Cow Ruined the Vegetable Garden

Nasreddin Hodja was the kadi of the time. One day a neighbour came to confer with him.

`Hodja Effendi, it appears that your cow has entered into our vegetable garden and has caused considerable damage to the vegetables. What does your big black book of law say about that?'

`An animal doesn't have reason.' Nasreddin Hodja dismissed, `The owner cannot be held responsible for his animal's instinctive behaviour. No penalty is required.'

`I spoke wrong, Hodja Effendi,' the neighbour rectified, `I meant to say that our cow has entered into your vegetable garden.'

`Let's see what the law states about that!' And the Hodja reached for his big black book.

Distributing Grapes

One day the hodja was walking home with a basket of grapes in his arm. When the neighbourhood children saw the grapes, they asked for some. Hodja gave each one of them a small cluster of grapes. When the children complained that he was giving too little, Hodja had to come up with an excuse to save his basket of grapes from being consumed before he reached home.

`A little, a lot,' he said, `they all taste the same.'

Protecting the Minaret

Nasreddin Hodja was the imam at the time. One day, the people of Aksehir saw the Hodja tying a rope around the minaret of the mosque, and fastening it to the trunk of a large tree.

`Hodja Effendi, what are you doing?' they asked, totally baffled.

`I am securing the minaret,' the Hodja said, `so that nobody can steal it overnight.' The passers by were incredulous. They tried to reason with the Hodja.

`Hodja Effendi, if someone stole the minaret, where would he put it?'

`One who steals a minaret, prepares its case ahead of time!'

How To Ride a Donkey

One day Nasreddin Hodja and his young son were on their way to the market. The Hodja was riding his donkey and his son was walking beside him. As they travelled such, they heard a couple of villagers who happened to be passing by, speak disapprovingly about them.

`Look at our Hodja Effendi,' one said to the other, `he is comfortably riding on his donkey and letting his little boy walk along. Shame on the Hodja for making the boy suffer like that!' When Nasreddin Hodja heard this, he wanted to rectify what was perceived as his selfishness. He put his son on the donkey and he started to walk beside. Shortly after, they met another couple of villagers.

`Look at the Hodja and his son!' they said, `These are the times we are living in. A young boy is riding on the donkey and his poor old father is sweating to keep the pace. Today's children have no respect for their parents.' Nasreddin Hodja found some reason in this comment and thought of another remedy. They both got off of the donkey and started to walk beside it. A little while later, a group of villagers, also going to the market, approached the procession of the Hodja, the son and the donkey, all walking one after the other.

`This Hodja Effendi and his son have no minds, whatsoever.' they whispered amongst themselves, `They are both beating on their feet and the donkey is strolling along. Don't these people know what a donkey is for?' Hodja heard this and thought they had a point. The solution was clear. Both he and his son sat on the donkey. As they continued their trip this way, thinking that they have finally complied with all the opinions of their fellow villagers, they met another of their acquaintances. He was not very happy to see both the Hodja and the boy on a scrawny donkey.

`Hodja Effendi,' he yelled, `don't you know no mercy? How is this poor little animal supposed to carry two people? The donkey is also Allah's creation, have some pity.' Nasreddin Hodja agreed with this last remark as well. What were they to do? He shouldered the front body of the donkey and his son took on the back part, and they carried the donkey to the market place.

The Power of the Turban

A Persian resident of Aksehir received a letter from his relatives in Esfahan. Since he was illiterate, he brought the letter to Nasreddin Hodja to read for him. But the Hodja didn't know Persian.

`This is written in Persian,' he grumbled, `I can't read Persian!'

`Hodja Effendi, Hodja Effendi,' The Persian was very upset, `you are wearing a mountainous turban that signifies your learning, and you can't even read a letter?' Hodja considered for a moment and then took his turban off and handed it over to the Persian.

`Effendi, if it is the turban that does the trick, then be my guest, you wear it and you read the letter!'

Two Onion Stalks

Nasreddin Hodja planted two onion bulbs; one, he said, was for himself, and the other was for Allah. All the onions from Allah's stalk were to be given to the poor. Some time passed and the bulbs grew into two stalks. One day the Hodja went into his vegetable garden to pick two onions. He checked the stalk he had planted for himself, it had only empty, dried up bulbs. The one that was intended for Allah, however, was burgeoning with nice, large onions. He picked two onions from Allah's share. As he was shaking the soil off of the onions, an earth-shattering thunderbolt came down.

`Is all this fuss worth two onions?' the Hodja addressed the sky, `Here, I put them back, stop the racket!'

Interest

One day a friend asked Nasreddin Hodja to lend him some money.

`Hodja, I am a little hard up,' he said, `can you lend me some money with interest.'

