The Prophet’s son-in-law
One evening, just as Nasruddin was about to retire to bed, there was a knock at the gate. Tired and sleepy, Nasruddin put on his pointy slippers and shuffled out to see who was calling at that late hour.
Nasruddin discovered on his doorstep a bedraggled man who implored, “O Mullah! Have compassion and give me some alms.” The beggar emitted a tubercular cough, and continued, “Alms, please! And shelter, too, on this dreary night. You do not know me, but I am the Prophet’s son-in-law.”
“You are the Prophet’s own son-in-law‽” Nasruddin said incredulously.
The beggar nodded earnestly. Still in his nightgown and slippers, Nasruddin stepped out from the gate and gently took the stranger’s hand, then led him silently several blocks until at last they stood before the entrance to the neighborhood mosque.
“Esteemed Son-in-law of the Prophet,” Nasruddin said, facing the beggar and dropping his hand. “I am certain you will be more comfortable staying here, in your father-in-law’s home, than you would at mine.”
