“O righteous, pious man!” Hodja Nasreddin exclaimed, sniffling. “How I wish I could press the flap of your robe to my lips! I am a great sinner, but be merciful and do not refuse my gift. I have ten thousand tanga. When, through blasphemous deceit, I was brought close to the emir, I frequently received purses of gold and silver from him as gifts. After collecting ten thousand tanga, I decided to hide them in order to retrieve them as I fled. And since I had decided to flee through the Karshi gates, I buried this money on the Karshi cemetery under one of the old tombstones.”
“On the Karshi cemetery!” the guards exclaimed. “That means they are right here, nearby!”
“Yes! We are now on the north end of the cemetery, and if you walk…”
“We are on the east end! Where, where is your money hidden?”
“It is hidden on the west end of the cemetery,” Hodja Nasreddin replied. “But first you must swear to me, o pious guard, that my name will really be mentioned in the mosque daily for ten years.”
“I swear!” the guard said, trembling with impatience. “I swear to you by the name of Allah and Muhammad his prophet! Now tell us, quickly, where the money is buried!”
Hodja Nasreddin dallied. “What if they decide to carry me to the pond first and search for the money the next day?” he thought. “No, that won’t happen. Firstly, they are consumed by greed and impatience, secondly, they are afraid that someone will beat them to the money, and thirdly, they don’t trust each other. Now where should I send them so they dig around as long as possible?”
Leaning over the sack, the guards were waiting. Hodja Nasreddin could hear their heavy breathing, as if they had just run a great distance.
“On the west end of the cemetery, there are three old tombstones forming a triangle,” Hodja Nasreddin said. “I have buried three thousand three hundred thirty three and one third tanga under each one…”
“Forming a triangle,” the guards repeated together like diligent students repeating the words of the Koran after their teacher. “Three thousand three hundred thirty three and one third tanga…”
They agreed that two would go to fetch the money, while the third would stay behind to guard the sack. This could have caused Hodja Nasreddin to lose heart were it not for his ability to guess people’s actions in advance: he knew very well that the third guard would not remain by the sack for long. His predictions came true: once left alone, the guard began to sigh anxiously, cough, and pace back and forth on the road, his weapons clanging. From these noises, Hodja Nasreddin guessed all his thoughts: worry about his three thousand three hundred thirty three and one third tanga was gnawing at the guard. Hodja Nasreddin waited patiently.
“They sure are taking their time,” the guard said.
“They are probably hiding the money in a different spot, and tomorrow all three of you will come to get it,” Hodja Nasreddin replied.
It was a well-calculated blow. The guard began to breathe heavily, and then pretended to yawn.
“How I would love to hear some soul-saving story before my death,” Hodja Nasreddin said from the sack. “Perhaps you can recall a story and tell it to me, o kind guard.”
“No!” the guard replied angrily. “I do not know any soul-saving stories… Besides, I am tired. I am going to lie down on the grass here for a little bit.”
He did not realize that his footsteps would be heard far and wide on the pavement. At first, he walked slowly, but then the sound of rapid footfalls reached Hodja Nasreddin’s ears – the guard went running to the cemetery.
It was time to act. But Hodja Nasreddin rolled and tumbled on the ground in vain – he could not break the rope. “A passerby!” Hodja Nasreddin pleaded. “O fate, send me a passerby.”
And fate sent him a passerby.
Fate and favorable chance will always come to the aid of someone who is full of resolve and fights to the last (we have said this before, but the truth does not tarnish from repetition). Hodja Nasreddin fought for his life with all his strength, and fate could not refuse him aid.
The passerby was walking slowly; he was lame, as Hodja Nasreddin determined by the sound of his footsteps, and not very young, for he was short of breath.
The sack was lying right in the middle of the road. The passerby stopped and looked at it for a long time. He prodded it a couple of times with his cane.
“What’s this sack? Where did it come from?” the passerby said in a squeaking voice.
O great joy – Hodja Nasreddin recognized the voice of the moneylender Jafar.
Now Hodja Nasreddin did not doubt his impending salvation. If only they would look for the money a little longer…
He coughed quietly from inside the sack, so as not to frighten the moneylender.
“Hey! There is a man in here!” Jafar exclaimed, jumping back.
“Of course there is a man in here,” Hodja Nasreddin said calmly, altering his voice. “What is so surprising about it?”
“What do you mean, surprising? Why did you climb into this sack?”
“Since I climbed into the sack, I evidently had a reason. Be on your way, and do not pester me with questions.”
Hodja Nasreddin knew that the moneylender’s curiosity had been piqued in the extreme, and that now he would never leave.
“Truly, an incredible thing – to find a man tied up in a sack on the road!” the moneylender said. “Perhaps you were put in the sack by force?”
“By force!” Hodja Nasreddin snorted. “As if I would pay six hundred tanga for someone to put me in the sack by force!”
“Six hundred tanga! Why did you pay so much money?”
“O passerby, I will tell you everything if you promise to leave right after and no longer disturb my peace. This sack belongs to a certain Arab living here in Bukhara, and it has the miraculous ability to cure diseases and disfigurements. Its owner lends it out, but not to everyone, and only for a large sum. I used to be lame, hunchbacked, and blind in one eye, and then I decided to get married. The father of my bride, so as not to upset her gaze with my ugliness, brought me to this Arab, where I loaned the sack for four hours after paying the owner six hundred tanga. And since the sack exhibits its healing properties only when brought near a cemetery, I came here, to the Karshi cemetery, after sunset, along with the father of my bride. He tied the sack with a rope and left, for the presence of another man can ruin the whole thing. The Arab – the owner of the sack – had warned me: as soon as I was left alone, three djinns would fly up to me, their copper wings clanging and producing a lot of noise. And the djinns would ask me in human voices where the ten thousand tanga were buried in the cemetery, while I was to reply with the following mysterious incantation: ‘Those who carry copper shields have copper heads. An owl sits in place of the falcon. O djinns, you search where nothing is hidden, so kiss my donkey on the behind!’ This is precisely what happened: the djinns arrived and asked me where the ten thousand tanga were buried. Upon hearing my reply, the djinns fell into unspeakable rage and began to beat me, while I, recalling the Arab’s instructions, kept shouting: ‘Those who carry copper shields have copper heads, kiss my donkey on the behind!’ Then the djinns picked up the sack and began to carry me somewhere… After that, I don’t remember a thing, only that I awoke two hours later on the same spot, completely healed – my hump disappeared, my leg straightened, and my eye can see, as I have ascertained by peeking through a hole someone had made in the sack before me. And now I am sitting in the sack only because I have already paid – I cannot let my money go to waste! Of course, I made a mistake – I should have made an arrangement with another man with similar disfigurements as I; we would have split our time in the sack, each taking two hours, and our healing would have only cost us three hundred tanga each. But what’s done is done: forget the money, the important thing is that I am healed.