This Reminds Me Of A Story

The ability to marvel when considering the simplest of things is the sign of fine intelligence but looks silly to the stupid. “What good is an idle thought,” they say, “when you can’t even sell it?” This reminds me of a story: The new market-street in Samarkand was as rich as you can imagine a place where they piled up and sold the incredible loot of Timur's conquests. In his magnanimity, the Emir had drawn a straight line across the town, side to side. He ordered all houses thrown down and replaced within twenty days by an endless row of fountains and arched shops, each with the same white earthenware bench in front and the same two chambers, front and back. Inside the shops one could see magnificent goods that ranged from the finest cotton to precious silks, elegant lambs-wool hats to chiselled stone. There was paper, porcelain, enchanting perfumes, carpets, pearls and spices, more carpets, musk, halva! In some shops one could just glimpse gold jewellery hammered as thin

Surprise is the weapon without a blade. You can floor people by the sheer power of the unexpected. This reminds me of a story: One night the Hodja was sleeping in his bed, snoring peacefully after a busy day when he was awaken by somebody, obviously a burglar, who was cautiously investigating the pitch-dark room. With an unexpectedly friendly voice he addressed the anonymous presence: “Light a candle please, so that I can see you.” The stranger froze. “Fear nothing, my good man,” continued Nasrudin. “I only want to see the gifted one who is able to find, in the darkness, something valuable, here in my poor house where, in broad daylight, I find nothing.”

It is easy to influence people by exaggerating in one direction in order to obtain an opposite response. This reminds me of a story: Out on the road under the blazing sun, the ever hungry Hodja – the pilgrim – found a party of merchants. They were eating a lavish, appetising lunch of smoked cheese, olives, flat bread and juicy fruit with delicious refreshing drinks, in the shade of the one big green tree of the endless sandy plain. This vision was worse than the heat of the sun and the ache of the soles. Something had to be done. While passing by he threw up his hands and exclaimed: “Allah have mercy on me! Not again! This road is infected with outlaws! You are the second gang of foreign robbers I meet in one day! Anyway, enjoy your loot and thank you for not robbing me this time! Surprised, the travellers protested with indignant voices: “We are not thieves, but honest, friendly merchants!" "We are good Muslims from Medina." This here is our honest meal, earned by Allah

Do not burn all the bridges! Do not spit in the well! Death only is final. Try to always leave some little thing, some reserve behind you so that you may come back. Life changes. Sometimes a foot in the door is your way back to lost friends and property. This reminds me of a story: This was the year when all went bad. Hodja’s father died. The draught scorched the vineyard and the cornfield. Abdul the donkey perished of snake bite. The war tax ravaged Anatolia. There was nothing left but heat and dust, except for the beautiful little house Hodja inherited from his father, with its old, rich, fig tree, its red tiled roof and its vine covered porch so pleasant for a rest. To survive that year, Nasrudin borrowed one thousand dirhams from Hakim, who said he was not a usurer. But he was. When the time came to pay back the money, Hakim pointed at the contract and made it plain: “You pay the money, or you go to jail. Or, you give me your house and I tear up the contract.” Nasrudin lo

Often those who teach cannot do and those who find the fault cannot fix it. Nothing wrong in this provided you understand to take from each what they can offer instead of believing foolishly that he who can do more can do less too. This reminds me of a story: Around the tents of the big encampment everyone was busy at the king's orders. The slaves were slaving, the horses horsing, the scribes scribing and - of course - the soldiers soldiering. The Mullah only, as Tamerlane's fool or advisor - nobody knew for certain - was free to roam about and mingle with everything and everyone he liked. Which he did. By the right side of the royal pavilions, the dismounted archers of the Guard, the elite of the Chagatai Horde, were practicing their skill, observed now and then by the sharp eye of Tamerlane who knew better than anyone else the old truth: it is the eye of the owner that gets the cow fat. Nasreddin, always helpful, provided rich comment about the best mann

Did this happen to you? Ask for help against a thief and the policeman investigates you. The people of the order don’t like to deal with disorder. It’s easier to search the victim. This reminds me of a story: Hodja’s donkey was stolen from his shed. He rushed to complain to the magistrate of the village. “Misfortune,” he said, “my help, my precious, my only donkey was stolen!” “Tell me exactly how it happened!” commanded the asas bashi. Nasrudin looked at him surprised: “How should I know how it happened? I was not there when it was stolen!”

