Filial piety

Beware; nothing is impossible for the man who does not have to do it himself. To lunatic, dangerous commands, survive with unashamed make-believe. Under tyranny, public delusion is a way of life. This reminds me of a story:

Some people say this story was about bright Birbal, the Hindu sage at King Akbar’s court. But I say it was about Nasreddin at Tamerlane’s palaces in Samarkand.

At that time Nasreddin still had the ear of Emir Timur and enjoyed the luxury of speaking some truth. From the gold thrown to him by the master, our Mullah had built for himself a nice house, with a nice little green garden and even his own nice, deep, stone well with fresh water. This prosperity filled with envy the royal barber and other flatterers.

Now everybody knows that for Timur, other people’s sons and fathers did not count more then chaff but he was much attached to family values when it came to his own. He would keep a close eye on his sons, throw a palace here and a garden or a mosque there for his wives and most of all cherish the memory of his late father Taragai of the Barlas. His father had been unquestionably a saint. The proof was that Timur said so and nobody in their right minds ever contradicted him to his face.

To the royal barber, whom Nasreddin had fooled a couple of times, this filial piety seemed to offer a smooth way to getting revenge on Nasreddin.

One morning, while busying his hands in the Emir’s beard, the barber related to the ruler an amazing dream he had the previous night:

“Great emir, said he barefacedly, I dreamt I was in heaven last night. Lo, there were martyrs everywhere, taking delight, as they pleased, in the company of innumerable virgins, the honey was flowing like rivers and the people of times past, few of which I knew, were enjoying themselves, each according to his merit before the all knowing face of Allah the Merciful.”

“Did you meet my father the saint?” asked Timur suddenly interested.

“Certainly I did, even as I see you now, Master! And he honoured me by allowing me to bring you his best wishes. Barber, he said, tell my son that I am well here, in great health, all ailments past, nothing wrong ever happens to me. In fact, nothing ever happens in this blessed place. It’s only that I am so bored. Could he please send to me his jester to amuse me with his silly stories? Would he do this much for his departed father?”

Tamerlane allowed himself to be very touched by this witness. He sent for Nasreddin and told him of the wonderful dream:

“Be proud, he said, my father wants your company in Paradise. Your troubles are ended. I have no doubt, you will be cheerful to leave this world for the better one.”

“I will be glad and greatly honoured, Master” said Nasreddin shyly, while whipping the cold sweat from his nape with a large handkerchief. “May I consider till tomorrow and be allowed to choose the manner in which I will pass away?”

“You may”, answered generously the emir.

Next early morning, after a night of deep thought, Hodja proposed:

“Kind Master, I need the month of Ramadan to clean myself of all sinful thoughts. Then, I would like to depart by means of jumping into the well in my garden. I wish your Majesty to be my witness. After I leave, I wish the well to be covered without delay with a stone slate and never be used again. Is this allowed?”

“It is. Go and prepare.”

Nasreddin went home and worked the whole month in the well, day and night, digging a long tunnel that started under water level and ended in the basement of the house. He also amassed ample provisions and some secret company, which we will mention soon. At the end of Ramadan the Hodja came into the exalted presence of the Emir and said:

“I am ready, Master. What message do you send to your saintly father?”

“With my greetings, bring him my excuses for the worthless gift of your person. And do your best to amuse him with witty stories.”

Later that day the Mullah jumped into the well in the presence of the Emir surrounded by a large assistance. A huge slate was at once placed upon the well and in a few days the whole matter was forgotten.

Meanwhile, Nasreddin, got soaked in the well, crawled safely into his basement and hid there like in a comfortable nest. For six months, at perfumed oil-lamp light, he ate delicacies and drank sweet wine in the company of two charming dancers, pampered with pleasures we cannot mention here in detail, for fear of hurting young ears. For all this time he left his hair unkempt and his beard untrimmed notwithstanding the well known advice of the Prophet (pbuh).

When the six months were over, he came out and presented his scruffy look to the presence of Timur.

“Nasreddin!" exclaimed the Emir. "What are you doing here?”

“I’m back from Paradise. Your noble father was pleased with me and suffered me to serve him for long months. After I run out of stories he sent me back to enjoy my days on Earth, inch Allah. He sends you word that he is very well and proud to learn about your great deeds. But he has one annoyance: As you can see by my own unkempt hair and beard, barbers seldom get to paradise. After having listened to stories, he would now like to have his honourable beard and his hairdo cared for. He wishes you to send your own barber to him for a short while.”

This was done promptly, as Timur knew how to appreciate pitiless humour.