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It was a dark autumn night. The Mullah, down on his elbows and knees, was searching assiduously in the dust, under the streetlight. A belated neighbour asked him: "What are you doing Hoca?" "I am looking for my key." The helpful neighbour got down on his knees to give a hand. They searched at length, without result. Tired, the man finally asked: "Tell me Hoca, are you certain that you lost your keys here?" "Of course not," replied Nasrudin, "I lost them in my cellar." "Then why on earth do you look for them in the street?" "For there is more light here."
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