It happened once upon a time that the provincial Governor summoned Mullah Nasruddin to his court.

“Mullah,” said the Governor, “they say you have a great deal of learning.”

Nasruddin stroked his beard. “Modesty forbids that I comment upon what your Grace has said.”

“Can you interpret dreams?”

“Excellency,” Nasruddin replied, “the mystical symbolism of dreams are an open book to a well educated mind.”

“I have had a dream – no, a nightmare – and I want you to interpret it for me.”

“Then unfold to me your dream.”

“I dreamt,” said the Governor, “that my own form was terribly changed. I had become like a hideous monster, roaring and breathing fire, and I was rushing through the city, smashing and breaking everything in sight, stealing treasures from rich and poor alike and even feasting on the flesh of anyone I could catch. What could this horrible vision mean?”

“Your Grace,” said Nasruddin, “I can interpret dreams, but reality is beyond me.”