“Rise!” Grand Vizier Bakhtiyar commanded.
The brothers got up, not daring to brush the dust from their robes. They were tongue-tied with fear, and their words were confusing and unintelligible. But Bakhtiyar was an experienced vizier, and he was quick on the uptake.
“Where is your goat?” he interrupted the brothers impatiently.
The bald man replied:
“It has died, o noble vizier! Allah has taken our goat. But which of us shall have its hide?”
Bakhtiyar turned to the emir:
“What is your decision, o wisest of rulers?”
The emir yawned protractedly and shut his eyes with a look of utter indifference. With great respect, Bakhtiyar bowed his head, covered in a white turban.
“I have read the decision on your face, o sovereign! Hear this,” he said to the brothers; they kneeled, preparing to thank the emir for his wisdom, justice, and mercy. Bakhtiyar pronounced the judgment; pens began to squeak as the scribes recorded his words in their thick books. “The ruler of the faithful and the sun of our universe, our great emir, may Allah’s blessing extend over him, has deigned to judge that, since Allah has taken the goat, its hide must justly belong to Allah’s deputy on earth, in other words: the great emir. It is therefore necessary to skin the goat, dry and tan the hide, bring it to the palace, and deposit it into the treasury.”
The brothers looked at each other in confusion, and a light whisper ran through the crowd. Bakhtiyar continued in a loud and clear voice:
“Moreover, a court tax of two hundred tanga will be levied on the litigants, in addition to a palace tax of one hundred and fifty tanga, a scribe tax of fifty tanga, and a donation for the embellishment of mosques – this must be paid immediately in coin, or clothing, or other property.”
He barely had time to finish before the guards dashed towards the brothers on Arslanbek’s signal, dragged them aside, untied their belts, turned out their pockets, tore off their robes, and pulled off their boots. Then the brothers were kicked aside, barefoot and half-naked, barely able to hide their shame beneath their wretched clothing.
This took less than a minute. Immediately after the judgment was pronounced, the entire chorus of court poets stirred and began to glorify the emir in many voices:
“O wise emir, o wisest of the wise, o he who is made wise by the wisdom of the wise, o emir, wise above all the wise!...”
Thus they clamored for a long time, stretching their necks in the direction of the throne: each tried to ensure that the emir would distinguish his voice from the others. And the simple folk crowding around the platform were silent, gazing at the brothers with pity.
“Well then,” Hodja Nasreddin noted in a pious voice, turning to the poor brothers, who were weeping loudly in each other’s arms. “You did not sit on the square for six weeks in vain. At last you have heard a just and ever-merciful decision, for it is known to all that there is no one wiser or more merciful in this world than our emir, and if anyone should doubt that,” – he looked over his neighbors in the crowd – “it would be easy enough to call the guards, and they would hand the impious wretch over to the torturers, who would easily explain to that man the full gravity of his error. Go home in peace, o brothers; if, in the future, you should quarrel over a hen, come again to the emir’s judgment, but do not forget to sell your homes, vineyards, and fields, or else you will not be able to pay all the taxes.”
“O, it would have been better for us to die with our goat!” the brothers exclaimed, spilling copious tears.
“You think there aren’t enough fools in heaven?” Hodja Nasreddin replied. “Trustworthy men have told me that, these days, both heaven and hell are packed to the brim with fools – and neither will let in any more. Therefore, I predict you will be immortal, brothers. Now leave here quickly, because the guards are beginning to look in our direction, and, unlike you, I am not assured immortality.”
The brothers left, sobbing loudly, clawing at their faces, and pouring yellow dirt on their heads.
The blacksmith then faced the emir’s judgment. He relayed his complaint in a grim and hollow voice. Grand Vizier Bakhtiyar turned to the emir:
“What will be your decision, o ruler?” The emir was asleep with his mouth hanging open and snored lightly. But Bakhtiyar was not stumped in the least.
“O ruler! I can read the decision on your face!” And he announced solemnly:
“In the name of Allah, gracious and mercifuclass="underline" the sovereign of the faithful and our ruler, the emir, in his tireless concern for his subjects, has shown them great favor and goodwill by billeting his faithful guards, thus giving the people of Noble Bukhara an honorable opportunity to thank their emir, and thank him daily and hourly – an honor not granted to the populace of other countries bordering ours. However, the blacksmiths’ row did not distinguish itself among others with its virtue. On the contrary: the blacksmith Yusuf, forgetting of the otherworldly suffering of sinners on the hair-thin bridge, has opened his mouth brazenly to express ingratitude, which he dared to bring before our sovereign and lord, the illustrious emir, who obscures the sun itself with his brilliance. Deliberating on this, our illustrious emir has deigned to judge as follows: the blacksmith Yusuf is to be granted two hundred lashes so as to inspire words of repentance in him, for otherwise he would wait in vain for the heavenly gates to open before him. As for the rest of the blacksmiths’ row, the illustrious emir again shows lenience and favor, and orders twenty more guards to be billeted there, so as not to deprive the blacksmiths of the joyous opportunity to praise his wisdom and mercy every day and hour. This is the emir’s judgment, may Allah extend his days for the benefit of all his faithful subjects!”
The entire chorus of court flatterers stirred once more and began to drone on in different voices, praising the emir. Meanwhile, the guards seized the blacksmith Yusuf and dragged him off to the place of execution, where the torturers were already weighing heavy whips in their hands with repugnant, bloodthirsty smiles.
The blacksmith lay face down on a mat; the whip whistled in the air and came down, decorating the blacksmith’s back with blood.
The torturers beat him viciously, shredding all the skin on his back and cutting through the flesh right to the bone, but they did not manage to extract even a single moan from the blacksmith, much less a scream. When he got up, everyone noticed black foam on his mouth: he had been chewing on the dirt during the flogging to keep himself from crying out.
“This blacksmith is not of the sort that forgets easily,” Hodja Nasreddin said. “Now he will remember the emir’s favor until the end of his days. What are you waiting for, dyer? Go, it is your turn.”
The dyer spat on the ground and walked away from the crowd without looking back.
The grand vizier quickly finished several more cases, managing to extract a benefit for the emir’s treasury every time, and it was this very skill that made him famous among other dignitaries.
The torturers at the place of execution worked without respite. Cries and screams came from that direction. The grand vizier sent more and more sinners to the torturers, and they had already formed a long line – old men, women, and even a ten-year old boy who had been proven guilty of an insolent and freethinking moistening of the ground near the emir’s palace. He trembled and wept, wiping his tears all over his face. Hodja Nasreddin looked at him with pity and indignation in his heart.
“Truly, he is a dangerous criminal, that boy,” Hodja Nasreddin discussed loudly. “And one cannot praise enough the prudence of the emir, who defends his throne from such enemies, who are all the more dangerous since they hide their questionable state of mind beneath their young age. It was no earlier than today that I saw another criminal, even worse and more heinous than this one. That criminal – could you believe it? – he committed something even worse right by the palace wall! No punishment would have been enough for him, except perhaps to have him impaled. I only fear that the stake would have passed right through the criminal like a skewer through a chicken, for the criminal was no more than four years old. But this, of course, is no excuse, as I have already said.”