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Jha went to visit King Yahya. The king took a liking to him and said, “Ask for whatever you please.” Jha said, “Let anyone named Yahya give me a rial; anyone who goes out early give me a rial; anyone who listens to his wife give me a rial; anyone with a long beard give me a rial; and anyone with a bald head give me a rial.” The king said, “Draw up an order granting him what he asks.” Jha took the order and left. At dawn he went to one of the city gates and sat down. While he was sitting there, a countryman passed by, bringing rosemary into town. Jha seized him and said, “Give me a rial.” “What for?” the man asked.

“For being out so early.” The countryman sighed. “If I hadn’t listened to my wife, I wouldn’t have got up early.” “Then give me two rials.” The countryman lost his temper. “Get out of my way, or you’ll taste a blow from the hand of Hajj Yahya!” “Three rials!” said Jha.

They began to quarrel, one saying, “Pay me,” and the other, “I won’t.” They grappled and began to fight. The countryman’s beard came uncovered; Jha saw that it was long and cried, “Four rials!” They went on fighting, and the man’s head came uncovered. Seeing that he was bald, Jha said, “Give me five rials!” The quarrel grew so fierce that they were taken before the ruler. When they stood before the sultan, he looked at Jha and said, “What is all this, Jha?” “Here is the gracious order you gave me,” Jha replied. “I found that this man has all five qualities named in it: his name is Yahya, he goes out early, he follows his wife’s advice, he has a long beard, and he is bald.” The sultan said to the man, “Go home. You are a poor fellow who came to earn a living, and Jha waylaid you.” He gave him a present and sent him away.

Jha looked at the king and said, “Everyone named Yahya is weak in the head!” The king flew into a rage. “By my Lord,” he said, “unless you find me someone named Yahya who is weak in the head, I’ll have your head cut off.” “Give me a hundred rials,” said Jha, “and allow me nine

days.” The king gave him the money and granted him the time. “If you don’t bring him to me within those nine days, I’ll cut off your head.” Jha went down to the sheep market, bought a fine ram, painted it with red ochre, and led it through the spice sellers’ quarter. He asked a man, “Is there anyone named Yahya here among the spice sellers?” “There’s that shop,” the man answered. “Its owner is named Yahya.” Jha went up to him and said, “Peace be upon you!” “And upon you be peace!” The man welcomed him warmly. “Is your name Yahya?” Jha asked.

“Yes.” “I’ve brought you a present.” “From whom?” “Our lord Jibril has sent you this ram.” The old man was delighted. “Praise be to God! My Lord has remembered me and sent me a ram with our lord Jibril.” He took it home. Jha said, “Let me give you a word of advice. Listen: this ram repeats whatever it hears and tells whatever it sees.” The man brought it home and tied it in the kitchen. Now his son had just been married. The bride got up and went to the privy, where she broke wind. Looking round, she saw the ram watching her. She was ashamed and thought, “Now it will tell my husband and disgrace me.” “Please,” she said to it, “don’t tell!” “Baa! Baa, baa!” said the ram. “Promise me before God that you won’t tell.” “Baa!” She took off her tunic. “Here, take this, but don’t tell my husband.” She went on taking off her clothes and giving them to the ram until she was sitting stark naked in the privy. Her mother wondered what was keeping her and went to look.

She found her daughter naked in the privy. “What’s wrong? Are you unwell?” “Mother, I broke wind, and the ram heard me. I’m afraid it will tell, so I’ve given it my clothes to keep quiet, but it won’t give me its solemn promise.” The old woman began taking off her clothes too, until she was sitting naked in the privy. The bridegroom’s mother wondered what was keeping them and went after them. “What are you doing here naked?” she asked. “My daughter broke wind, and we’re afraid the ram will tell her husband.” She too began stripping and giving her clothes to the ram, saying, “My dear boy, please don’t tell!” Just then Uncle Yahya came into the house and called, “Old woman! Fatma!” No one answered. He searched all through the house, came to the back rooms, and saw them. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. They were too ashamed to speak.

“Tell me!” he said. “The bride broke wind, and we’re afraid the ram will tell her husband.” So he too began taking off his clothes, giving it his cap, his waistcoat, and his caftan, until he was as naked as the others. Then the bridegroom, Uncle Yahya’s son, came home and found the house empty. “Mother! Where are you all?” he called, but no one answered.

