What a Life !!!

An American businessman was standing at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish.

"How long did it take you to catch them?" the American asked.

"Only a little while" the Mexican replied.

"Why don't you stay out longer and catch more fish?" the American then asked.

"I have enough to support my family's immediate needs" the Mexican said.

"But" the American then asked, "What do you do with the rest of your time?"

The Mexican fisherman said: "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life, senor."

The American scoffed: "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds you could buy a bigger boat and, with the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats. Eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the consumers, eventually opening your own can factory. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked: "But senor, how long will this all take?"

To which the American replied: "15-20 years."

"But what then, senor?"

The American laughed and said: "That's the best part. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO - an Initial Public Offering - and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions."

"Millions, senor? Then what?"

The American said slowly: "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos..."

The Story of Florence Chadwick

When she looked ahead, Florence Chadwick saw nothing but a solid wall of fog. Her body was numb. She had been swimming for nearly sixteen hours. Already she was the first woman to swim the English Channel in both directions. Now, at age 34, her goal was to become the first woman to swim from Catalina Island to the California coast.



On that Fourth of July morning in 1952, the sea was like an ice bath and the fog was so dense she could hardly see her support boats. Sharks cruised toward her lone figure, only to be driven away by rifle shots. Against the frigid grip of the sea, she struggled on - hour after hour - while millions watched on national television. Alongside Florence in one of the boats, her mother and her trainer offered encouragement. They told her it wasn't much farther. But all she could see was fog. They urged her not to quit. She never had . . . until then. With only a half mile to go, she asked to be pulled out. Still thawing her chilled body several hours later, she told a reporter, "Look, I'm not excusing myself, but if I could have seen land I might have made it."

It was not fatigue or even the cold water that defeated her. It was the fog. She was unable to see her goal. Two months later, she tried again. This time, despite the same dense fog, she swam with her faith intact and her goal clearly pictured in her mind. She knew that somewhere behind that fog were land and this time she made it! Florence Chadwick became the first woman to swim the Catalina Channel, eclipsing the men's record by two hours!

Peace of Mind

Once Buddha was walking from one town to another town with a few of his followers. This was in the initial days. While they were travelling, they happened to pass a lake. They stopped there and Buddha told one of his disciples, “I am thirsty. Do get me some water from that lake there.”

The disciple walked up to the lake. When he reached it, he noticed that some people were washing clothes in the water and, right at that moment, a bullock cart started crossing through the lake. As a result, the water became very muddy, very turbid. The disciple thought, “How can I give this muddy water to Buddha to drink!” So he came back and told Buddha, “The water in there is very muddy. I don’t think it is fit to drink.”

After about half an hour, again Buddha asked the same disciple to go back to the lake and get him some water to drink. The disciple obediently went back to the lake. This time he found that the lake had absolutely clear water in it. The mud had settled down and the water above it looked fit to be had. So he collected some water in a pot and brought it to Buddha.

Buddha looked at the water, and then he looked up at the disciple and said, “See what you did to make the water clean. You let it be ... and the mud settled down on its own – and you got clear water... Your mind is also like that. When it is disturbed, just let it be. Give it a little time. It will settle down on its own. You don’t have to put in any effort to calm it down. It will happen. It is effortless.”

Simple...My Dear Watson

A driving truck gets caught under the bridge because the truck is couple of inches higher than the normal minimal bridge height in USA (13 feet 6 inches).

The structural engineers and Mechanical engineers are at the scene wondering how to fix the problem. Some suggest lifting the bridge (immense cost and time) while other suggest taking apart the truck piece by piece.

In a nearby car kid is watching this and asked his mother what are they doing? She explains the dilemma and says it will hours to fix the problem.

The kid simply says. “Mom why don’t they just take the air out of the tires?

The story of Muggsy Bogues

When Tyrone "Muggsy" Bogues was growing up, no one expected him to be an NBA star. At only 5' 3", Muggsy was short, putting him at a serious disadvantage in a league where the average height is 6' 7". But he ignored the naysayers, and went on to have a successful basketball career despite the odds stacked against him.

