Sultan Takish and the Keeping of Secrets

Takish told his servants a secret, and warned: this must never be repeated to anyone. Within a year it slipped from heart to lip; within a day it had spread across the world. Without mercy he ordered the executioner: strike off these men's heads with the sword. One of them spoke up and begged for his life: don't kill your servants, this sin began with you. You didn't dam it at the source in the first place; once it became a flood, what use is a dam? Don't reveal your heart's secret to a person who will not keep it to himself before others. Hand your jewels to the treasurers to guard, but when it comes to a secret, guard it yourself. As long as you haven't spoken, the word is in your power; once spoken, it gains power over you. A word is a demon chained in the well of the heart; don't let it up past your palate and tongue. You can set the mighty demon free, but you can't lure it back by any trick. You know that once the demon has left its cage, no one's chanting can call it back again. A child can slip the bridle off a warhorse, but a hundred Rostams can't get it back on. Don't say a thing that, if it comes out in public, would throw some life into ruin. How well the wife told her foolish farmer husband: speak with knowledge, or hold your tongue. Don't say what you can't bear to hear back; sow barley and you won't reap wheat. How finely the Brahmin put this example: everyone's dignity comes from himself. When you hurl insults, you'll hear no blessing; you reap only what you yourself have sown. As far as you can, don't speak or step either beyond all measure or short of it. You shouldn't clown around too much, for you'll cheapen your own worth. But if you are harsh and sharp all at once, the world will find ways to flee from you. Neither helpless timidity and weakness, nor harshness and cruelty all at once.