Story 6: The Ascetic at the King's Table

An ascetic was a king's guest. When they sat down to eat, he ate less than he wanted to, out of feigned piety; and when they rose to pray, he prayed more than was his habit, so that others would think better of his devotion. I fear you will never reach the Kaaba, my desert wanderer, for the road you have taken leads to Turkestan. When he got back to his own place, he called for the tablecloth so he could eat. He had a sharp-witted son who said: 'Father, didn't you eat at the king's gathering?' He replied: 'In front of them I ate nothing worth mentioning.' The son said: 'Then pray your prayers over again too, for you did nothing worth mentioning there either.' You who hold your talents out in the palm of your hand, while you tuck your faults away under your arm, what do you think you'll be able to buy, you deluded fool, on the day of ruin, with your counterfeit coin?