A donkey wholesaler, or a donkey retailer?

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: January 15, 2013

A Donkey Wholesaler, or a Donkey Retailer?

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinEvery Friday on market day, Nasruddin arrived at market with an excellent donkey, which he sold almost immediately, for his prices were far below the usual asking price.

One day Musa approached him, “I cannot for the life of me understand how you do it, Nasruddin. I sell my animals at the lowest possible price. My servants force farmers to give me fodder free. My slaves look after my donkeys without wages. And yet I cannot match your prices. How do you do it?”

“Simple,” replied Nasruddin. “You steal fodder and labor. I merely steal donkeys.”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

This shows what profit is to be made by cutting out the middlemen. You have to hand it to Nasreddin to figure out how to accomplish what the slave-owner could not.

There’s No Pleasing Anybody

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: January 12, 2013

There’s No Pleasing Anybody

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinNasruddin and his son, Ahmet, were taking a trip with Karakacan, their faithful little grey donkey, the son riding while the Mullah walked alongside. As some strangers encountered them on the road, one man admonished Nasruddin’s son, “Look at you, a healthy young man, letting your aging father walk. Why, the old man looks like he’s about to have heatstroke. That’s today’s youth for you — indolent and disrespectful.”

After they passed out of sight and earshot of the men, the boy felt very ashamed and got off the donkey. He insisted that his father ride while he walked, and so they went and everything was fine for a while.

Farther along they met a group of women sitting by the road. They clucked their tongues and complained loudly, “Look at that — the lazy father rides the donkey and makes the little boy walk, on a hot day like this. How cruel and unfair is that‽”

Embarrassed by the women’s comments, Nasruddin pulled his boy up to ride on the donkey with him, and they traveled like that for a while in silent dread of the next encounter.

Before long they approached some villagers, and one piped up, “What a shame! I feel sorry for that abused little donkey — carrying both of those grown men in this blazing heat. They are surely going to break its back. The poor beast looks almost ready to collapse.”

After this group passed, Nasruddin stopped the donkey, dismounted, and helped Ahmet get off. He grasped both his son’s hand and the donkey’s rein and declared, exasperated, “Now nobody can complain,” and they resumed their journey.

At the next village, they walked by a shop where several men were standing. When the men saw the trio trudging along on eight legs, they laughed and pointed, taunting them, “Look at those stupid fools — walking in this heat with a perfectly good donkey they could ride! Don’t they have any brains at all‽”

Nasruddin turned to Ahmet and said, “This just goes to show you, my boy, about the wicked criticism of people whom you don’t know. Everyone has an opinion and is quick to share it with you — but there is no pleasing anyone in this world. Therefore, you may as well just do as you wish.”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

In one version of this story, the Mullah and his son carry the donkey – until someone comes along and criticizes them. I would have included this variant in the published story, but I’m certain that someone would disapprove.

I Was Right All Along

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: January 6, 2013

I Was Right All Along

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinOne afternoon the Mullah, fiercely brandishing a large metal spoon, chased Fatima out of their house and down the street, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Don’t try to stop me! This is the last straw! Just let me get my hands on you! I’ll show you what’s what —!”

Since nosey neighbors are never far away, some folks heard the screams and rushed out to intercept Nasruddin, trying to stop the fight. The men took Nasruddin into Hamza’s house to calm Nasruddin down, and the women took Fatima to her friend Turan’s to comfort and protect her.

As it so happened, Hamza was hosting a wedding party for his cousin. Nasruddin was seated at the dining table, where many trays of delicious baklava, a sweet pastry with pistachios and honey, were to be served the wedding guests. Naturally since the Mullah was so distraught, they encouraged him to help himself to the baklava on the tray in front of him. Nasruddin ate the baklava, one consoling piece after another, as he complained at length about his wife, saying, “If I had caught that woman — I would’ve turned her around — this indeed was the last straw — how she abuses my tolerance —” He finished one tray and moved on to the next, continuing his rant. “She should be punished like a child — I cannot live like this any longer,” and so on and on he went, gobbling down chunks of baklava.

Hamza said, “We’ve never seen you so upset. What happened?”

“We were discussing something and had different opinions. The disagreement turned into an argument which turned into a row, and we ended up exchanging punches.”

Just then the women brought Fatima and the hosts did everything to calm and reconcile her and Nasruddin. Soon the Mullah and his wife were sitting together, laughing and gorging themselves on the heavenly sweet baklava and enjoying themselves.

Nasruddin said, “My dear Fatima, please remind me to lose my temper more often — then life really would be worth living!”

Hamza brought the newlyweds to introduce them to the Nasruddins and said, “This serves as a fine example of how married couples can learn to get along, no matter what. Now tell us, Nasruddin, what were you and Fatima fighting about that made you so angry?”

“We were arguing about —,” Nasruddin explained between big bites of baklava, “the reason that we had not been invited — to this wedding! She maintained that it was because your servants forgot to write out our names on the invitation list, and I felt certain that you were trying to avoid us because of the last nasty fight we had at one of your relatives’ weddings. Obviously, I was right all along.”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

This is a favorite among Fatima stories. This retelling includes elements from several versions of a domestic dispute that ends well. In some cases Fatima is abused quite openly, in others the action is limited to threats of violence only. Domestic aggression is a recurring theme in Nasruddin tales, which originate from a time when there was far less regard for women in Persian/Turkish culture than there is now.

My side from yours

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: December 6, 2012

My Side from Yours

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinOne inclement evening, just as Nasruddin and Fatima were settling into bed, Fatima suddenly sat bolt upright, clutching the covers, and gasped in fear, “Mullah, I heard something outside! Light the candle on your side of the bed and go investigate.”

Nasruddin, who was none too anxious to leave the comfort of his bed to confront whatever or whomever was outside there in the cold darkness, replied wearily, “I can’t even find the candle, Fatima. How do you expect me to tell my side from your side in the dark?”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

“‘Tis better to light a candle than curse the darkness” – except when you are certain that lighting a candle will show you exactly what you don’t want to see.

More durable than cloth

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: December 5, 2012

More durable than cloth

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinWhenever young Nasreddin sat down in class, he used to pull down his pants and expose his buttocks before taking his seat.

When someone asked him why, he replied: “The skin of the buttocks is more durable than the fabric of my britches!”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

Sometimes Nasruddin’s practicality is astonishing. “Why didn’t I think of that?” you wonder, thinking of how many pants you could have saved if you’d done as Nasruddin did in class.

Beyond the obvious

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: December 3, 2012

Beyond the obvious

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinOnce young Nasruddin was sitting by the side of the lake when he saw a flock of ducks swimming in the water. He was quite hungry so he thought he’d try to catch one of the birds. As he tiptoed to the edge of the water, though, the ducks honked and flew away.

For a moment Nasruddin stood in frustration, then, thinking quickly, took a loaf of bread out of his pocket, broke it up into small pieces, then dipped the pieces of bread into the lake, and ate them.

Hussein was passing by and saw Nasruddin squatting at the water’s edge. “Say, Nasruddin,” he called out, “what are you doing?”

“What I am doing . . . should be . . . perfectly obvious,” Nasruddin replied, between bites. “I am eating . . . duck soup.”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

What is plainly apparent to one person may not be so obvious to another. It’s a matter of perception and perspective.

 