During his 16-year career in the NBA, Muggsy became a fan favorite - a symbol of hard work, drive, and determination. "I always believed in myself," he told Hank Hersch of Sports Illustrated. "That's the type of attitude I always took out on the floor, knowing that I belonged; that with my talents, my abilities, there's a place for me out there."



In his engaging autobiography "In the Land of Giants: My Life in Basketball", he reveals that his mother was only 4-foot-11, his father 5-foot-6: "I knew I had no chance of ever getting out of the five-foot range, no matter how hard I wished and dreamed about getting taller."

Muggsy never did get taller, but he certainly got better. As a member of the Charlotte Hornets, he's one of the more accomplished point guards in the NBA and, one of the five most enjoyable players to watch. How can you not love a player who will challenge anybody, will steal the ball from players a foot and a half taller, or drive on a 7-footer? He's a player who works hard, knows the game, and plays with enthusiasm.

When asked about the contemporaries like Magic Johnson and Shaquille O'Neal, the hoopster said they had a specific role to play for their teams while I had my own duties to accomplish. "If you think too much about your height then... I never feared the taller opponents, if they were good at shooting, I was good at stealing and dribbling around. If I would have feared at any point of time I would not have been here in front of you talking about the game," insists Muggsy.

Muggsy is forthcoming about such matters as the birth of his daughter to a girlfriend when he was a senior at Dunbar. "I had no money, and I was just seventeen," he writes. "I knew I didn't want to marry her mother. I had to grow up quickly."

Then there was the matter of his father, Richard, who was sentenced to 20 years in prison for armed robbery when Muggsy was 12.

"I understand now that when he wasn't at home, he was out hustling for whatever money he could make, doing whatever it took to make sure his family had enough to eat," Muggsy writes. "He got into some things he shouldn't have. He was selling drugs. He was committing stickups and robberies."

But this is where character comes in. The young Muggsy stayed in touch with his father, concluding, "I refused to let his being in prison affect my relationship with him in a negative way. . . . We still had our conflicts, like most fathers and sons, but he was my dad first, last, and always."

Muggsy's storied career demonstrates that with hard work and determination, you can beat the odds and accomplish your goals. As he once said, "You can't dwell on what people think you can't do."

The Secret of Success

A young man asked Socrates, an ancient Greek philosopher, the secret of Success. Socrates told the young man to meet him near the river the next morning. They met.

Socrates asked the young man to walk with him toward the river.

When the water got up to their necks, Socrates took the young man by surprise and ducked him into the water. The man struggled to get out but Socrates was strong and kept him under water until he started turning blue.

The young man struggled hard and finally managed to get up. The first thing he did was to gasp and take a deep breath.

Socrates asked, “What did you want the most when you were under the water?”

The man replied “Air”.

Socrates said: “That’s the most secret to success. When you want success as badly as you want air, you will get it. There is no other secret”.

A Violin with 3 Strings

On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, a violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City.

If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an awesome sight.

He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.

By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.

But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap – it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.

We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage – to either find another violin or else find another string for this one. But he didn’t. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again.

The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before.

Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that.

You could see him modulating, changing, re-composing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.

When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.

He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said – not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone – “You know, sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”

What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that is the definition of life – not just for artists but for all of us.

Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings; so he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.

So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make ‘music’, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make ‘music’ with what we have left.

The Black Dot

A small town chamber of commerce invited a speaker to address its annual dinner. The community’s economy was bad, people were discouraged, and they wanted this motivational speaker to give them a boost.

During her presentation, the speaker took a large piece of white paper and made a small black dot at the center with a marking pen. Then she held the paper up before the group and asked them what they saw.

One person quickly replied, “I see a black dot.”

“Okay, what else do you see?”

Others joined in agreement: “A black dot.”

“Don’t you see anything besides the dot?” – she asked.

A resounding “No” came from the audience.

“What about the sheet of paper?” – asked the speaker. “I am sure you have all seen it”, she said, “But you have chosen to overlook it. In life, we also tend to overlook and take for granted many wonderful things that we have or happen around us and focus our attention and energy on small, dotlike failures and disappointments. The so called ‘problems’ that we have are usually like the black dot on the paper. They are small and insignificant if we can widen our horizon and look at the whole picture.”

