This shall pass too…

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. Tales go to sleep with their tellers. This reminds me of a story:

Well, the Mullah was growing old indeed. However, this happened once upon a time when people curiously believed that you must respect the aged in order to have a long life yourself. The fact is that the villagers still honoured the advice of Nasreddin.

His house by the old well, the house of "Nasr Ed din our beloved Hoça" stood lonely on the hillside, surrounded by aged fig trees still heavy with fruit. But the dwelling was rarely lonesome. Day in, day out, flocks of people came to seek free advice from the old jester of the kings. They knew that this strange man allows himself to say the truth, even when nobody else would dare to say it. Moreover, as if he were a seer, whatever the Hodja said, came about somehow. It always did.

But yes, Nasreddin was growing old. In the evenings, as he was tottering back from the well, it happened more and more often that the bucket slipped out of his hand, the water spilled and lo, as there was no more water in the pail, there was no more moon in the water, just darkness. Only his mind kept shining in the dark, because Allah had mercy on him.

One morning some folks from Aksehir came to ask,

"Pray Hoça, is tomorrow the right day to marry Selim and Aisha?"

Nasreddin rose tall, leaned on his staff, looked somewhere far away and said, with a clear, sad voice,

"There will be no tomorrow."

The visitors left silent and frightened. Bad news spread like husk in the wind.

"Nasr Ed din knows what he says. No tomorrow! Tomorrow is the End of the World. Prepare for the Last Day."

When the next dawn broke people waited prostrated by their gates, lost in terror... And nothing happened. Everything went on, as usual.

A puzzled, indignant crowd made its way to the door of the Hodja. How could he say what he said?

They never got to the house though.

On the way, they discovered Nasreddin by the well, the bucket at his feet. He had died, the night before.