It happened once upon a time that Mullah Nasruddin’s tongue got him into trouble. Well, that certainly happened more than once, but this time was serious. In fact, it was such a close brush with death that his skin was only saved by the amazing agility of his tongue.

The Mullah was sitting with some friends near the fountain in the town square, and was delivering at great length his opinion on the lamentable condition of their province: the poverty, the disorder, the high taxes, the illnesses, hunger, poor crops and more. According to Nasruddin, it was all the fault of the Governor. As he named, in vivid detail, the shortcomings of that high official, not omitting his appearance, his personal habits and scandalous doubts about his parentage, the Mullah did not notice that his friends suddenly became uneasily silent. Finally, one of them timidly tapped him on the knee and with an eloquent eyebrow indicated that the Mullah should look behind him.

Turning, Nasruddin found none other than the Governor himself standing there, flanked by a number of large, armed soldiers. The Governor had clearly heard enough, and he was red with anger.

“Seize him!” he barked to his soldiers. “For such insolence, the punishment is death!”

Instantly, the soldiers grabbed Nasruddin and pulled him to his feet.

“But I am a Mullah!” Nasruddin protested. “Mercy! My turban deserves respect!”

“Respect!” said the governor dismissively. “You deserve nothing at all, but very well, only for the sake of your turban I will grant you this. I sentence you to death, but you may choose in what way you will die.”

“Excellency!” said Nasruddin, and threw himself at the feet of the governor. “May God reward your generosity! I choose to die of old age!”