It happened once upon a time that Mullah Nasruddin met a holy man who had come wandering into the village from the nearby desert. This ragged pilgrim had bright burning eyes, and his long untidy hair was heavily adorned with feathers. “I believe in the sacredness of all life,” said the wanderer, “but my special affinity is to the kingdom of the birds. Of all creation, they are the closest to heaven. While we trudge on the dusty earth, they fly! Humanity does not recognise the true value of the bird.”

“Oh, I agree,” said Nasruddin, “In fact a bird saved my life once.”

“Brother!” said the holy man exultantly, and clasped Nasruddin in a fierce embrace. “Destiny has brought us together! Let us sit and tell each other our stories.”

And so they went to a tea house, and over numerous cups of tea the holy man told the Mullah something of his life and his philosophy, how he lived alone in the wilderness to study its beauty, how he avoided treading on insects and lived only on seeds and fruits that had fallen naturally so as to do no damage to the living web of creation. But at last, he could contain his curiosity no longer. “Please, brother,” he begged, “it will mean so much to me. Tell me how a bird saved your life.”

“Well,” said Nasruddin, “it was like this: about six or seven years ago, I had no food for a long time and I nearly starved to death. And then I caught a bird and ate it.”