He came farther in and heard voices in the back rooms. He looked in and found them all naked: his father, his mother, his bride, and his mother-in-law. “What a sight! What’s the matter with you?” They said nothing and lowered their eyes. His father turned to him and said, “My son, the bride broke wind, and we’re afraid the ram will tell you.” Now let us leave them to put their clothes on in the privy and return to Jha. What did Jha do? He stayed away from the old man for a week, then went to see him. The old man welcomed him joyfully. “Welcome!” “Come here,” said Jha. “I have something to tell you in confidence.” “Go on, tell me.” “I am our lord Azrael, and tonight God is sending me to take your soul.” “My son,” said the old man, “am I going to die?”

“Whether you like it or not! When a man’s appointed hour arrives, he must stretch out his legs. Go and take leave of your children, your relatives, and all your friends.” “I don’t want to die!” “What do you mean? You were happy enough to accept the present, but you don’t want death? Take a shroud from your shop and go home. I’ll come to you at supper time with two companions, our lord Mikail and our lord Jibril.” He left him there. Uncle Yahya sat thinking, “Tonight I’m going to die!” He took his shroud and went home. He performed his ablutions, prayed two rak‘ahs, and told everyone in the house not to go out. Then he visited his friends and relatives, asking their forgiveness. They questioned him. “What’s the matter?” “Tonight I’m going to die.” Some said, “He’s gone mad,” while others said, “Perhaps his approaching death has been revealed to him.” He went home. His wife and daughter-in-law greeted him: “Welcome home!” “There is no welcome, nothing of the sort,” he told them. “Forgive me! Tonight I’m going to

die!” Now let us return to the king. Jha went to him and said, “I’ve found you a man named Yahya, like yourself, who is weak in the head.” He brought two hooded woollen robes, one for the sultan and one for the vizier, and put on one himself.

At supper time they came to Uncle Yahya’s house and found the door open. They entered, and the women fled, saying, “This is the Angel of Death! He may kill us!” They went in and said, “Peace be upon you.” “And upon you be peace,” he answered in a faint voice. Jha said, “Lie down. Stretch yourself out.” He lay down and stretched out. “Make your profession of faith,” said Jha.

Then he began pinching him from below, starting at his big toe and working up his leg, to his belly, his chest, and at last his neck. There he pressed hard and tickled him. He covered the man’s face and told the king and vizier to leave. Outside the house, Jha said, “Mind you, if he speaks or cries out, I’ll take his soul.” He told the sultan and the vizier, “Tomorrow you must attend the funeral with me.” They waited until morning.

In the morning the man’s son fetched the Koran reciters and the bier. They washed him, wrapped him in his shroud, lifted him up, and carried him towards the cemetery, while he lay there bewildered. The people followed, with the sultan, the vizier, and Jha among the mourners. On the way Jha met an old woman. “Come here,” he said, and gave her a gold coin. “Go and stand in front of the bier and say what I tell you.” He coached her, and she went and stood before the bearers. “For Master Jha’s sake, tell me: who has died?” “Uncle Yahya, the spice seller,” they answered.

“May God have no mercy on him!” she said. “I bought a pound of ambergris from him for my daughter’s wedding, and he cheated me of four ounces.” When the old man heard this, he sat up on the bier. “I’m a thief, am I, you whore? Has anyone ever known me to steal?” The bearers flung the bier to the ground

and ran away. The people burst out laughing, and the sultan and vizier laughed too. Jha turned to the sultan and said, “Didn’t I tell you? Everyone named Yahya is short of his wits.” “You are pardoned,” said the king. “Ask whatever you please!”

Jha went and borrowed a copper pot from his neighbour. He kept it for four or five days, then went to the market and bought a small copper pot. He took them both back, the large one and the small one. His neighbour asked, “Where did you get this little pot?” “The other one gave birth to it,” Jha replied. “When I borrowed it from you, I found it was pregnant, and it gave birth at my house. Here it is, and here is its child.” The neighbour accepted it. Jha stayed away for about a week, then came back and said, “Lend me the pot again.” The man gave it to him. Jha took it, sold it, and spent the money. His neighbour sent to ask for it back. “It died,” said Jha. “How could it die?”

“It died in childbirth.” They went before the judge. “What is your complaint, my son?” the judge asked. “Jha borrowed my copper pot and sold it.” The judge turned to Jha, who said that it had given birth. “Ask him.” The neighbour said, “Sir, the first time he borrowed it, he brought it back with a little pot. I asked, ‘Jha, where did this come from?’ He said, ‘This is its daughter. It gave birth to it.’ But the second time he borrowed it, he never returned it at all. When I asked for it, he said it had died.” “And the first time, did you accept its daughter from him?” asked the judge. “Why shouldn’t I?” “Then Jha is in the right: whatever gives birth can also die!”