Most people believe that asking questions is something that goes by itself. But I see that questions are like doors; if you open the right one you may go where you need. Through the wrong one, you go nowhere, or worse, to the wrong place. Before seeking answers you must spend time and find the right question. This reminds me of a story: Nasruddin  folded his legs, sat down in front of the sultan’s palace and proceeded to shout in the evening breeze, with the resounding tone of a muezzin calling to the prayer: “All your questions answered, Inch Allah! Whoever you are, I answer your questions! Any questions. The pure truth! No wavering! One hundred silver dinar for two questions of your choice! Your deepest questions answered, Inch Allah!” The sultan himself distracted by this noise came out and when  Nasruddin  was in his presence, asked: “ Hodja, isn’t one hundred dinar shamelessly too much?” “Yes Sublime Padishah," replied Nasrudin. "And what is your second questio

Sometimes, you can make a fool of yourself to let people find out how ridiculous they are. The least clever don’t understand, at first. But, slowly, it dawns on them too. This reminds me of a story: Peace had finally broken out in Anatolia, so the hay market tea house in Aksehir was once again the setting for much bragging about military exploits. Listening to the group, you would have thought yourself to be in the company of legendary heroes and survivors, chosen to live and tell their tale by the miraculous decree of Allah, blessed be his name. Abdul the hamal gave an account of the fearless way in which he, with incredible force, precipitated a huge block of stone from a hill, smashing to pieces no less than three chagatay archers. Yusuf the barber slashed the air with his fuming chibook to show how he cut a vicious arab into two equal halves. Mahmud the fat milkman shook the backgammon tavla illustrating how he used to strangle his enemies, two at a time. After a while, Nasrudin gr

The last insanity of the rulers is to conclude that they are God. In fact this ridiculous illness befalls also a number of petty backyard tyrants, when some little power over people goes to their head. This reminds me of a story: One day as Tamerlane relaxed in private counsel with his favourite fool Nasreddin he grew inspired. In that moment of secrecy, away from the crowd, he felt inclined to confess the great truth and said: "God speaks to me!" The Hodja, looked at him very surprised and answered sternly: "I didn't say anything."

Sometimes language is silly. Revealing it makes people think. Well, some of the people. This reminds me of a story: The gates of Samarkand were closed for the night when a busy traveller demanded entry. “No strangers are admitted after sunset!” shouted the guard. “I am no stranger! I am Nasrudin the Hodja, advisor to Emir Timur!” The gate opened and an incredulous and menacing soldiery emerged: “Can you identify yourself?” Hodja extracted a small mirror from his bag, looked into it and replied: “Yes, it’s me.” The guards looked at each-other and agreed: “Yes. It can only be him.”

The mind has definite limits but we don’t see them because we do not know what we do not know. However, there is a way to feel those frontiers - trying to understand paradoxes like “What I say is false.” This reminds me of a story: Tamerlane, may Allah keep him forever where he belongs, was sick and tired of the flatterers at his court, ready to lie away the stars from the sky and say to him whatever he seemed to desire. He loved to know all the truth (even details I am shy to mention), he wanted to possess every bit of it, and he used it sparingly. At once, the Iron Emir sent a firman across the empire to summon a jester that would tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "Truth is safety! Rasti, Rusti! Let the candid people come to me freely! My royal tent is wide open, day and night. I will ask each of them one question. The sincere will be safe, but the one who lies, I will have his head cut. Him who is truthing, I will take in my service, garb in silk and feed at

It is amazing how much people worry about funeral observances. Isn’t your true feeling the most important thing? This reminds me of a story: A man came to seek advice from Hodja concerning burial customs. “Pray Hodja,” he asked. “When the stretcher or the casket is carried in silence by the friends or family, I as a well meaning visitor, where should I place myself in the funeral procession? Behind, on the right side or on the left side? Or should I walk far in front of them?” “Don’t worry so much my good man. There is only one place where you should definitely not be placed: on the stretcher or in the casket.”

Some people just don’t want to take no for an answer when it is about their interest. Yours, they don’t see at all. This reminds me of a story: “Hodja, can I please have your laundry rope for a couple of days? We do our spring washing tomorrow.” “Unfortunately the rope is busy. My wife is drying flour on it.” “But Hodja, who can imagine such an incredible thing – drying flour on a rope? Is that even possible?” “Well neighbour, little do you know what it's possible to do to avoid lending your rope when you don’t wish to.”

