Flies Away To Fortune
"Oh! These flies!" Mulla Nasruddin cursed when flies made him the ideal landing site putting an end to his hopes of an enjoyable afternoon nap. He got hold of a towel and waved it in all directions. The flies kept away so long as he continued to flail his arms. But how long can he do that? The arms began to ache at the joints. The moment he rested the arms, the flies returned. One of them landed on his upper lip and boldly tickled the tip of his nose, forcing a series of sneezes. Another fly buzzed around his ears, and a third one tried to walk right into his eye. They were here, there, and everywhere. He did not know how to get rid of the flies. Then his eyes fell on his donkey. It was swinging its tail, now to the right, then to the left. He walked across to the donkey, muttering to himself, "Nobody gets a tail for the asking. One has to be born with it. O Donkey! I feel jealous of you!" He untied the rope, sat on the donkey's back, and made a few sounds, gently poking its ribs with the stick. The donkey moved slowly at first and faster when Nasruddin waved the stick in the air. Soon the flies were left behind. That made the Mulla happy. He placed his hand on the donkey's back and said, "You don't have to run, anymore. Just relax. The flies are not chasing us." Dusk was falling fast when he returned. His wife was at the door, crying her heart out. Her face looked pale. Her eyes were red. It was clear that she was in deep agony. Nasruddin quickly got off the donkey, ran to her, gently picked up her arm, lifted her chin with his index finger, and asked, "What's the matter, dear?"
That was enough to make her burst into loud wails. "Where did you vanish? When you were away, an official from the Caliph's court came with four men They had brought spades and trowels along. The official said there was a hidden treasure buried under the floor of our bedroom, and the Caliph had the right to take away hidden treasures. I asked him to wait till you returned. But he was in a hurry. They pushed me aside, threw the cots and quilts and the pillows and the bedcovers out, and dug up the floor. Where the floor once was, you'll now find a four feet deep pit." The sight that greeted him made him wince. He slumped on the edge of the pit, buried his face in his arms, and sat like one in a daze for long. "Did they find any treasure?" he asked, at last, turning to his wife who was still in tears. "No," she sobbed. "You should have asked them to fill up the pit and relay the floor," he added. "Would you have told the official from the Caliph's court to relay the floor?" she challenged him. He had no answer. He knew none would have the courage to demand anything as a matter of right from the Caliph. That made Nasruddin fret and fume. "Is it just that the Caliph's men dig up the floor of the bedroom and not repair it?" he asked himself, several times. "No, the Caliph has no right to do that. He must pay for his crime. He must. How can I get even with the Caliph?"
Mulla Nasruddin tossed around, all night, lying on a mat hurriedly set on the floor of the kitchen by his wife, after pushing the pots and pans out of the way. He must have dropped off to sleep much after midnight. He might have slept longer but for the flies. As soon as day broke, a fly chose his face for a morning walk. Another fly practiced dancing on his eyelids. "Flies! Yesterday the Caliph did me in. Today the flies deny me the right to sleep for as long as I like," he bounced out of bed and groggily walked to the back of the house to brush his teeth and wash his face and hands and legs. He returned to the kitchen a little later. His wife handed him a mug of hot and sweet soup and said, with a smile, "Cheer up, dear. What cannot be cured must be endured. Let us fill the pit and level the floor. When we have money, we shall add a layer of tiles," she snuggled close to him. "You look pretty, dear," he took a sip of the drink. A fly settled on the rim of the mug. "Flies everywhere!" he quickly drank the soup. Did the drink work wonders? Nasruddin's eyes sparkled suddenly. He asked his wife whether she had anything left of last night's dinner. She nodded her head. "Fetch it," he said. She did not ask him why he wanted it. She knew her man and his mood. When he got bright ideas, he expected her not to ask silly questions. She quickly got the dish, held in an earthen pot. He noticed a few flies, romping on the top layer of the dish. He smiled to himself, covered the vessel with a piece of cloth, and walked off, telling his wife, "I'll be back soon. I want to show this to the Caliph, tell him how flies are making my life miserable, and ask him for the authority to swat flies."
She knew that nobody needed the Caliph's permission to swat flies. That alerted her. She sensed that he had a brain wave. What it was, she didn't know. But she was sure that he would not fail. He reached the Caliph's court, paid homage to the Caliph, placed the pot he had brought along in front of the Caliph, and whipped off the cloth. A few flies took to flight. "O Noble Sire, these flies are making my life miserable. Give me permission to swat them whenever I find them," he begged. The Caliph thought it funny. Nobody had ever come to him with such a request. "Everyone is doing that," the Caliph said. "Maybe, but I won't like to raise my hand against the flies. They too are the subjects of the Great Caliph," Nasruddin argued. "The flies! My subjects! Ha, ha! Ho, ho!" the Caliph burst into laughter. "Can I swat the flies, O Noble Sir?" "You can." "Would you put it in writing, O Noble Sir!" Nasruddin asked. The Caliph prepared a scroll and signed it. The royal seal was affixed to it. "O Noble Sir! How can I thank you!" Nasruddin bowed, tucked the scroll in the folds of his dress, picked up the pot he had brought along and moved off. He armed himself with a flyswatter and roamed around the town. He brought the swatter down on the flies, wherever they happened to be. He brought it down on the cheek of an official of the Caliph's court. He made it land with vicious force on the back of a merchant who was very avaricious and sold adulterated goods. The swatter came down heavily on every spot where Nasrudding found a fly, be it on pots and pans or cheeks and noses and chins and backs of people. When people protested, he showed them the royal scroll. The news of the swatting spree reached Caliph, too. The Caliph had a hearty laugh. A few days later, the Caliph held a meeting of the wise men in the land. Mulla Nasruddin, too, was invited. He came to the court, holding the swatter.
The royal scroll lay in the folds of his dress. He bowed, paid homage to the Caliph, and sat next to the Caliph. The Caliph began to address. Suddenly something hit him on the back. Who could dare hit him? He turned and found Nasruddin getting ready to deliver yet another blow. A dozen men pounced on Nasruddin. "O Noble Sir, why am I being treated like this? I was swatting a fly that alighted on your back. You've authorized me to swat flies wherever they are," Nasruddin spoke softly but clearly. "Free him!" the Caliph told the men. "Thank you, O Noble Sir," Nasruddin replied, politely. "Sit as far as you can from me. And," the Caliph added, "you'll see me after the meeting is over. They met. "Enough is enough, my man. The game has gone on for long. You can't hit people on the pretext of swatting flies. It has to end. Surrender the scroll. In return, ask for any compensation you want," the Caliph told him. "How about ten thousand shekels, O Noble Sir!" "Ten thousand shekels!" the Caliph thought he was asking too high a price. "Yes, Noble Sir! Part of the money I will use to relay the floor of the bedroom that was dug up under your orders. And the rest will fund my pilgrimage to the holy place," said Nasruddin with a straight face. "Clever, Nasruddin. I now see what you were really after. I thought I would find a fortune when I ordered my men to dig out your bedroom. Now I find that you have landed a fortune of ten thousand shekels." The Caliph ordered the court official to pay Nasruddin the amount.
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