Story 17

A traveler, barefoot and bareheaded, came out of Kufa with the Hejaz caravan and joined us; he had no visible means at all. He walked along with a light, joyful step, and kept saying: 'I don't ride a mule, and I'm not a camel loaded down with burdens; I'm neither a master over peasants nor a slave to any king. I don't fret over what I have, nor grieve for what I lack; I breathe easy and let my life pass by in peace.' A man riding a camel said to him, 'Wanderer, where are you headed? Turn back, or you'll die in misery.' But he wouldn't listen; he stepped into the desert and went on. When we reached the palm grove of Mahmud, death overtook the rich man. The wandering dervish came to his bedside and said, 'We didn't die of hardship, yet you, on your fine camel, are the one who died.' A man wept all night at the sick one's bedside; when morning came, he himself died, and the sick one lived on. How many a swift horse falls behind, while a lame donkey carries its rider safely home. So often we have buried the perfectly healthy in the ground, while the badly wounded did not die.