Donkey for a Dinar, part 2

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: February 14, 2012

Donkey for a Dinar

part 2

Nasruddin stroked his beard, as he did whenever he had some hard and fast thinking to do. Then he spoke, “Oh sure — but it’s too bad that the donkey bazaar is not held today. We will have to wait until Wednesday. At that time I will sell for a single dinar my donkey to the one of you that I think will make the best master.”
So for the next week Abdul and Mali went to great pains to demonstrate to Nasruddin how kind and generous they were to all the town’s animals. Abdul made a point of throwing handfuls of feed to birds while Nasruddin was looking, and Mali made a great show of brushing his many fine dogs and parading them about, and both men groomed and festooned and treated their own donkeys like royalty.
Come the day of the donkey bazaar, Mali and Abdul were anxious as to whether they each had impressed Nasruddin enough to make him sell his beloved donkey at such a bargain. The two men waited outside with everyone who also came to see the outcome.
Soon enough, a faint sound of donkey hooves could be heard approaching. After some time, the buyers realized they heard another noise, not so familiar, the sound of a somewhat displeased cat. They waited as the sound grew louder, until around the corner came the Mullah leading Karakacan by a tether, just as he had promised. Nobody expected to see, however, that tied to the tail of the donkey — was Nasruddin’s tawny cat.
Once everyone had gathered around this spectacle, Nasruddin announced, “I indeed am willing to sell my beloved donkey for one dinar. But my donkey and my cat — I mean, the donkey’s cat — are such good friends, it would be cruel to separate them. Whoever buys my donkey must also purchase her dearest feline companion.”
It only took two seconds for the would-be buyers to say, “How much for the cat?” in unison, reaching into their moneybags to grab another dinar or two.
“Oh, this is a very distinguished cat,” Nasruddin replied, gesturing to the distressed feline, which tried batting at the red ribbon tethering it securely to a big knot in the donkey’s tail. “Its past is exotic and fascinating. I know for a certain fact that her great-grandfather lived in the King’s palace. And that was from just this precious cat’s third life — still six more lives left.
“So,” Nasruddin continued, “as much as I hate to part with my dear kit— I mean, the donkey’s dear feline friend, the price of the cat is quite reasonable, considering her regal pedigree: one thousand dinars.”
Mali and Abdul looked at each other, and broke into wide grins, and everyone laughed. They hugged Nasruddin and slapped each other on the back and all were glad, because everyone knows that a man and his ass should never be parted.

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

Second, concluding part of a long Nasruddin story.

Turkey’s national currency is currently not the dinar. Nor is it the Euro: it is now the New Turkish Lira. The dinar is still used by many countries including Iraq, Tunis, Azerbaijan, Yugoslavia, and Sudan.

Although some Nasruddin stories portray cruelty to animals, this one demonstrates the Mullah’s uncommon love of his critters.

 

Donkey for a Dinar, part 1

Donkey for a Dinar

part 1

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinOne time, when Nasruddin lost his little grey donkey, Karakacan, he was complaining to his friends at the teahouse.

“That no-good donkey has run away for the last time. I promise you, if I could get my hands on that beast, I would sell that crappy piece of donkey meat to the first buyer for one lousy dinar.” Nasruddin thus named a price that would insult even the lamest common donkey.

Abdul the baker grinned.

“That would be a good bargain, wouldn’t you say?” said Mali the carepenter. He laughed at the thought of getting Nasruddin’s burro for a measly dinar.

Just then they could hear the familiar clip-clop of small hooves coming toward them and a few moments later, they saw Shoja, Abdul’s son, smiling and riding Nasruddin’s donkey.

When donkey and rider reached Nasruddin, Shoja jumped off and handed the tether to its owner. “Where did you find her?” asked Abdul.

Shoja said, “I knew where I’d go if I were a donkey. I found her grazing in the tall grasses just outside of town.”

Nasruddin was now just as overjoyed as he was discouraged the minute before. He hugged Karakacan, he hugged Shoja for finding her, he hugged Abdul and praised him for having such a clever child. He was about to raise a new wave of praise for Shoja, when he felt a poke at his right arm and a tug at his right sleeve. He turned to his right to see Mali holding up a dinar, then he turned to his right to see Abdul wiggling a dinar at him.

“I will buy your donkey for one dinar,” said both of Nasruddin’s friends.

“Not at all,” replied Nasruddin, tightening his grip on the donkey’s tether. “My donkey is not for sale!”

“But you said you would sell it for one dinar if you found it,” Mali reminded him, and all the men agreed that Nasruddin had indeed vowed to sell his donkey.

Mullah giggled nervously, “I was joking!”

“It didn’t sound like a joke when you said it,” said Abdul, who would do anything to get a bargain, “you weren’t laughing then.”

Nasruddin stroked his beard as he did whenever he had some hard and fast thinking to do.

* * *

Story concluded next time!

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

First part of a long piece set in the village.

Turkey’s national currency is currently not the dinar. Nor is it the Euro: it is now the New Turkish Lira. The dinar is still used by many countries including Iraq, Tunis, Azerbaijan, Yugoslavia, and Sudan.

