Posted on: Thursday, September 30, 2004

TELL ME A STORY
Foolish sage enlightens villagers about death

"Grave Hodja" is a tale from Eastern Europe.
Adapted by Amy Friedman

Everyone knew that Hodja was a wise man, but everyone knew that he was a foolish man, too. Hodja was not unlike most of us in that way, though he was wiser than most and more foolish than many.

The villagers depended upon Hodja to teach them many things. But Hodja lived an ordinary life as well, and one day he awoke and felt the nip of autumn in the air, and he knew he must soon light a fire in the hearth. He would need firewood. And so he set out to chop his winter's supply.

After he had walked a while, Hodja came upon a suitable tree, with several dead branches. "This one will be perfect," he said happily. He tied up his donkey and climbed up the tree. Then he crawled out onto a dead branch and settled himself so that he was at ease upon the limb.

Hodja pulled a saw from his bag and began to cut away at the branch. Mind you, Hodja began to saw the very branch upon which he sat.

As he worked, many townspeople passed by, and people looked on in wonder, but nobody said a word of warning.

"Hodja is wise," they whispered. "Hodja must know what he's doing."

After a while, a stranger happened past. He had heard of the wise Nasreddin Hodja. Now he stared. Surely this was Hodja, but obviously he was not thinking clearly. "Nasreddin Hodja!" the stranger cried. "Stop what you're doing!"

"Ah, hello," Hodja called down to the stranger. "I'm afraid I mustn't stop just yet. I need firewood, you see."

"But sir, when you cut that branch, you will fall to the ground."

By now the branch was almost cut through.

"Ha!" Hodja laughed. "How could you know that, son? Are you a fortune-teller?"

"No," said the stranger, "but sir ... "

"No one can see the future, my friend," Hodja said, and he went on sawing.

Alarmed, the stranger shook his head. He did not know what to do. He stood tensely, hoping somehow he could save Hodja when the branch fell.

Sure enough, a moment later, Hodja sawed right through the branch and fell, with a thump, into a pile of leaves.

Luckily, he was only slightly bruised. But he was startled, so he stood up slowly. He shook his head. When he spotted the stranger, he clapped his hands. "Heavens, you are a sage!" he cried. "You actually can predict the future. I must ask you a question."

"Sir, I am no fortune-teller," the stranger said humbly. "I only ... "

Hodja raised his hand. "Stop. No more false modesty. You do know the future. And you must tell me when I will die."

The stranger shook his head. He had no idea Hodja was sometimes foolish; he had heard only of his wisdom. He didn't want to disappoint Hodja, so thinking quickly, he said: "I can tell you how many years you will live. Take your donkey, load him up, and lead him to the top of the highest hill. As you walk up that hill, count the number of times your donkey brays. That is the number of years you have left in your life."

Hodja loaded the firewood onto his donkey, and just as the stranger had instructed, he began to walk up the highest hill.

Up and up, he and the donkey walked. Each time the donkey brayed, Hodja counted. Two, three, four ...

And then there were no more.

Only four more years? His heart aching with sadness, Hodja walked home, and he spread the word among the villagers. "I will die in four years," he said. "A fortune-teller told me so."

When four years had passed, Hodja walked away from the village, dug a grave and climbed into it. There he lay, waiting to die.

After a long time, a stranger happened past the grave. He was leading a team of camels loaded with his belongings. The camels' bells clanked loudly as they trudged past Hodja's grave.

Startled by the sound, Hodja leaped up to see what caused this racket.

When the camels saw a body rise from the grave, they quickened their pace and rushed away. The camel driver, seeing a dead body walking toward him, grabbed a pot from his belongings and ran toward Hodja. He tried to hit him over the head.

"Stop!" Hodja cried, but this only riled the camel driver, who swung the pot wildly. So Hodja ran, as fast as he had ever run, to get away from the angry driver.

When he reached the village, he was out of breath and as pale as a ghost. "Hodja, did you die?" everyone asked.

"I did," he said.

"And what was the other world like?" they asked.

"Noisy, just like this one," Hodja said angrily. "There are crazy camel drivers, and there's too much time to think. Otherwise, there's nothing to speak of."

After that the villagers were happy, for their wise fool had returned from the dead to teach them that death was nothing to fear.