When I was no longer needed as a Mulla in the village, I moved to another region and found a convenient place outside a small town, on a hill. The view was fine, and the hill was as thick with thorns and burdock as a peace-loving soul could want.
I was very happy with the thorns, because they discouraged agriculture. In fact, they discouraged just about everything. No one bothered me.
Eventually, however, my beloveds, this changed. After a certain time, the townsfolk became curious. They wondered what I was doing up on that hill, coming down only for a few groceries once in a while, or maybe only to charge my cell phone. No, that was a different time.
Anyway, the people began to come up the hill, through the thorns, until they had made a path. That made it easier for me to get down to the town, which was convenient. It also made it easier for them to get up to me, which was not so convenient.
Somehow, the townsfolk came to view my silence and seclusion as marks of wisdom. And of course, whenever we admire something, we want to possess it. I once saw a small knoll covered with wild blueberries close by a pond. The blueberry plants turned red in the fall, and the glorious color was reflected in the pond. A family from a nearby town loved that blueberry field so much they decided to build a house there. They brought in excavators and heavy equipment, and tore out a large area on the top of the hill. The runoff washed away many of the berries, and they piled building debris on a particularly beautiful patch, so that by the time their house was finished, they wondered where their idyllic little scene had gone.
That was how I was afraid I would be. They would consider my seclusion to be admirable, so they would troop up to share it with me, until none of us was secluded any more. One day, something happened that let me know I could preserve my seclusion in the long run.
A group came to me, much distressed.
“All our roosters have died!” they cried. “What are we to do? We won’t wake up on time in the morning, and we won’t be able to raise broods of chicks to grow more chickens. How will we live?”
Knowing the old saying that not a leaf turns except by the will of Allah, I looked at them for a long time. Finally they demanded an answer.
“God’s will,” I said.
“God’s will?! Is that all you have to say? What good does that do us?” and they stalked down the hill, very dissatisfied. However, my peace didn’t last for long. Up they came again with a fresh calamity.
“All our fires have gone out!” they cried. “What will we do?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t help if I pointed out you have no roosters to cook anyway?” It didn’t help.
“What shall we do? We haven’t a live coal in the village, and the next village is far away.”
I looked at them and shrugged. “God’s will,” I said.
“We thought you’d say that,” they muttered, and stalked off down the hill, very annoyed. They were back sooner than I thought they would be.
“All our dogs have died!” they cried. “What other town is more unfortunate than ours? First our roosters, then our fires, now our dogs! Who will keep away wild animals, who will warn us of thieves?”
“Do you really have so many thieves?” I asked. They admitted nothing had ever been stolen in the town.
“I have only one thing to say, and I know you don’t want to hear it,” I said.
“We know…God’s will. That’s the last time we’ll ever ask YOU for advice,” they said, and stalked off down the hill, very annoyed. I hoped it was true.
But that very night, something occurred which I had been expecting. I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I expected something. It was a little too much to have roosters, fires and dogs all die, all at once in the whole town. So I sat up and listened. Around midnight, when all was quiet in the town below, I heard the sound of a large number of armed men approaching. I crept to the top of the next hill for a better view. It’s a good thing I’m very stealthy, because their scout crept to the top of the same hill, and we almost bumped into one another. He gave a hand signal, and an army of several hundred men with shields and spears, bows and arrows, and walkie talkies…no that was another time. Anyway, this army poured up the hill and their general gave the signal for silence. He stood listening carefully, looking down at the town. After a little time he spoke.
“Well, men, we have had a good run of it, going from town to town, pillaging and burning, and gathering such treasures as we found.” There was a quiet clatter of spears and shields and shuffling of feet.
“But it looks as if our luck has run out. Where is the smoke from the fires? Where are the dogs barking? It’s almost daylight. Where are the roosters crowing? This village is abandoned. Let us move on.”
So they turned back down the hill, and went on their way. The next day a few villagers came to see me.
“Have you thought of any solutions to our problems?” they asked, “or are you going to say the same thing over and over?”
“You mean, God’s will?” They nodded. “Oh, I still believe it’s God’s will, but I have something to add. No matter how bad you think your problems are, they could always be worse. Be content with what befalls you. It is truly sent from Heaven.”
To this day, they don’t believe me.