For some business, Khoja went from Akshehir to his homeland in Sivrihisar. He was very hungry, and he had no money. Walking through the bazaar, he saw that in the bakery they were taking out fresh bread from the oven, still smoking, and a pleasant smell, like musk, was coming from it. He says to the baker sitting in the corner:
- Listen, father, is this your bread?
The baker calmly replied:
- Yes, mine!
And the Khoja, worried, asked again:
- My dear! Is this bread really all yours? Well, tell me, - I’m ready to kiss your feet, - how many hot breads there are here, round, soft, like cotton wool - is it all yours?
- Why are you bothering me? - said the baker. - Yes, it’s all mine
- So what are you looking at? - Khoja said helpfully. - If so, eat it!
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru