This Reminds Me Of A Story

It rains and then it stops… Everything has a beginning and an end. And as they say, when there is no more water in the pail, there is no more moon in the water. I know, our children cannot understand this in time to listen to their parents before they go. Tales go to sleep with their tellers, other, new people are needed to give them life, again. This reminds me of a story: Well, the Mullah was growing old indeed. People still giggled when he said funny things; but, they listened anyway, worried that he might have hidden some life-saving warning into strange words. It was well known after so many years that what he said was useful after all; they have learned in time that wise fools have ears to hear and eyes to see truth that comes from realms we, usual people, cannot understand. A world without such fools becomes very stupid. His clay house by the old well, the house of "Nasr Ed din our beloved Hoca" looked lonely on the hillside, surrounded by aged fig trees

It takes a life to learn what is really important; so that you would speak less, about fewer, meaningful things. But silence, as meaningful as it is, is rarely understood. You can of course point the way or give your own action as an example... However, most of the time you must use words, many, many words, to say first what you will say, then to say it, and at last to say again what you said. The wise must repeat themselves for a long, long time before they are heeded. This reminds me of a story: “Human wisdom is contained in no more than seven stories” declared Nasreddin after numerous years of deep reflection. "All the rest is silly repetition, routine explaining the obvious.” “Then, pray Oh Mullah, why is your life adorned with so many hundreds of silly stories repeating forever the same simple things?” “For the sake of people such as you, my good man.”

Bold people practise the art of self-fulfilling prophesy knowing that a large part of our future is of our own making. This reminds me of a story: At one time Nasreddin bragged that he had the power to see the future. This proved to be a dangerous gift. As soon as Tamerlane was informed about the sinful claim he called Hodja and, as he unsheathed his sword, asked with a vicious smile: “Tell me quickly: when will you die? Who knows, I may be a seer myself in such matters.” Hodja felt that very moment that the best way to know one's future is to make it. He also knew that the Emir would stretch luck but never play with it. He looked bravely into Timur’s face and said: “Great Emir, hearing you is obeying, even when I dread to disclose Allah’s will. I am not given to know without doubt my last day. I only had a blurred vision that I died one day before your Majesty. Inch Allah!

It is most profitable to associate with Divinity when you beg. You are looked at down and up, at the same time. This reminds me of a story: Tamerlane’s dark army was streaming along a dusty trail under a boring dry succession of sandy gusts. In front, Tamerlane on his stallion. Behind, Hodja tottering on his mule. Towards noon, in the precise middle of nowhere, the cavalcade came upon a skinny dervish curled up inside a white circle chalked on the dry ground. Tamerlane stopped. Nasreddin stopped. The legions stopped. Timur leaned forward and asked the man how he was surviving there. “I ask human alms and humbly share them with God Almighty,” answered the dervish with a virtuous grin. “By what means do you share with Allah?” inquired Timur. “By self-restraint and modesty,” replied the anchorite, turning an insinuating critical eye towards the plump Hodja. “Whatever money I’m offered, I cast it up and use it depending where it falls. If it drops inside my white c

Nothing fools you like yourself. Great deceivers know this best. This reminds me of a story: Tamerlane loved to cheat people and he was proud of his ruses. One evening at the court feast, after many drinks of arak, he remembered how in his youth he feigned dying, to appease a dangerous enemy: “Shah-Mansur sent me ambassadors to size me up. Before their entry I had a lamb slaughtered and drank its blood. Then I called them in and in front of a multitude I had a copper vessel brought and vomited out the lamb’s blood. The ambassadors left delighted and reported prince Shah-Mansur that I was a dying man. Two days later I surprised him with my army. I tell you: I can fool anyone but no one can fool me!” Nasreddin’s somewhat cheeky voice interrupted: “Maybe I could do it…if it pleases your Majesty.” “Would you dare?!” “I have to, great Emir. I am your fool. My work is to fool. I will do my work for my master. As I am your fool I can fool you.” “No one lies to me witho

Feelings may be more hurtful that facts. If you can’t treat the fact, you can still cure the feeling. This reminds me of a story: For several days now, Hodja kept his eye on Selim, his neighbour, over the fence. Poor Selim looked worried; all day he paced around the garden, like a bear in a cage. At night too you could hear him walking up and down inside his house, and sometimes coming out into the garden through his creaking door to sit and look at the moon. One evening, Nasrudin, overcome with pity, put his elbows on the fence and asked: “What’s wrong, Selim? Are you sick? Did you lose something?” “Oh, no Hodja, thank you for asking. It is something else." "What then? Someone you know is sick? Don't be shy, tell me." Selim hesitated for a long moment, but eventually said: "Well, the problem is that I owe one thousand dirham to Hassan by the end of the month. I don’t have it. Worry will kill me.” Nasrudin didn’t say anything. He took his coat and staff and rush

Don’t ask for news from hungry people. This reminds me of a story: The Cadi, returning from Ankara after three month of absence, was resting for lunch on the road-side by the forest. The meal was as rich as the cadi, Aksehir in sight but still far away downhill. Tired and hungry, Hodja appeared and was pleasantly surprised to meet food at the right time, when his belly urged for it. “Salaam Aleicum, Cadi Effendi” “Aleicum Salaam, Hodja Effendi” Hodja, hopeful, sat down by the Cadi’s carpet. The Cadi went on eating alone. After a while, Nasrudin said: “You were away for a long while…” Chewing a good morsel, the cadi replied: “Yes. There are good news home, I hope.” “Well…” said Hodja, "This reminds me of a story.” And without waiting he continued: “You know, there was a rich man having lunch on the roadside. A hungry old man from his hometown came by and sat with him. The rich man asked: "'How are things home? Good news I hope!' The old man replied