in which a trickster steals a pot
by convincing its owner that it has died
edited by
D. L. Ashliman
© 2001
folktales of Aarne-Thompson type 1592B
in which a trickster steals a pot
by convincing its owner that it has died
edited by
D. L. Ashliman
© 2001
Nasreddin Hodja, having need for a large cooking container, borrowed his neighbor's copper cauldron, then returned it in a timely manner.
"What is this?" asked his neighbor upon examining the returned cauldron. "There is a small pot inside my cauldron."
"Oh," responded the Hodja. "While it was in my care your cauldron gave birth to a little one. Because you are the owner of the mother cauldron, it is only right that you should keep its baby. And in any event, it would not be right to separate the child from its mother at such a young age."
The neighbor, thinking that the Hodja had gone quite mad, did not argue. Whatever had caused the crazy man to come up with this explanation, the neighbor had a nice little pot, and it had cost him nothing.
Some time later the Hodja asked to borrow the cauldron again.
"Why not?" thought the neighbor to himself. "Perhaps there will be another little pot inside when he returns it."
But this time the Hodja did not return the cauldron. After many days had passed, the neighbor went to the Hodja and asked for the return of the borrowed cauldron.
"My dear friend," replied the Hodja. "I have bad news. Your cauldron has died, and is now in her grave."
"What are you saying?" shouted the neighbor. A cauldron does not live, and it cannot die. Return it to me at once!"
"One moment!" answered the Hodja. "This is the same cauldron that but a short time ago gave birth to a child, a child that is still in your possession. If a cauldron can give birth to a child, then it also can die."
And the neighbor never again saw his cauldron.
It is related ... in the old annals of the wise, and it is also handed down to us by tradition, that there was once in the city of Cairo, that home of witty chatter, a silly-looking fellow who hid, beneath an extravagant buffoonery, an endless fund of intelligence and true learning. He was the most amusing, the best instructed, and the most ironical man of his time. His name was Goha, and his trade was just nothing at all, though he would on occasion take the place of a teacher in the mosques....
Goha called one day on a neighbor and begged him for the loan of a stewpot in which to cook a sheep's head. The neighbor lent the stewpot and Goha returned it on the following morning with a second and smaller stewpot inside. When the owner expressed astonishment, Goha told him that his stewpot must have borne a child during the night. So the neighbor thanked him, and arranged the stewpot and her daughter on the same shelf.
Later in the day Goha returned and asked if he might borrow the two stewpots.
"With all my heart," answered the other, as he handed the vessel to Goha with the little one.
When many days passed without a return of the stewpots, the neighbor went to ask for them, saying, "I have no lack of confidence in you, O Goha, but today I need the vessel for myself."
"What vessel, dear neighbor?" asked Goha.
"The stewpot which I lent you and which had a child," replied the other.
Then cried Goha, "Allah have her in His compassion! She is dead!"
And, when the neighbor asked him how, in Allah's name, a stewpot could die, Goha explained, "All which is born and all which bears must die. We come from Allah, and to Him we return at the last!"
One day Johha borrowed a large tanjera, or copper saucepan, from a neighbor for domestic use. Next day he returned it together with a very small but quite new one.
"What is this?" asked the surprised owner.
"Your tanjera gave birth to a young one during the night," replied the jester, and, in spite of the incredulity of the other man, maintained his assertion, refusing to take back the smaller tanjera, on the ground that the young belonged to the parent and the parent's owner. Besides, it was cruel to separate so young a child from its mother. After a deal of protestation, the neighbor, believing him mad, resolved to humor him, and took the small tanjera, greatly wondering at the jester's whim.
Its point was revealed to his chagrin some days later, when Johha came and borrowed a large and valuable copper dist, or cauldron. This he did not return, but carried it off to another town, where he sold it.
When its owner sent to Johha to reclaim it, the knave said that he regretted his inability to send it back, but the utensil had unfortunately died and been devoured by hyenas.
"What!" exclaimed the owner angrily. "Do you think me fool enough to believe that?"
"Well, my friend," was the reply, "wonderful things sometimes happen. You allowed yourself to be persuaded that your tanjera, for instance, gave birth to a young one. Why, then, should you not believe that your dist, which is simply a grown-up tanjera, should die?"
In the circumstances, the argument seemed unanswerable, especially when, after searching through Johha's house, the cauldron could not be found.
(From the Uighur People)
Once Nasrdin Avanti borrowed a big iron pot from a rich man who was known to be very stingy. The neighbors even wondered why he should be so kind to Avanti. In fact he was not a bit kind. He let Avanti borrow his pot as if he were making him a loan.
After some time, Avanti came to the rich man and addressed him cheerfully, "Congratulations to you! Congratulations to you!"
"What for?" asked his creditor.
"Your big pot has given birth to a son," declared Avanti. "Isn't this a piece of good news?"
"Nonsense!" retorted the stingy man. "How can a pot give birth to a son?"
"If you don't believe me," replied Avanti, "just look. What's this?"
And Nasrdin untied a woolen cloth and brought out a small iron pot. No matter how serious Nasrdin looked, the rich man would not believe him. But then he thought to himself, "If Avanti is such a fool, it would be silly of me not to take advantage of him." So he acted out his delight at his pot having had a son, and loudly echoed Nasrdin's admiration of this splendid occasion.
As Nasrdin carefully put the small iron pot into his creditor's hand, he said once more, "What a handsome son!"
"Yes, yes," responded the rich man, "the little fellow really looks quite a bit like his mother."
He looked at the pot again and again, sighed with admiration, and then put it away. When Nasrdin took leave, the rich man said to him, "Take good care of my big iron pot from now on. May it have more sons like this one!"
After some time Nasrdin paid another visit to the rich man and said mournfully, "I've come to express my condolences to you!"
"What's happened?" the man asked in surprise.
"Your big pot is dead," said Nasrdin.
"Nonsense!" shouted the rich man. "How can a pot die?"
Then Nasrdin spoke up, "If the big pot can give birth to a son, why can't it die?"
All of a sudden, it dawned upon the rich man that it was he, after all, who had been fooled, that Nasrdin had played this trick on him very cleverly. Naturally he did not feel like letting Nasrdin have the big pot just like that, so he said, "Well, since my big pot is dead, would you be kind enough to send its corpse back to me?"
"I've already buried it," said Nasrdin.
"Where did you bury it?" the rich man demanded to know.
"In the blacksmith's forge," was the answer.
The moneylender could no longer contain his anger. "You swindler!" he shouted at Nasrdin. "You just want to rob me of my big pot!"
"It was you who robbed me of my small pot first," said Nasrdin.
This started a quarrel, but in the end the rich man was ready for a compromise, for fear of arousing his neighbors and ruining his reputation. If Nasrdin would say nothing of the small pot, the big pot would be given to him. But unexpectedly Nasrdin refused this offer and kept on making a fuss until a big crowd of people had collected around them. Then, with a disdainful flip of his sleeves, he drew away. His purpose -- to expose the moneylender's stinginess to public ridicule -- had been achieved.
Revised October 18, 2001.