Hypocrites should be paid with barefaced fabrication. In this way there will be a little justice in this world. This reminds me of a story: Three poor pilgrims were proceeding on the long road back from Mecca. It so happens that one of them was our Hodja who had joined the other two that same day. After the evening prayers, Nasrudin extracted from his meagre bag a flatbread and told his companions: “This is what I have. What do you bring?” “Our bags are empty. It is Allah The Nourisher who will provide our food!” “We can share my bread,” offered Nasrudin. “Certainly not!” said one of the pilgrims. “This is a small piece of bread, sufficient just for one. We must wait until Allah will give us a sign showing who shall eat it.” “He’s right,” added the second. “Let’s sleep now. The one of us who has the dream most beautiful among us three will deserve to eat this morsel by himself, inch Allah.” Because of this, Nasrudin went to sleep hungry. Next morning, one of the pilgrims told his dream

People may be born equal but at the market they are certainly not all the same. As they say, some are more equal than others. This reminds me of a story: The souk was so crowded that you could easily mistake it for a carpet of beards. Nasrudin addressed a tall young man next to him: “May I salute you, young master! Aren’t you by any chance the imam’s nephew?” “Not at all.” “The son of the cadi, maybe?” “Certainly not!” “One of Timur’s envoys?” “Nothing of this, my good man.” "In this case, you son of an adultery bitch, step off my toe before I hit you right on your stupid nape!”

Prayer reveals the praying one as questions lay bare the questioner. Listen and learn about people. This reminds me of a story: It was Friday afternoon, after the zuhr, at the tea house in Nasrudin’s village. Groups of weary men sat outside, drinking tea while resting from the hard work of the week. Yet they were not allowed to rest. Like a gadfly, a young bearded dervish newly arrived in the village flew from group to group, admonishing Allah to grant him his infinite grace: “Praise be onto Allah, Inspirer of Faith. May he give me lasting faith, that I may follow his glorious way for all my life,” he yelled near one group of somnolent farmers. “Humiliator, please give me humility, that I may recognise that I am no better than a worm drying in the sand,” he added with intent, passing a merchant. Tirelessly, he walked through the terrace, loudly granting himself Allah’s praise. “Doer of Good, make me do good, and preserve me from the evil ways,” he pronounced, his arms spread, looking s

Let me wonder again at the power of changing with one single word the meaning of a whole situation. Such turns of phrase are good to treasure in your memory. Nasreddin’s sharp mind is a school of bringing down mighty Goliath with a mere sling. This reminds me of a story: There was a famous sheikh who hated Nasreddin’s wits. He decided to teach this insignificant mullah a public lesson that will put him right where he belonged. The best place to shame a mullah was of course under the porch of the mosque, at the hour when the believers flocked to attend the Friday noon sermon. The angry sheikh stepped out of the crowd towards Nasreddin and shouted – for everyone to hear: “Idiot!” In response, Hodja bowed to him with deep respect and answered with a friendly smile: “Pleased to meet you Master Idiot! I is an honour to make your acquaintance. My name is Nasreddin.”

Let’s face it. There is too little honesty in commerce. Too often, for some perverse reason, stealing from the buyer in the marketplace is called business. This reminds me of a story: A sunny winter day is excellent for selling donkeys. Fat, gray donkeys against the white snow. Buyers are well disposed in the sunshine and decide faster because of the cold. And the donkeys like it too. Young Nasrudin was exercising the noble donkey trade, with much success, to the amazement of the competing horse-traders. For his donkeys were the cheapest on offer. One evening, an old horse-trader took the Hodja aside: “Tell me young friend, in all confidence, how do you manage such low prices? In full honesty I tell you, I am an old timer and can’t beat you. I, myself, don’t pay my workers, steal the fodder, cheat on the weight and quality of the beasts, elude the taxes and your donkeys are still cheaper! How come?” “Since you ask, I will tell you. You steal too many things. I only steal the donkeys.”

