Mulla Nasreddin's father was the custodian of the shrine, the tomb of the great teacher, which was a place of worship that attracted both gullible simpletons and seekers of truth.
Nasrudin was supposed to inherit this position, but when he reached the age of fifteen, he decided to follow the ancient saying: “Seek knowledge, even if it is in China.”
“I won’t bother you, son,” said the father, and Nasreddin, saddled the donkey, set off.
He visited the lands of Egypt and Babylon, wandered through the Arabian desert, was also to the north, in Bukhara, Samarkand and in the Hindu Kush mountains, but always headed towards the Far East.
Having passed through Lesser Tibet, Nasreddin headed to the mountains of Kashmir when, unable to withstand the rarefied atmosphere and all kinds of hardships, his donkey lay down on the ground and died.
Nasreddin was greatly saddened, because the donkey was his only companion in his wanderings, which took more than ten years. With a broken heart, he buried the donkey, making a small mound over the grave. Then, deep in thought, he sank down next to the grave. Mountains towered above him, and swift streams ran below him.
People who walked the mountain road between India and Central Asia, between China and the shrines of Turkestan, could see from afar the lonely figure of a man, either weeping inconsolably about his loss, or looking for a long time at the valleys of Kashmir.
“This must be the grave of a truly holy man,” people said to each other, “if his disciple mourns him like that.” He has been here for several months now, and his grief does not subside.
One rich man passing by ordered a temple and sanctuary to be built on this site. Other pilgrims cut down terraces in the surrounding mountains and sowed fields, the harvest from which was used to maintain the temple.
The fame of the silent, mourning dervish spread further and further, until finally Nasreddin's father, having heard about him, came to this place. Seeing Nasreddin, he asked what happened. Nasreddin told him. The old dervish raised his hands in amazement:
“Then know, my son,” he said, “that the shrine near which you grew up and which you left arose in exactly the same way after the death of my own donkey about thirty years ago.”
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru