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The news spread, like fire in the bushes. Timur the Lame, the angry ghost of Gengis Khan had vanquished sultan Bayazid The Thunder at Ankara and put him in an iron cage. A new, terrible Padishah was wielding his sceptre over Anatolia. The good people of Aksehir rushed to pack their humble belongings and roved in all directions like headless chicken. "The new King is coming upon us! Flee! Flee!" Only Nasrudin was resting peacefully under his porch, in the shade of the wine, sipping honey-sweet tea and talking with his donkey. As they did not know where to go, the frightened villagers gathered one after another by the Mullah's fence, wondering at his strange behaviour: "What are you doing, Hoca? Don't you try to save yourself before the enemy arrives?" "I am conferring with my loyal donkey" explained Nasrudin: "He just recalled me a tale of Aesop the miraculous dwarf, my ancestor, who lived here one thousand years before us, when our land was still called Phrygia": "A peasant was grazing his mule by the gates of the fortress when they heard a great noise of weapons and shields." "Let's run before the enemy catches us" called the peasant. "Will they load me with two saddles instead of one?" asked the mule. "How could they stupid, there is only place for one on your back." replied the peasant. "If this is so, then you run and I can stay" said the mule."

(c) Copyright 1998-2004 Ioan Tenner