This Reminds Me Of A Story

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

Renown breeds high expectations. This is poisonous credit. When people imagine they will behold miracles, whatever you do will disappoint them. Reject excessive praise if not by modesty, by prudence. But if it is too late to be humble, then shroud yourself in mystery and absence. This reminds me of a story: At one fleeting period in time Nasreddin was a celebrated Sufi recluse. Since he was trying to find solitude and peace of mind, his hermit’s abode was of course assaulted, day and night, by an endless row of believers seeking the enlightenment of saintliness. One afternoon came the turn of a young pilgrim who after respectfully pressing his face into the dust and his lips onto the reticent slippers of the master, implored to become a disciple. “What do you want to learn from me?” enquired the Hodja. “Your secret wisdom Sheikh! I will do anything to gain knowledge of your secret!” At this, Nasreddin looked anxiously to right and to left and then whispered, “Foll

Just playing with the words: doesn’t your strength start where your weakness stops? This reminds me of a story: “You know," said old Nasreddin, "now at eighty I am exactly as strong as I used to be sixty years ago.” “How can you say such a thing?" wondered a neighbour. "At eighty you cannot be like a young man!” “But it’s true!” “Can you prove it?” “Yes.” “How?” “You can witness it with your own eyes if you want. You know the big millstone by the public well. Once when I was twenty I tried to move it and it didn’t budge. Yesterday I tried again and again I couldn’t move it. The same as when I was young.”

There are heaven-sent situations where you can teach by example. It is like having life at your command, for a moment. One such case is when you get the learner to do exactly the mistake you instruct him about. This is luxury education; once tasted in this way wisdom is very difficult to forget. This reminds me of a story: The ageing Tamerlane sent after his favourite jester Nasrudin to come and tease his wits with some more words of amazing truth. "Tell me Hodja, by your white beard", he said, "what else do I need to be remembered as a great ruler?" "You have all the gifts in the universe but only need a little more patience, O Lord of the Fortunate Conjunction of the Planets," replied Hoca with a respectful nod. "I see," said the Emir, "and what else do I need?" "To always keep your calm and composure, Serene master," continued Nasrudin. "So you say!" said Timur, "but what else?" "Never to grow tire

Always look on the bright side of life. For a confident mind a kick in the pants is a step forward and a near miss – a blessing in disguise. Aim to turn a doubtful honour into apparent success. This reminds me of a story: The Mullah rode back from Konya as fast as his donkey could, impatient to break the news. Once in Aksehir, he headed straight to the market and cried out for everyone to hear: "The King talked to me! He talked to me even as we met for the first time!" The villagers were quite impressed. Everyone ran to spread the word. "Timur talked to our Mullah!" Only the village idiot, sitting on a rock next to the fountain, remained with Nasrudin. "Tell me Hodja," he asked, while toying with a fistful of dirt, "How did such a thing happen? What did the King say to you?" "It was most unexpected! I was quietly riding my donkey by the big fountain in Konya when suddenly, a party arrived on horseback and with a great voice, Tamerlane the Pa

Some say that a good joke never won an enemy but often lost a friend. Maybe. But I observed that some tyrants, when they are clever and strong, will reward audacious wit as eagerly as they despise the flattery they are used to. Hoca was strolling through the market of Konya. His eyes and his nostrils were full with the colourful multitude of people and the mouth-watering treasuries of the stalls. The selling and the buying went on in noise and excitement. However, a heavy shadow hung over the busy crowd. People were too worried to open their purses, with Tamerlane's soldiers roaming the country. "What will befall us?" asked a man with a half undone turban who was selling a heap of ripe melons. "Tamerlane is looting everything, even the graveyards," added a cobbler waving a pair of worn leader shoes. "He burns towns to the ground and builds minarets of severed heads," added a voice from behind a Persian carpet. A party of strangers, with faces veiled in

Who has nothing has nothing to lose but those who have a lot at stake always engage him to die a heroic death for their ills.” Le sage, en hésitant, tourne autour du tombeau…” This reminds me of a story: Bayazid in Timur's cage The news spread fast, like fire in the bushes! Timur the Lame, the angry ghost of Genghis Khan had vanquished the great sultan Bayazid the Thunder at Ankara and locked him up in an iron cage. Now, a new, terrible Padishah was wielding his sceptre over Anatolia. The good people of Aksehir rushed to pack their humble belongings and roved in all directions like headless chicken. "The new King is coming upon us! Flee! Flee!" Nasreddin all alone was resting peacefully under his porch, in the shade of the wine, sipping honey-sweet tea and exchanging thoughts with his donkey. As they did not know where to go, the frightened villagers soon gathered by the Mullah's fence, wondering at his strange tranquility. "What are you