Humor cannot be banned; it is intrinsic to human nature and no matter how “serious” we pretend to be, in the back of our minds, something “humorous” pops up which makes us giggle. As a complete system of thought, Nasrudin pinches us with humor and exists at so many depths that he cannot be killed. He addresses the burning issues of our society, culture, religion and norms and finds a way to tickle our thoughts whilst making us think at the same time.
Nasrudin said that he considered himself upside down in this world, argues one scholar; and from this he infers that the supposed date of Nasrudin’s death, on his ‘tombstone,’ should be read not as 386, but 683.
Another professor feels that the Arabic numerals used would, if truly reversed, look more like the figures 274. He gravely records that a dervish to whom he appealed for aid in this “…merely said, ‘Why not drop a spider in some ink and see what marks he makes in crawling out of it. This should give the correct date or show something.'”
In fact, 386 means 300+80+6. Transposed into Arabic letters, this decodes as SH, W, F, which spells the word ShaWaF: ‘to cause someone to see, to show a thing.’ The dervish’s spider would ‘show’ something, as he himself said.
Mulla Nasruddin – Keeper of Faith In Turkey, where some people allege Nasruddin is buried, there are HUGE locked gates at his grave site. Yet his headstone reads – “Sometimes you do not need a key to get through gates. All you need to do is walk around them as there are no walls.” – “The Sufis” by Idries Shah
Once, when Mullah Nasruddin was visiting a Western town
Once, when Mullah Nasruddin was visiting a Western town, he was invited to attend a fashion show. He went, and afterwards he was asked how he liked it. “It’s a complete swindle!” he exclaimed indignantly. “Whatever do you mean?” he was asked. “They show you the women – and then try to sell you the clothes!”
Mulla Nasrudin – All the great rulers of the past had honorific titles
Mulla Nasrudin – A certain conqueror said to Nasruddin: “Mulla, all the great rulers of the past had honorific titles with the name of God in them: there was, for instance, God-Gifted, and God-Accepted, and so on. How about some such name for me?” “God Forbid,” said Nasruddin.
Mulla Nasruddin nearly fell into a pool one day
Obligation Nasruddin nearly fell into a pool one day. A man whom he knew slightly was nearby, and saved him.
Every time he met nasruddin after that he would remind him of the service which he had performed. when this had happened several times nasruddin took him to the water, jumped in, stood with his head just above water and shouted: “Now I am as wet as I would have been if you had not saved me! Leave me alone.”
Mullah Nasruddin – Moon is more useful than the Sun
More Useful One day Mullah Nasruddin entered his favorite teahouse and said: ‘The moon is more useful than the sun’. An old man asked ‘Why mulla?’ Nasruddin replied ‘We need the light more during the night than during the day.’
Mulla Nasruddin started making arrangement for his funeral
Mullah Nasrudin had become old and was afraid that he can die any moment. Nasruddin started making arrangement for his funeral, So he ordered a beautiful coffin made of ebony wood with satin pillows inside. He also had a beautiful silk caftan made for his dead body to be dressed in.
The day the tailor delivered the caftan, Mulla Nasruddin tried it on to see how it would look, but suddenly he exclaimed, “What is this! Where are the pockets?”
Where is God Not (retold by Nasruddin)
My beloveds, I traveled again to the village of my friend Tekka, after years away. He had become very devout in his ways, sometimes a little pompous, but still the kind soul I had loved for years.
I visited him, and we picked up our friendship as if we had never been apart.
“Nasruddin, you are a light to the eyes,” said Tekka, “Please stay with me. I insist.”
I accepted his kind invitation. He showed me my sleeping room, with a window to the east, and the bed made up. “I have arranged it so your head faces toward Mecca,” he said proudly. “You must always sleep with your head toward Mecca, out of respect for the Prophet, on whom be peace.”
My first night, I tossed and turned, and finally fell asleep. I am apparently an active sleeper, for when Tekka shook me awake the next morning, he was very agitated.
“Nasruddin, I am disappointed in you!” I looked at myself, and said, “I am often disappointed in myself, Tekka, what seems to be today’s problem?”
“You have slept with your feet toward Mecca! This is most disrespectful!”
“My apologies, Tekka, it was unintentional. I am a very active sleeper.”
Tekka was mollified, but insisted that the next night I must do better. I promised I would.
The next night resembled the first. I slept well, after some tossing and turning, but awoke to find my feet on my pillow and my head resting on the floor at the end of the sleeping mat. Just as I realized my predicament, Tekka stood in the door and clucked in concern.
“This will never do, Nasruddin. I am a good citizen and a good Muslim. You must sleep with your feet pointing the opposite way from Mecca, and your head pointing toward Mecca, out of respect for the Prophet and devotion to Allah.”
“What is your reason for insisting on this, my friend?” I asked.
“You must not point your feet toward God!” he said, and repeated it. “You must point your head toward God and your feet away from Him.”
I thought about this. We spent the day together, and that night Tekka was most emphatic. “Nasruddin,” he said, “If you cannot sleep with your head toward God, I regret to say I cannot have you in my house. It pains me to say this to an old friend, but my devotion is to Allah.”
The third night was much like the other two, except that this time I awoke with my nose pressed against the floor at the foot of the sleeping mat. It was pushed out of shape, and I was rubbing it when Tekka appeared. His face was clouded with anger and sadness.
“Before you speak, Tekka, answer me this,” I said, springing up. “Does Allah rule over everything, even the fate of men?”
“You know he does,” replied Tekka, puzzled.
“Is Allah there in every part of His creation?”
“Of course he is!”
I pointed out the window at the birds rising from the edge of the well. “Does he live in the birds of the air?”
“Yes,” said Tekka. “Why are you asking these questions?”
“Please have patience with an old friend,” I replied. “Is Allah everywhere, even across the desert and the mountains?”
“Allah is the creation. Allah is in the creation, and is the lord over the creation!” exclaimed Tekka.
“So, Tekka,” I said, holding out my feet. “Point my feet where God is not!”
Humble (retold by Nasruddin)
My beloveds, I remember a time long ago when I was still a Mulla. I lived in a small town, just big enough for a real mosque, with a beautiful mosaic wall. I remember one evening, we had finished our prayers. The stars were clear and bright, and seemed to fill the sky solidly with lights. I stood at the window, gazing at the lights so far away, each one bigger than our world, and so distant from us across vast reaches of space. I thought of how we walk this earth, filled with our own importance, when we are just specks of dust. If you walk out to the cliffs outside the town, a walk of half an hour at most, you look back and you can see the town, but the people are too small to see, even at that meager distance. When I think of the immensity of the universe, I am filled with awe and reverece for power so great.
I was thinking such thoughts, looking out the window of the mosque, and I realized I had fallen to my knees. “I am nothing, nothing!” I cried, amazed and awestruck.
There was a certain well-to-do man of the town, a kind man who wished to be thought very devout. He cared more for what people thought of him than for what he actually was. He happened to walk in and he saw and heard what passed. My beloveds, I was a little shy at being caught in such a moment, but he rushed down, looking around in the obvious hope someone was there to see him. He knelt beside me, and with a final hopeful glance at the door through which he had just come, he cried,
“I am nothing! I am nothing!”
It appears that the man who sweeps, a poor man from the edge of the village, had entered the side door with his broom to begin his night’s work. He had seen us, and being a man of true faith and honest simplicity, his face showed that he entertained some of the same thoughts that had been laid on me by the hand of Allah (wonderful is He). He dropped his broom and fell to his knees up there in a shadowed corner, and said softly,
“I am nothing…I am nothing!”
The well-to-do man next to me nudged me with his elbow and said out of the side of his mouth,
“Look who thinks he’s nothing!”
Every story of Mullah NasrUddin has hidden wisdom, research on him and his rather, funny but real stories and you will call him with same title this post has. ” The Mad Mullah With The Torch “
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