One night, people saw Nasreddin Hodja out in the street searching frantically for something.
The inquisitive nature of man was on work. “What are you searching for, Hodja? They enquired.
“I’ve lost my key” replied Hodja.
The helping nature of mankind was at work. So everyone joined him, trying to help him. After some search someone had the urge to ask the place where exactly, the key was lost. So that more condensed search could be made. So, the inquiry was made for the same to Nasreddin.
“I lost the key over there,” replied Hodja, while pointing to a dark corner few feet away.
“Then why are you searching for it on this part of the street?” was the obvious question asked to him.
“Because there is more light here,” replied the Hodja.
Everyone Who Sees The Light
Hodja’s wife was pregnant. One night, her labor pains started and Hodja called the neighbors and the midwife. Soon they called out from his wife’s room and said, “Hodja! You have a son!”
He was very happy. A few minutes later the midwife called out again,
“Hodja! You also have a girl.”
After a little while, she called out again,
“Hodja! You have another girl!”
Hodja, who had been waiting in front of his wife’s room, rushed into the room and blow off the candle.
“What are you doing?” asked the surprised women.
“Well! Everyone who sees the light wants to come out. What else can I do?” he answered.
One night the people heard a frightful noise from the Hodja’s house. They asked in the morning:
What was that noise?
Oh, my coat fell downstairs.
Can a coat make such a noise?,
If you were in it, like me, yes!
One day a man asked the Hodja to write a letter for him.
Where will the letter go? the Hodja asked.
To Baghdad, said the man.
I cannot go to there, the Hodja told him.
But you don’t have to go. The letter will go there, said the man and the Hodja explained:
Nobody can read what I write. Therefore I must go there to read it.
The Knowledgeable Turban
A Persian resident of Akşehir received a letter from his relatives in Esfahan. Since he was illiterate, he brought the letter to Nasreddin Hodja to read it for him; however, the Hodja did not speak Persian.
“This is written in Persian,” he grumbled, “I can’t read Persian!”
“Hodja Efendi, Hodja Efendi,” the Persian said, very upset, “you are wearing a mountainous turban that signifies your educational status and you can’t even read a letter?” Hodja considered for a moment and then took his turban off and handed it over to the Persian.
“Efendi, if it is the turban that does the trick then be my guest, you wear it and you read the letter!”