One night Mulla saw in the light of the moon that a stout man was standing in the garden, his arms stretched out majestically. He woke up his wife and said:
- Bring me a bow and arrow as soon as possible!
He quickly pulled the string and, calling on the name of the Lord, shot an arrow. The arrow hit him right in the stomach.
- Yes, we are not to be trifled with! - Mulla said proudly. “Now let’s leave him alone, and by morning he’ll writhe and writhe and give his soul to God.”
After that, Mulla went home, locked the door tightly and went to bed. In the morning, going down to the garden, he sees that at night he shot at his own caftan, which his wife had washed the day before and hung on a rope so that it would dry by morning. The arrow tore the caftan right at the navel. Mullah fell on his face and began to pray loudly:
- Thank the Lord, a thousand thanks for the mercy of the Lord!
- What's happened? - the wife was surprised. - Explain to me the reason for your praises.
“Oh, you eccentric,” Mulla remarked, “can’t you see where the arrow hit: it pierced the caftan at the very navel and came out, and tore the caftan to shreds.” If I had been wearing a caftan at that time, what would have happened to me?
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru