Once, when the Hodja was standing in for the village schoolmaster, he was sent a large box of baklava by the parents of one of his students. His mouth watered at the thought of eating them, but he put them away in the drawer of his desk. Shortly afterwards he was called out on urgent business.
He set his students a lot of work to do.
“And I shall expect you to get everything right,” he said, “or there will be trouble.” He glared at them. “Big trouble.”
“One thing more,” he said as he made for the door. “I have enemies. Many enemies. I keep being sent poisoned meats and poisoned sweets. Even,” he added fiercely, “poisoned baklava. I have to test everything before I eat it. So be warned. If you hope for a long life, don’t touch anything that has been sent to me. Especially baklava.”
As soon as he was gone, his nephew, who was one of his students, went to the desk and took out the baklava.
“Don’t!” his friends shouted. “They may be poisoned!”
The boy grinned at them.
Of course they aren’t,” he said. “He just wants to keep them for himself.” And he started in on the baklava. “They really are very good,” he said. He ate another one.
When his friends saw that he didn’t fall to the floor in a writhing heap, they gathered round the Hodja’s desk and shared out the baklava.
“But what will we tell him when he finds they’ve all gone?” one of them said, wiping the crumbs from his mouth.
The Hodja’s nephew just smiled.
When the Hodja returned, he went straight to his desk and looked in his drawer. He glared at his students.
“Someone,” he said, “someone has been at my desk.”
There was silence.
“Someone has been in my drawer.”
“And someone has eaten the baklava.”
“I have,” said his nephew.
“ You have! After what I told you?”
“Perhaps you have some explanation. If so I would like to hear it before you die.”
“Well,” said his nephew, “the work you set was far too hard for me. I couldn’t do any of it. Everything I’ve done is wrong. I knew you would be very angry and my parents would be very disappointed. I felt so ashamed I decided that the only thing to do was to…to…to put an end to my life. So I ate your poisoned baklava. It was the only way I could think of on the spur of the moment. But the funny thing is, nothing’s happened yet. I wonder why that is.”
The Hodja examined his nephew’s innocent expression minutely.
“Perhaps,” he said, “it’s just a punishment postponed. In which case I ought to have a look at work you have done.”
The Criticism Of Men
Hodja and his son went on a journey once. Hodja preferred that his son ride the donkey and that he himself go on foot. On the way they met some people who said:
-Look at that healthy young boy! That is today’s youth for you. They have no respect for elders. He rides on the donkey and makes his poor father walk!
When they had passed by these people the boy felt very ashamed and insisted that he walk and his father ride the donkey. So Hodja mounted the donkey and the boy walked at his side. A little later they met some other people who said:
-Well, look at that! That poor little boy has to walk while his father rides the donkey.
After they had passed by these people, Hodja told his son:
-The best thing to do is for both of us to walk. Then no one can complain.
So they continued on their journey, both of them walking. A little ways down the road they met some others who said
-Just take a look at those fools. Both of them are walking under this hot sun and neither of them are riding the donkey!
Hodja turned to his son and said:
-That just goes to show how hard it is to escape the opinions of men.
One day, the Hodja borrowed a pan from his neighbor. After he had finished using it, he took it back to the neighbor with a small pan tucked inside.
When the man saw it, he was most surprised.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Well, said the Hodja, when I borrowed your pan it was pregnant and it brought a child into the world.”
The man smiled and accepted them.
A few days later the Hodja borrowed the pan again but this time he did not return it.
The man was rather cross. He went to the Hodja and asked “What about my pan?”
“I am very sorry”, said the Hodja, “but it died.”
“Don’t make jokes with me”, replied the man, “How can a pan die?”
“If you believe that it brought a child into the world”, said the Hodja,
“why can’t you believe that it died?”
One day Nasreddin Hodja came to city center and stayed in a hotel with his friend.His friend asked at midnight :
Hodja,Have you slept? ” his friend asked
What’s up?” Nasreddin Hodja answered.
I want to lend you some money” his friend said
Nasredin Hodjaa started to snore :
“I am sleeping” he said