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

Some rare people do it naturally, for the rest of us it is a valuable discovery: when you have nothing to say, just say nothing. You are not obliged to fill all the silences with your words. Allow pause and even better; create stillness when you want to cause other people to speak. This reminds me of a story: Believe it or not, Nasreddin used to be a silent child. As a matter of fact his parents waited for the baby to start speaking and he didn’t. Years passed. The boy was six now and still not talking. Not a word. Mother and Father had tried all they knew to get him speak as other children do. Nothing helped. They even took him to town but the best barbers in Konya didn't find the cause of the ailment. In time, the family accepted, with great sadness, that poor Nasreddin was mute. Then came that God-given afternoon. The child ran into the house shouting, "Mother! Father!! The barn is burning! The barn is all in flames! Come quick!" Happy parents! Who

Don’t fight each “No!”. Learn from water. Water gives way, goes around, and soaks trough. Easy does it. Don’t break through that which you can carry. This reminds me of a story: Mounted on a platform by the wool market in Konya Nasrudin was teaching his followers and anyone else who wished to listen: "Have trust in Allah, but don't forget to tie up your camel." and “Don’t wait to dig your well until you are thirsty” By that time the crowd trusted and obeyed the word of the Hodja: "The wise will do what I say", he said, "and not what I do. “The common people will do what I do, but not what I say.” “As for the fools, they will call my stories "jokes". The fools will laugh, whatever I say or do. If they would listen to me, I might be saying something foolish. Now, let's see who heeds my words:" A wandering dervish, who grew irritated to see everyone open-mouthed with admiration for such a simpleton, shouted from the crowd: "They liste

Words once spoken live their own life. Giving careless reasons may turn back on you like a boomerang. Think both ways. Mind that what you point to others now can be pointed back to you later. This reminds me of a story: At that time Nasreddin was at schoolboy. Once, as his teacher was imparting knowledge, he was pleasantly interrupted by a relative who brought him a wonderful gift: A large plate full of lokum and sweetmeat. To wait for a break – when he could quietly enjoy his preferred sweets looked like ages to him. Worse, just before the break, the qadi called the teacher for an important affair. As he was leaving, the master told the children: “Be careful in my absence! Don’t touch the sweets; they are poisoned by my enemies. Whoever ate them would drop dead.” As soon as he left, the children attacked the plate so well that they didn’t leave even a morsel of the goodies. Adding to this they even broke the beautiful pen of the teacher. After a short while the teac

People believe what they desire to believe. Skilled liars know this very well. Their lies are tall (beyond your ability to compare) and simple (so that they can stretch them out as needed) and meet your wishes (so that you lovingly embrace them). They deceive but you cheat yourself. This reminds me of a story: Young Nasrudin went to his rich neighbour, Hakim, to borrow a larger pot and a small silver akçe. It is difficult to give and even harder to lend but in the end the neighbour brought out from the kitchen one of his many pots and handed over, with regret, one of his many silver sounding coins: “For one week, no more” When the seven days were over, without delay, the Hodja knocked at the neighbour’s door and gave him back the cleaned pot, covered with a clean piece of cloth. “Where is my silver akçe?” asked the man. “Just look inside the pot and you will be pleased” In the big pot there was another small pot, inside the small pot the akçe and by the side of the akçe

When you debate with the know-all ask them that simplest of things: “what is this which you believe to master so well? What is it?” Most people are unable to answer properly. Socrates used this question to prove the arrogant that they don’t know what they speak about. This reminds me of a story: Tamerlane was a savage beast in his soul but he was a clever man too and liked to surround himself with studious and God-fearing people. Among the erudite and the believers the Emir felt as if he himself were enlightened and good. In this company of respectable ulemas and muftis Nasrudin was just a pet, fed to amuse the empty hours of the ruler. Unfortunately, while Timur was amused, Hoca rarely amused the scholars and they did their best to get rid of the Sufi jester who mocked so often the folly of the learned. At one time of danger they went to denounce him at the feet of Timur and requested – in the name of right thinking and general agreement– the Hodja to be beheaded for heresy. Nasr

Things should be paid in kind. Pay true help with generous return, worth with worth and politeness with politeness. But to a question like sand in your bowl of rice give an answer like a stick dragged through swampy mud. This reminds me of a story: A poor man passed by a shop where appetising shish kebab was roasting on a turning rod and koftes were frying with irresistible aromas. As he could not afford to pay such delicacies, he took out of his bag a large piece of bread. With his nose immersed in the delicious smell, he ate his loaf dreaming of lavish feasts. The shopkeeper observed him for a while and then requested him to pay for the treat. "Your bread tasted better in the smell of my kebab, so you must pay," he said. As the man refused to pay, the owner dragged him before the cadi, who happened to be the Hoca. Nasrudin listened to each party, with attention, and resolved quickly: "Goods enjoyed must be paid. You, the client, present me your purse." Wi

