable rags, on his knees, with a look that would have broken even a tax collector’s heart – but in a lonely place where no one could have ever seen him, at the side of a deserted road by the shallow salt lake of Tuz Golu. Most unexpectedly (Allah is the giver of all) a Sufi saint or, perhaps, kind-hearted djinn in dervish disguise – you never know for sure – came by, walking and whirling on the waters. Compassion made him pause in front of the ragged Hoça. The immortal considered the starving beggar with p

When one comes for help, don’t give advice instead. It serves little but it irritates a lot. This reminds me of a story: Nasrudin went to Bekir the rich merchant to ask for one gold curuş : “Why do you need to borrow so much money?” asked Bekir, in turn. “I want to buy a camel to work my field.” “To work your field you need an ox, not a camel.” said Bekir. "Excuse me Bekir,” replied Nasrudin, “I came to you to ask for money, not for advice."

Beware the paragons of ascetism and abstinence. I am frightened of what may lurk and boil in their soul. And remember: God may forgive us for the sins we have made, but He will never ever forgive us for the sins we didn’t commit. This reminds me of a story: This is definitely not about Mullah Nasrudin. Moslems don’t do such things with unknown women. It is about an old Buddhist monk and sage. His name was Michi Hara. One day, Michi was walking along the muddy street, after the rain, holding his begging bowl, in company of a young novice. They saw a ravishing young woman in a beautiful silk robe apparently hesitating to step into the mud, the puddles and the dirt as she needed to go across. Michi, generous, stepped forth, took the lady in his arms without a word and carried her to the other sidewalk, where he left her on the dry pavement. He retired in silence, answering the ladies’ profuse thanks with a polite bow. After this, Michi and the apprentice walked for a long while through th

One advice may be good counsel but following all opinions is stupid without mistake. Listen to advice without interruption, and follow your own judgement. This reminds me of a story: One day, the Mullah went to the market in Konya with his son. As they only had one mule the son mounted it and the Mullah walked. A neighbour was appalled. "Now this is education! The old man walks while the lazy youngster rides!" "I told you, father", said the boy, and they changed places. Not far from there, a group of passers by shouted after them: "Tyrant! You, a full-grown man, ride the donkey while your child sweats and stumbles in the dust!" This time, they mounted together. In the next village, an angry crowd wanted to stone them: "Heartless people, do you want to kill that poor animal under your weight?" After this, they both followed the donkey afoot. At the gate of the town, the beggars were laughing their shirts off: "Look at these two fools! Their d

Circumstances are like boxes, contained in larger boxes, surrounded by still larger ones. When you rise to a wider view, some unattainable things come within reach. This reminds me of a story: Timur was open-handed with his courtiers but somehow he would always take more than he gave. One whispered once that he would give with both hands but take with his feet too. To put it short, Nasrudin the jester wasn’t earning much money in spite of his much appreciated entertainment and advice. Because of this, Tamerlane was intrigued to find out at one time that his Hodja was throwing expensive parties with many guests and giving alms to the poor of Samarkand. The Emir had Nasrudin called to explain: “I hear that you spend lavishly and indulge in philanthropy. Are you stealing me?” “Certainly not, kind Master, how could I dare such a thing? I spend my own.” “From whom do you have so much?” Nasrudin leaned forward confidentially and muttered: “I indulged in the sin of betting with rich people an

Critique is a gift. Be careful when you criticise. Friends deserve it but often take offence. Enemies get free lessons from your critique to strengthen their wrongdoing. A wise man must be a fool indeed to teach lessons to his own enemy. Don’t fix the wrong thing. For quite a while now, at the teahouse, as he sat at his favourite table sipping the sweet brew of the afternoon, a cheeky brat would pass and knock down Nasrudin's turban. This happened again and again but Nasrudin, as angry as he must have been, didn't say a thing. His face got red but he remained silent. The baker even asked him: "Hoca, how can you allow this impertinence? Why don't you stand up and teach him a lesson?" "Teach him?" said Nasrudin. "My scolding could make him more cautious so that later he may do more harm. As I dislike him, quite a lot, I will rather let his impertinence grow every day. I will take the advice of the prophet Issa and turn to him the other cheek. If I ke

Success has many parents but failure is always an orphan. Similarly, insolvency has no descendants, but wealth finds many inheritors. This reminds me of a story: The richest man in Aksehir, owner of several houses, shops, vineyards, and fields, died. At the funeral, among the numerous family members present, arrived in haste from the four corners of Anatolia, you could see Nasrudin, eyes in tears, moaning and exalting the good deeds of the deceased, with all the signs of deep regret and pain. Noticing this, a relative of the departed came to appease him and ask him: “Why do you suffer? You never met him and you aren’t even a distant relative of the deceased.” “This is precisely what I regret so much.”