Jha and his mother slept under the same safsari. Every day, when the muezzin went up to give the call to prayer, his mother got up, put on the safsari, and left Jha in the cold. One day he said, “That son of a whore of a muezzin leaves me cold every night!”

He climbed up to the minaret while the muezzin was giving the call, struck him dead, cut off his head, and threw it into the well at their house. Then he went to his mother. “I’ve rid you of that muezzin. I killed him and cut off his head.” “Where is his head?” “I threw it into our well.” “Go inside and sleep, or they’ll come and arrest you.” He went in and lay down, and she covered him up. She had a little ram; she slaughtered it and threw its head into the well. Then she took its stomach and entrails and made neat little parcels of stuffed tripe. When they were cooked, she came to Jha, scattered them around him, and said, “Get up, Jha! It’s been raining stuffed tripe.” He got up, gathered them, and ate. Then he went out and found the mosque full of people asking, “What happened to the muezzin? His head is gone! Who killed him?” “I killed him,” Jha told them.

“Where is his head?” “I threw it into our well.” “We must go and see.” As he felt about in the water, the ram’s horns came into his hands. He looked up at them and said, “Did your muezzin have horns or not?” “What do you mean?” they asked.

“When did you kill him?” “The night it rained stuffed tripe.” They looked at one another. “Ah, this is Jha the madman!” Now Jha had an uncle. Jha had fallen in love with his uncle’s wife, and she used to let him have his way with her. His uncle divorced her and married another woman, whom he warned: “That son of a whore Jha—mind he doesn’t come to you and you let him have his way.” Jha tended his uncle’s sheep. Whenever he came home with the flock and tried to speak to her, she drove him away. One day, while he was out with the sheep, he found an underground chamber. He drove the flock inside and shut them in. Then he went to his uncle and said, “The sheep are lost.” His poor uncle went out with his wife to search for them, while the flock remained hidden underground. As they drew near the chamber, Jha began talking to himself. His uncle asked, “What are you saying? Who are you talking to?” “The birds are talking to me.” “What are they telling you?” “I can’t repeat what the birds have told me. It’s shameful.” His uncle brooded for a while, then said, “Tell me. Never mind.” “The birds told me, ‘Fuck your uncle’s wife, and you’ll find your sheep!’” “Really, Jha? Do you think we’ll find them if I give you my wife?” “Yes, indeed.”

“Then take her into that hollow and have your fill.” Jha took her into the hollow and had his fill. When he came out, he began talking to himself again. “What did the bird tell you this time?” his uncle asked. “It told me where the sheep are. They’re in that underground chamber over there.” “Is that true, or are you lying to me?” They reached the chamber, opened it, and let the sheep out. “There, Uncle,” said Jha. “We’ve found the sheep.” When they got home, his uncle looked at his wife and said, “That son of a whore Jha has made fools of us and had his fun at our expense. Drive him away.”

Jha had a donkey, and a band of scoundrels were always playing tricks on him. They stole his donkey, sold it, then came back and said, “Jha, your donkey has become a judge.” “Really?” “We set down a book and begin to read, and he listens to us.” Jha left them, took a nosebag, and went to the judge’s house.

The judge was hearing cases when Jha held out the nosebag to him, saying, “Come on, eat your barley. Aren’t you a donkey?” “What is this?” the judge demanded. “You’re calling me a donkey, you scoundrel? Seize him and give him two hundred strokes!” While they beat him with their sticks, Jha cried, “Oh, I’ll never give you barley and straw again! Let me get free, and I’ll show you!”

The judge turned and said, “The man is mad! How much is your donkey worth, my boy?” “A hundred rials.” “Give him a hundred rials and get him out of my sight.” “Well, if you’re not my donkey, where is my donkey?” “How did you lose it?” asked the judge. “I went to fetch my donkey and couldn’t find it. Then some men met me and said, ‘Your donkey has become a judge!’ So I came to you, and you had me beaten. Now I see you really are a judge, not a donkey.” The judge sent for the men who had told him the story. When they were brought in, he said, “Give each of them two hundred strokes, and make them return his donkey.”

Once Jha had his donkey back, he pushed six or seven gold coins into its backside and took it to the market to sell. He mounted it and prodded its neck. The donkey farted, and the gold coins fell out. The people asked, “Does this donkey shit gold?” They began bidding for it, and in the end three men bought it jointly. He sold it to them for ten thousand rials.