If you cannot dress in lion skin, wear fox pelt. In bad times, learn how to benefit from the shadow of the powerful. But that requires nerve. This reminds me of a story: One sunny afternoon Tamerlane lay resting in the shade of a lofty red and green silken pavilion in the middle of his twelve-in-one Bagh-I Bihisht gardens at Samarkand. At his feet, the trustworthy Nasreddin. In front of them a large fountain with fresh red apples dancing in bubbling cool water. At this hour of counsel, the mighty Amir felt he could relax and have a pleasant choice – play chess by his own rules or bully the Hodja. He fancied doing the second. “You have no choice said he, but to place on your head the helmet of courage, and put on the armour of determination, bind on the sword of resolution, and like an alligator dive at once into the river of blood.” He paused for a long moment enjoying the breeze and the gentle playing of the red apples in the pool. Then he added, “...Or, to put on t

Everybody knows to push back. Few people learned - instead of opposing - to pull an opponent and make him fall by his own strength. As you turn a joke against the joker. Remember that it is more intelligent to sail than to row. This reminds me of a story: One day, as the young Nasrudin sat by the gate of the village thinking up a scheme to smuggle donkeys, a cow in the nearby field started mooing. It continued this loud activity for a long while. Two honourable villagers were also sitting by the gate, playing a game of dice. Wanting to get back at Nasrudin for making fun of them another day, they yelled: "That cow is talking to you, Hoca! Why don't you go and see what it wants?" Without a word, Nasrudin stood up and walked to the cow. He listened to it and bowed deeply towards the animal, then returned to the two jokers and said: "She told me: 'Hoca, what are you doing with these two asses? This is bad company for you.'"

Every man who says sincerely that which he believes, speaks truth. His. This is why there are so many truths. Do not err to call liars people who believe other than you. They may be mistaken but they are probably honest. This reminds me of a story: At one time the Hoça used to be judge of the village. His young son was by his side to learn the office of giving justice to the people. A man came to complain. "Qadi, I had some garment fitted for me by the tailor. As soon as I dressed it and walked out in the street, the poorly sewn shalwar fell apart and, pardon me to mention, left me naked in shame, exposed to the crowd. I say, I must not pay the dressmaker." Very impressed, Nasreddin exclaimed, "You are right!" Hearing of this verdict, the tailor rushed before the qadi to plead his case. "This crazy man brought his own scraps of rag and ordered me to sow them together. He leaned over my shoulder to annoy me with his advice and pulled my h

There are times when it is better not to understand each other; particularly in important matters of principle and of conviction. Consider leaving a few things misunderstood for the sake of peace and quiet. This reminds me of a story: Tamerlane had Nasreddin called in his presence and ordered, “Worm, you will be my envoy to the emperor of Constantinople.” “What should I tell him, Master?” “Nothing, my deeds speak loud enough. Just make a good impression, seeing that he is my ally now. Entertain him nicely. These crazy Christian emperors always want to discuss religion. You will be the right person to debate with him as you don’t speak his language and he doesn’t understand yours. Go!” Nasreddin went to Constantinople and was introduced with great pomp at the Byzantine court. And indeed, emperor Emanuel desired to dispute religion with the envoy of the scourge of God – who happened to also be his temporary saviour - as an enemy of his enemy, sultan Bajazet. Since

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.”

In little time and with effortless agreement you can build up other peoples’ knowledge. For this, cause them to put their minds together and teach each other while you keep silent. The little they know will come up like oil on the water. Then, if you still have something left to say, add your own, without fear of repeating the obsolete. This reminds me of a story: Nasrudin was now a reputed philosopher. The day came when he decided to walk back and bring a tear of remembrance to native Horto, the village of his first childhood slap. The news was fast to spread over the fences. The elder of Horto, flattered by the visit of the great man hurried to bid him: "Pray, master, do come and share your wisdom with the people!" "Be it" he answered. At the heart of the market, duly mounted on a huge festive barrel Hoca addressed the crowd: "People of Horto" he started, "do you know what I will say to you?" "Yes we do", shouted some impertinent youn

