The Virtue of Covering Faults and the Safety of Silence

A man sat down before Davud Ta'i and said, I saw a certain Sufi fallen down drunk. His turban and shirt were fouled with vomit, and a pack of dogs circled around him. When the elder heard this story from the young man, he frowned at him, offended. For a moment he was distressed, then said, My friend, today a caring companion should prove useful. Go and bring him back from that disgraceful spot, for it is forbidden in the faith and a shame to the dervish robe. Carry him on your back, like a real man, for one who is drunk no longer holds the reins of his own well being. Hearing this, the young man's heart tightened; he sank into thought like a donkey stuck in mud. He had no nerve to refuse the command, and no stomach to lift a drunk onto his shoulders. For a while he squirmed and found no way out, no path to escape the order he was given. He tightened his belt, hoisted the helpless man onto his shoulders, and a whole city rose up in an uproar against him. One jeered, Look at this dervish! What splendid, pure and pious holy men! Another said, See how the Sufis drink, they have pawned their patched robes for cheap wine. Pointing at this one and that one with their hands: that one is heavy with drink, and this one is half drunk. A sword blow on the neck from an enemy's cruelty is better than a city's scorn and the mob's clamor. He suffered misery and spent his day in torment, then carried the man, against his will, back to where he lived. That night he could not sleep for worry and frustration; the next day his elder taught him a lesson, saying: Do not spill your brother's honor in the street, so that fate does not spill your honor across the city.