It happened once that Mullah Nasruddin fell seriously ill. Naturally his neighbours heard about this, and began to visit him. The people of Nasruddin’s village certainly have faults, but neglecting the sick is not one of them!

Day after day the people of the village came in large groups and sat by his bed, drinking endless cups of tea, eating cakes – or salted cucumbers or dried apricots or a pilaff or whatever they could find – and gossiping among themselves while the Mullah was too weak to say a word.

At last the Mullah began to feel better, and when he finally struggled out of bed, the neighbours said, “Now, Mullah, God be praised, you are healthy again. We will take our leave.” And all the neighbours began to file out of the house. Nasruddin looked in the kitchen, and then followed them.

“But Mullah,” the neighbours said in surprise, “are you coming with us? You have become so used to our company that you don’t want to be alone?”

“No, it is not that,” said Nasruddin. “It is that thanks to your kindness, there is nothing left to eat in my house.”