Although some stories portray cruelty to animals, this one demonstrates Nasruddin’s love of his critters.

Prepare for the Unexpected

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: February 12, 2012

Prepare for the Unexpected

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinOne day, young Nasruddin’s buddies decided they would try to nab his pointy slippers. They waited around a tall cypress tree until Nasruddin walked along, then two of the boys, Hussein and Faruk, started to pretend they were having a loud argument.

“Nobody could climb that tree. It’s way too tall. No way!” yelled Hussein.

“Of course somebody could climb it,” argued Faruk. “Nasruddin, please tell this dunce that this tree is not too tall for someone to climb.”

“I doubt that anyone could climb this tree,” said Hussein, “certainly not even Nasruddin.”

“Of course he can climb it!” retorted Faruk. “He can do nearly anything! Couldn’t you climb it, Nasruddin? I bet if anyone could get up to the top of the tree, it is you.”

Nasruddin bowed slightly and replied modestly, “I can climb it, no doubt.”

“Let’s see you do it, then,” said Faruk.

“I’ll hold your slippers for you while you go up,” said Hussein, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Well, all right then.” Nasruddin stood back and assessed the tree, and the group of boys, and then the tree again. He rolled up his sleeves, took off his slippers and tucked them into his belt, then spit into his palms as he prepared to scale the tree.

“Wait, wait, Nasruddin!” said Faruk. “You won’t need your shoes in a tree.”

“Yes, leave them here on the ground with us for safekeeping,” chimed in Hussein.

With a gasp and a grunt, Nasruddin heaved himself upward. “You never know — there might be a road at the top of this tree.” he called out as he climbed, “Be prepared, I always say.”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

 

 

Your Daily Nasruddin

Another example of how Nasruddin outwits the local boys.

Who knows what might possibly exist at the top of the tree? You certainly won’t know unless you start climbing and keep going until you get there.

There are several other Nasruddin stories in which the Mullah finds himself in a tree, the most popular tale sometimes referred to as Cutting the branch he was sitting on, which ends up after a funeral procession at the graveyard.

Another Nasruddin story that involves climbing a tree was omitted from TUSOTIMN because it portrayed cruelty to a bear. I’ll include it in “Naughty Nasruddin.”

Guilt by Association

by rjs
Comments: Comments Off
Published on: February 10, 2012

Guilt by Association

The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah NasruddinOne night, Nasruddin’s beloved little grey donkey was stolen. Instead of consoling Nasruddin, the wags in the teahouse the next morning offered only words of remonstration.

“As they say, ‘Take care of your donkey, it will carry you from Morocco to Mecca.’ So Mullah, why didn’t you take care to tie up the donkey securely?” asked Ali, the teahouse keeper.

“How could you have slept through the theft of your beloved ass, Nasruddin?” said Faik.

“You should have replaced the rotting door on your shed, Nasruddin,” commented Hamza.

“I bet you didn’t even close the bolt on the shed door,” accused Hussein. “That’ll teach you.”

“You were just asking for someone to break in, the way you neglect to secure your stable,” added Nasruddin’s uncle, Mesut.

Nasruddin listened to the wags’ criticism for a while, and then stood up and said, “Enough! Obviously, it’s completely unfair to blame me alone, or even primarily, for the theft of my donkey.”

“Tell us, Nasruddin,” said Ali, “who else was responsible?”

“Don’t you think the thief was at least a tiny bit guilty in all this,” the Mullah replied, “or was he entirely innocent in your view‽”

Excerpted from The Uncommon Sense of the Immortal Mullah Nasruddin: Stories, Jests, and Donkey Tales of the Beloved Persian Folk Hero

 

   Your Daily Nasruddin   

There are a handful of stories about the loss of Karakacan, Nasruddin’s beloved little grey donkey. She’s often described as old, feeble, and resistant, and seems to lose her way much more often than, say, my donkey, if I had one. Still the old burro has the same sort of indomitable spirit as Nasruddin, always seeming to return just in time for the next story.

Nasruddin settles the question among a number of conflicting opinions among his neighbors and fellow villagers in the community. He almost always gets the last word!

«page 3 of 12»

Categories


Welcome , today is Thursday, March 28, 2024