“What does it eat?” they asked. “Prepare a room for it, spread carpets on the floor, put green fodder in a corner, and leave it loose.” They took it away, furnished a room, and put it inside. “When you get up in the morning,” Jha told them, “you’ll find a measure of gold coins.” They locked it in and went home. Then they looked at one another. “Who shall keep the key?” One of them said, “Let’s leave it with the grocer.” They instructed the grocer, “Don’t give anyone the key unless all three of us are present.” “Very well.” In the morning they fetched the key and went to the room where the donkey was. It had eaten the green fodder and spent the whole night with diarrhoea. They opened the door. The first man went in, but the stench drove him out again. “There are plenty of gold coins,” he told his companions, “all scattered about, but how they stink!” The second went in and did the same. The third went in and said, “Jha has made fools of us!” They went to Jha. “Didn’t you tell us the donkey shits gold?” “You’re short of your wits,” he replied. “Is there a donkey anywhere in the world that shits gold? I told you that so I could get some money out of you!”

Jha went home. In their lane stood a grand house belonging to their neighbours, where a woman lived whose lover was blind in one eye. Every day Jha saw the one-eyed man entering the house. What did he do? He bought a fat goat, slaughtered it, and gathered the neighbourhood dogs, cutting up the meat and feeding it to them until a one-eyed dog came along. He fed all the other dogs their fill and let them go. The one-eyed dog stayed, waiting for its share. Jha cornered it in the lane and began beating it until it fled into the house where the woman was with her one-eyed lover.

The dog ran through the doorway and hid in the entrance passage. Jha followed it into the passage and began shouting, “Come out, you one-eyed wretch! You eat other people’s food, then run and hide in other people’s houses!” The poor woman heard him and came out. “How did you catch sight of this one-eyed fellow?” “I saw him go in with my own eyes. He’s a dog, the son of a dog!” “Here are a hundred rials. Go away! You’ll cause a scandal at my door.” He bargained with her until she gave him five hundred. Once he had the money in his hand, he said, “There’s the dog in the passage. Bring him out to me.” She turned, saw the dog, and found that it was blind in one eye like her lover. “Ah, you son of a whore! You’ve tricked me!” She drove the dog out, and Jha took it away.

Jha tended his maternal uncles’ cattle. Among them was a heifer of his own, his only property. All the other cattle were lean, but Jha’s heifer was fat. His uncles caught it unawares, slaughtered it, and began eating it. When he came and saw them eating, they said, “We took a fancy to it, so we slaughtered it. We’re eating it.” “Give me its hide,” Jha said. They gave him the hide, and he took it to market. He offered it for sale all day and at last sold it for a Nasri Moumeni coin. He thought, “What shall I do with this?” He pierced it, threaded a bit of red cloth through it, slipped it over his finger, and set off home.

Ahead of him he saw two men who had found a hoard of gold coins and were measuring it out to divide it. He crept up behind them, tossed his Nasri Moumeni coin among the gold, and said, “Peace be upon you.” “How did you come here?” they asked. “And how did you come to be dividing other people’s money?” “This is a treasure God has granted us. We brought it up by means of an incantation.” “It belongs to me,” said Jha. “How can it belong to you?” “I marked it with a Nasri Moumeni coin with a piece of red cloth through it.”

They searched and found the coin. “You’re right. Come, let’s divide it into three shares.” “No,” he said. “You two take half, and I’ll take half.” He took one half and they took the other. He put his share into his cloak and went home to his uncles’ house, where he emptied the cloak before them. They stared in amazement. “Where did all this money come from?” “Don’t you know? It’s what I got for the heifer’s hide.” “Then we’ll slaughter our cattle and sell their hides.” “Slaughter them, and you’ll be rich!” They got up, slaughtered their cattle, and skinned them. Jha told them, “Leave the hides to rot. Don’t salt them.” Now the whole encampment slaughtered their cattle. They ate the meat and gave some to the dogs, leaving the hides until they stank. After three or four days Jha looked at them and saw maggots crawling out of the rotten hides. He went to the people and said, “Take them away and sell them now.” They carried them to market and offered them for sale. The craftsmen, slipper makers, and shoemakers came to examine them and found them stinking and crawling with maggots. “They’re trying to make fools of us!” they said. They seized the sellers and punched them. “Take your carrion away and throw it out!” The people fled. “Unless we kill Jha tonight, he’ll ruin us!” They went straight home to Jha, seized him, and bound him. “Jha, you’ve left us beggars!” He looked at them and said, “Did you really think rotten hides could be sold? I was having a joke at your expense.” They tied him up, put him in a sack, fastened it shut, and carried him away to throw him into the sea.

