Harun al Rashid, the Khalif of Baghdad, had heard that in his city there was a strange man named Bahlool. His vizirs and courtiers said that this was a madman who had lost touch with reality, who said any nonsense that came into his head, but one or two asserted that he was not what he appeared, that he was in truth a spiritual master who had been commanded to hide his knowledge under a cloak of foolishness.

Harun al Rashid wished to meet this mysterious figure, and decide for himself. Perhaps Bahlool was a fool, but if he were wise, perhaps Harun could benefit from his wisdom.

Then one day, as the Khalif walked through the cemetery outside the walls of the city, he came upon a thin man dressed in rags, sitting on a gravestone. It was Bahlool.

“I have long wished to meet you,” Harun said.

“I have no interest in meeting you,” Bahlool replied.

“My responsibilities are many,” Harun said, “Give me counsel and advice.”

Bahlool searched in his rags, and said, “There is nothing here. What advice shall I give you?”

Then Bahlool pointed to the buildings of the city, and said, “These palaces belong to those who are lying here, under the dark earth in this graveyard.”

“What will you feel, Harun,” asked Bahlool, “on the day when you stand before the Truth and divine justice, and God scrutinises your deeds? He will examine them in such detail that even the pit of a date, the thin skin that covers it, the tiny thread within it, and the black mark on the back of the pit will be accounted for. And on that day, you will be hungry and thirsty and naked among the crowd of the resurrection, ashamed and empty-handed.”

And Harun wept.