`I don't have any cash,' the Hodja replied, `but I can lend you as much interest as you want.'

Donkey on Fire

One day the Hodja collected sprigs and twigs in the woods and tied them into a bundle. He was going to use them as fire wood in his home. After he finished loading his donkey, he started to doubt if these useless branches were going to burn well. He decided to try, just a tiny corner of the bundle on the donkey's back. But as soon as he lit the match, the sprigs caught fire and with the help of the blowing wind, the entire batch started to burn on the back of the poor donkey. The unfortunate animal, frightened, started to run away. Nasreddin Hodja, feeling terribly guilty, thought he should give the pitiable creature a little advice.

`If I were you,' he yelled from behind, `I would run towards the lake.'

Big Spoon vs Small Spoon

One day the Hodja and a couple of other people were invited for dinner to an acquaintance's home. It was a hot summer evening. The host brought to the table a large bowl of ice-cold cherry compote. He took a spoon as big as a ladle for himself and gave his guests small, dessert spoons.

`Let's dig in!' he said. But nobody could dig in as well as he could. The guests, with their small spoons, were not very successful in either enjoying the compote or quenching their thirsts. The host, on the other hand, was drinking the cold juice with his large spoon and after each spoon he was expressing his delight.

`Ahh, this is killing me!', he was saying, `Ahh, I must have died and went to heaven. Oh, this is so good, I am dying.' Nasreddin Hodja was not one to allow all the compote disappear before he had a chance to savour it.

`Effendi, why don't you give us that ladle so that we can die a little too!'

Old Moons

One day Nasreddin Hodja and a friend were admiring the sky and watching a new moon.

`Hodja Effendi,' asked the friend, what do they do with the old moons?'

`They cut them, trim them and turn them into stars!'

Cost of Feeding the Donkey

Cost of Feeding the Donkey

Nasreddin Hodja got poorer and poorer. He even had to economize on the donkey feed. He started to cut the amount of oat he gave to his donkey. After a few days, he noticed no big changes in the donkey, so he continued with his reduction program. Everyday he was giving a little less food to the animal. The donkey was getting skinnier and skinnier, but so was the Hodja. These were tough times. Thus the hodja carried on, and the donkey had to subsist on smaller portions of feed each day. One morning, however, when the Hodja entered the barn, he found his donkey dead.

`Ahh, ahh, my poor donkey!' the Hodja wailed, `Just as he was getting used to hunger!'

Down the Stairs

~ Down the Stairs ~

`Hodja Effendi, last night I was passing by your house and I heard a lot of commotion. What was all that racket?'

`Nothing serious. My wife threw my coat down the stairs.'

`Hodja Effendi, how could a coat falling down the stairs make that much noise?'

`At the time, I happened to be in it!'

Playing the Saz

~ Playing the Saz ~

At a gathering in the coffee house, they asked Nasreddin Hodja if he knew how to play the saz. Our Hodja, never one to disappoint his friends, said that he did. So, they gave him a saz and asked him to play. Nasreddin Hodja took the saz, placed it on his lap, then picked one string and started to play that string. He was not moving his fingers up and down, left or right; he was constantly plucking the same string, at the same spot.

`Hodja Effendi, what kind of music is this?', protested the patrons of the coffee house, `The real saz players move their fingers about, play different strings. You held on to one string and you are not letting it go!'

`They are moving their fingers about because they are all looking for this very spot,' was the Hodja's explanation, `I found it in my first attempt, why should I let it go?'

How to Punish the Wolf

~ How to Punish the Wolf ~

One day the Hodja was chopping woods in the forest. He had left his donkey at the bottom of the hill. While the Hodja was busy, a wolf came and attacked his donkey. Just as the wolf was about to finish his meal, a passer-by saw what had happened and informed the Hodja.

`Hodja Effendi, quick! The wolf ate your donkey and now he is escaping up the hill!'

Nasreddin Hodja came down and saw the bones of his donkey.

`Effendi, the donkey is already dead, nothing to be done about that.' he said, `As for the wolf, running uphill with a full stomach is enough punishment for him.'

Hot Soup

~ Hot Soup ~

One day Nasreddin Hodja's wife made soup for dinner. During the rush of dinner preparation, she didn't realize that the soup was still boiling hot when she brought it to the table. It was she who took the first spoonful and when her mouth burned, tears came down from her eyes.

`Woman, why are you crying?' the Hodja asked.

`Oh, nothing.' said Hodja's wife, `I just remembered my mother, may she rest in peace, she used to love this soup.' As she spoke, Nasreddin Hodja took a spoonful of the soup. This time his mouth was burnt and tears came down his eyes.

`Why are you crying?' asked his wife.