Bad is never good until worse arrives. This maxim – reversed - is useful in unpromising situations. You could make things even tougher and then, get back to what was before. This reminds me of a story: Nasrudin the Mullah was dispensing much respected wisdom to the gent of Aksehir. The needy and the perplexed found light in his simple, deep words and the rich preferred to listen to his sermon rather than feel the bite of his sharp tongue. A man came to complain about his terrible poverty: “It is unbearable” he said, “I live with my wife, five kids, grand mother and grandpa in the one and only noisy room of a small hut and we must feed, all of us, mainly on the milk of my unique scabby goat. I am desperate, something must be done! What to do Mullah?” Nasrudin listened with his usual compassion, pondered for a while and then said: “This is a serious situation; we shall do one thing at a time. Go home and take the goat into the house. Feed it carefully and keep it there day and night. Com

Modest places require vital skills. If you are well educated, beware of the simple people. They may give you a lesson. This reminds me of a story: Now Nasrudin was a ferryman. One day he took a scholar in his boat. As he listened to the Hodja's chatter the learned man - a scholar equal to Rumi himself - observed some errors of speech and asked: "Tell me Hoca, did you ever study grammar?" "No." "What a shame! You wasted half of your life." Nasrudin grew silent. After a while he asked: "Wise one, did you learn to swim?" "No", said the professor. "What a pity! You wasted your entire life, Master. We sink. "

Tyrants deserve hypocrisy. Render therefore unto Caesar the things which be Caesar's, and unto God the things which be God's. And what is yours, keep for yourself. This reminds me of a story: Nasrudin presented to Tamerlane a dish of eggplant. It was the authentic Imam Bayıldı, the delicate dish that had an Imam faint with pleasure, prepared - as they do it at Konya - in honour of the Great Emir and in sign of the profound love and respect of the Turkish people for the generous conqueror and destroyer of their country. The cooks were lucky. Timur, who happened to be hungry, liked this course very much. He ate a second serving and said to the Hodja: “Worm, this is delicious. How come I did not know it before?” “Indeed, Master, said Nasrudin, it is the best thing we can eat in this world, a gift from Allah the All Beneficent. You did not savour it before because aubergines, the Indian “brinjal” were never cooked properly until we prepared them with Turkish skill and spice.” “Let

The best way to teach and to convince is to act like Socrates. Be a midwife not a schoolmaster. Come with seemingly empty hands, armed with discrete wisdom. Cook new knowledge from the ingredients everybody has and do not know how to value. When the skilled adviser did his work, people believe they are the ones who made it. This reminds me of a story: The wind and the looting hordes had blown away even the little hospitality a pilgrim might have expected. The farmers shut themselves behind their walls, with relatives, servants, cows, sheep and poultry, all hoping to forget the world outside. Nobody would offer this poor traveller the charity of some food and a sheltered corner for a night. After a good dozen of frozen doors slammed into his nose, Nasr Eddin tried a different way... He knocked on the tall wooden gate of a rich household on the hillside. "Allah help you!" said a servant, "we have nothing to give today." "A master cook of the kings d

“Occam’s razor” principle teaches us to shave away the useless complications. Keep it as simple as possible (but not simpler – would say Einstein). This reminds me of a story: Tired of so many years of travel and danger, Nasrudin was wandering back home. On his way he met a Sufi saint. They walked together for many days, in silence, heading for Konya. At the muddy banks of the Kizilirmak not far from Karalar, the large expanse of the waters halted their progress. For a while, they looked quietly at the peaceful settlement on the other side of the river. Unexpectedly, the saint spoke: "I can walk on water. It took fifty years of meditation, and now I am light enough. But I can’t take you with me." The Hodja raised his eyebrows: "Fifty years? That's a long time…" Followed another long moment of peaceful silence. Then Nasrudin added: "Concerning me… why not stroll over to that man with the boat and pay two coppers for the passage, both of us?"

You are worth to people as much as they hope from you, teaches Gracian the philosopher. Not as much as they owe you. Only fools count on gratitude. If you want something, offer expectation in exchange. This reminds me of a story: The sweaty Mullah tired by the big city felt it was time to take a good bath. The chambers and washrooms of the old Court hammam in Konya were swarming with merry people glad to escape the sandy heat of the simoom, the poisonous wind of the summer. As his garment was poor and his face shy, Nasrudin was given a soiled towel, stinky slippers, a tiny piece of scorched soap and, of course, no attention. Well, at least they let him in. On his way out, he did not forget to leave an amazingly rich tip - a small gold coin. The following week, when he went to the bath, our Hoca was pampered like a pasha: large soft towels, sandal-wood clogs, silk peshtemal, precious scented soap at the soaking pools, refreshing drinks, total massage - at the limit between h