As they approached the shore, they saw a shepherd tending his flock. “Let’s put the sack down here for a while and go ask the shepherd for a drink of milk.” They went over to him. “Have you some milk for us to drink?” He gave them milk in a goatskin, and they drank. Then they reclined beside him, grew drowsy, and fell fast asleep.

The shepherd left them sleeping and went to turn his flock. He came upon a tied sack lying on the ground and prodded it with his staff. “Leave me alone!” said Jha. The shepherd started in fright. “Man or jinn?” Then he asked, “What are you doing in this sack?” “They’ve put me here to study under my master. Whoever studies under my master sees the Preserved Tablet in the presence of my Lord!” “Let me take your place!” “No, I won’t,” said Jha, though he was only too eager for the other man to get in. The shepherd kept pleading until Jha relented. “Very well. Get me out of the sack.” The shepherd untied it, and Jha came out. “Take off your clothes,” he told the shepherd. Jha put them on and gave his own clothes to the man, who dressed in them and climbed into the sack. Jha tied it shut, drove off the sheep, and headed for the encampment. Before leaving, he warned the shepherd, “When they come to carry you away, don’t speak. If you speak, they’ll throw you into the depths of the sea.”

The others woke, and by then Jha was far away. They picked up the sack, threw it into the sea, and said, “We’re rid of him!” Then they went home, arriving before Jha, who reached the encampment towards nightfall. All the women there were rejoicing. “Jha is dead! We’re rid of him!” But at sunset he came in driving a flock of sheep. “There’s Jha! He’s still alive! Didn’t you say, ‘We threw him into the sea, he’s dead, we’re rid of him’?” They asked, “Jha, where did these sheep come from?” “I brought them out of the sea. The sea hangs suspended in the sky, and the sheep graze beneath it.”

“Tell us how to do it, Jha!” “Tie up your children, bind them as you bound me, put them in sacks, and throw them into the sea. At sunset they’ll bring you sheep!” Each man seized his son, tied him up, and put him in a sack. A woman in the encampment turned to Jha and said, “I haven’t any children, Jha!” “Take your dog and throw him in with the others. He’ll bring you sheep at sunset.” She threw him in, but the dog began to swim. Jha was hiding on top of a hill, watching and laughing. He called out, “Bring her fine rams and ewes, Whitey!” The dog kept swimming, climbed out, and went home to his mistress without a single sheep. The woman called to Jha, “My Whitey hasn’t brought any sheep!”

“That’s because he didn’t dive,” he told her. “If he’d dived, he would have brought you some. The others have gone under, and at sunset they’ll bring sheep. Tie a stone round his neck so he dives properly.” Towards sunset the people turned to Jha. Their children had not returned. “Jha, the children haven’t come.” “Wait until it’s dark.” Darkness fell, and still they did not come. The people grew anxious and turned on him. “They haven’t come back!” “Did you really think there were sheep in the sea?” he asked. “The fish have had your children for supper!”

They began lamenting and weeping for their children. They seized Jha and bound him. “The only thing to do with him is take him to the gorge, tie him to an olive tree, and leave him for the lion to eat.” They carried him to the gorge, put him beside the road, and tied him to an olive tree. As he stood there bound, he saw a horseman approaching, a caid who had been to see the bey. The horseman came up to him and said, “Peace be upon you.” “And upon you be peace,” Jha answered reluctantly. “Why are you tied up?” “Go away and leave me alone! Why are you asking about me?” “Old fellow, is it wrong to ask a question?” Jha looked at him. “Now you’ll turn me back into what I was.” “What were you before?” “I was a hundred years old. But since they tied me up and put me at Sidi Abd al-Qadir’s tree, I’ve become thirty again. Any old man who is tied to this tree and says nothing will grow young again.” “My son, is that true, by God?” “By God, it is.” “Then let me take your place.”

“Untie me,” said Jha at last. The man untied him. “Take off your clothes. I’ll leave you nothing but your shirt.” He began undressing, taking off his burnouses, his safsari, and his fine garments. Jha seized him, tied him to the olive tree in his place, put on his clothes, mounted his horse, and rode back to the encampment. The people were sitting there when Jha rode in on a fine horse, splendidly dressed. “Oh, Jha! Where did you get that horse?” “The whole gorge is full of them, running loose.” “You’re lying, you son of a whore! Who knows whom you’ve tricked this time!”