`I am crying because,' the Hodja said, trying not to show his anger, `your good old mother died and left such a merciless daughter behind.'

Degree of Grievance

~ Degree of Grievance ~

When Nasreddin Hodja's wife died, he didn't mourn for long, in fact he seemed to be indifferent. However, a few months later, when his donkey died, he was very upset. He cried for days and lamented its loss. The villagers were curious.

`Hodja Effendi, when your wife died, you didn't grieve at all. But your donkey's death shook you very deeply. You can't seem to get over it. What's the matter?'

`The night of my wife's funeral, all the neighbours, friends, relatives, gathered in my house and said: `Don't worry, Hodja Effendi, we'll find you a younger, prettier bride, we'll wed you again, there are many good women out there, you won't be alone for long, we'll get you a better wife." Now, my donkey is dead, but nobody is telling me that they would get me a younger, better donkey.'

Gift for Timur

~ Gift for Timur ~

One day Nasreddin Hodja was called before Timur. Since Timur was famous for his barbarity, the Hodja, even though he was called to his presence often, feared him as much as the rest of the villagers. Nasreddin Hodja usually brought a gift to Timur in hopes of inspiring some good humour in him. This time, he decided to take him beets. As he was on his way with his basket full of beets in his arm, he ran into a friend.

`Where to, Hodja Effendi?'

`Timur called for me. I am taking him beets.'

`Hodja Effendi, beets don't make a good gift.' advised the friend, `you'd be better off if you took him figs.' Nasreddin Hodja took the counsel, went home and re-filled his basket with figs. Sadly, the Hodja had no idea that the dreaded ruler hated figs. When he offered his basket of figs to him, Timur ordered his men to throw the figs at Hodja's head. As the men showered the Hodja with one fig after another, the Hodja didn't seem to be distressed at all. He was laughing and praising Allah.

`What are you laughing at?', Timur roared, `Are you making fun of me? What are you being so thankful for?'

`Great Timur,' answered the Hodja, `I am giving my gratitude to Allah for making me listen to the recommendation of my good friend. What would happen to me now, had I not listened to that good man and brought you beets instead of figs? You were going to break my head with them!'

The Crow and the Wash Day

~ The Crow and the Wash Day ~

It was the laundry day. Nasreddin Hodja took the washtub, his wife bore the dirties bundle and they headed to the stream to wash their clothes. Hodja's wife placed their only soap bar on top of the bundle of dirty garments. As they were busy filling in the washtub, a crow swooped down and grabbed the bar of soap.

`Hodja Effendi,' the wife screamed, `a crow took our soap. Do something!' Nasreddin Hodja looked hopelessly behind the crow that was flying away.

`Woman, let him go.' he reasoned, `Look at him, he is as black as coal. Obviously he needs a good wash more than we do.'

Recipe

One day the Hodja and his friends were chatting in the coffee house. The topic was food. They were trading recipes, reminiscing how one dish was heavenly and yet another was so exquisite that it made you eat your fingers with it. All this talk of food was making everyone hungry. Finally when someone described how to make a superb stew of liver and lungs, Nasreddin Hodja asked him to write the recipe down on a piece of paper. His appetite whetted, the Hodja put the recipe in his coat pocket and headed for the butcher.

Having bought a couple of kilos of fresh liver and lungs, Nasreddin Hodja started to walk towards home. In anticipation of a delicious dinner, the recipe in the coat pocket, the Hodja was swinging the meat package from its string and whistling contentedly as he walked. Alas, misfortune was in the air. A large crow dived down, grabbed the meat and flew off. As the crow was ascending with the meat packet in his mouth, Nasreddin Hodja put his hands around his mouth and shouted:

`Alright then, take the meat! But you won't be able to enjoy it. I have got the recipe!'

Small Barn

~ Small Barn ~

Nasreddin Hodja's barn was very small, it could barely house his donkey. When Hodja's wife insisted that they should get a cow, so that they could benefit from its milk, the Hodja always refused, claiming there was no room in the barn for a cow. But the wife persisted and the Hodja gave in. They bought a cow. When they brought the cow home, it turned out that Nasreddin Hodja was right. When the cow was lying down, the donkey had to stand and when the donkey was lying down, the cow had to stand. The Hodja was very upset that his beloved donkey was uncomfortable all night long. He wished that the cow would die and his cherished donkey would have peace.

`My Allah!' he prayed, `If you take the cow, the wife cannot pester me any more and my donkey would have the barn all to himself.'

The next morning when the Hodja entered the barn, to his dismay, he found his donkey dead.

`You Sublime Creator,' he addressed the heavens, `don't be upset with me for saying this, but after all these years, you still can't tell a cow from a donkey!'