The Seeker of Truth

After years of searching, the seeker was told to go to a cave, in which he would find a well. 'Ask the well what is truth', he was advised, 'and the well will reveal it to you'. Having found the well, the seeker asked that most fundamental question. And from the depths came the answer, 'Go to the village crossroad: there you shall find what you are seeking'.

Full of hope and anticipation the man ran to the crossroad to find only three rather uninteresting shops. One shop was selling pieces of metal, another sold wood, and thin wires were for sale in the third. Nothing and no one there seemed to have much to do with the revelation of truth.

Disappointed, the seeker returned to the well to demand an explanation, but he was told only, 'You will understand in the future.' When the man protested, all he got in return were the echoes of his own shouts. Indignant for having been made a fool of - or so he thought at the time - the seeker continued his wanderings in search of truth. As years went by, the memory of his experience at the well gradually faded until one night, while he was walking in the moonlight, the sound of sitar music caught his attention. It was wonderful music and it was played with great mastery and inspiration.

Profoundly moved, the truth seeker felt drawn towards the player. He looked at the fingers dancing over the strings. He became aware of the sitar itself. And then suddenly he exploded in a cry of joyous recognition: the sitar was made out of wires and pieces of metal and wood just like those he had once seen in the three stores and had thought it to be without any particular significance.

At last he understood the message of the well: we have already been given everything we need: our task is to assemble and use it in the appropriate way. Nothing is meaningful so long as we perceive only separate fragments. But as soon as the fragments come together into a synthesis, a new entity emerges, whose nature we could not have foreseen by considering the fragments alone.

One at a Time

As a man walked a desolate beach one cold, gray morning he began to see another figure, far in the distance. Slowly the two approached each other, and he could make out a local native who kept leaning down, picking something up and throwing it out into the water. Time and again he hurled things into the ocean.

As the distance between them continued to narrow, the man could see that the native was picking up starfish that had been washed upon the beach and, one at a time, was throwing them back into the water.

Puzzled, the man approached the native and asked what he was doing. “I’m throwing these starfish back into the ocean. You see, it’s low tide right now and all of these starfish have been washed up onto the shore. If I don’t throw them back into the sea, they’ll die up here from lack of oxygen.”

“But there must be thousands of starfish on this beach,” the man replied. “You can’t possibly get to all of them. There are just too many. And this same thing is probably happening on hundreds of beaches all up and down this coast. Can’t you see that you can’t possibly make a difference?”

The local native smiled, bent down and picked up another starfish, and as he threw it back into the sea he replied, “Made a difference to that one!”

Pursuing Meaningful Goals

A farmer had a dog who used to sit by the roadside waiting for vehicles to come around. As soon as one came he would run down the road, barking and trying to overtake it.

One day a neighbor asked the farmer "Do you think your dog is ever going to catch a car?"

The farmer replied, "That is not what bothers me. What bothers me is what he would do if he ever caught one."

Be the Lake

The old Master instructed an unhappy young man to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and Then to drink it.

How does it taste?" the Master asked. "Awful," spat the apprentice.

The Master chuckled and then asked the young man to take another handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby lake and when the apprentice swirled his handful of salt into the lake. The old man said, "Now drink from the lake."

As the water dripped down the young man's chin, the Master asked, "How does it taste?""Good!" remarked the apprentice. "Do you taste the salt?" asked the Master. "No," said the young man.

The Master sat beside this troubled young man, took his hands, and said,"The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less.The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount we taste the 'pain' depends on the container we put it into.  So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things."

Wishing you Enough

Recently, I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments together at the airport as the daughter’s departure had been announced.

Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the mother said: “I love you and I wish you enough.”

The daughter replied, “Mom, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Mom.”

They kissed and the daughter left.

The mother walked over to the window where I sat. Standing there, I could see she wanted and needed to cry.

I tried not to intrude on her privacy but she welcomed me in by asking, “Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?”

“Yes, I have,” I replied. “Forgive me for asking but why is this a forever good-bye?”

“I am old and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is the next trip back will be for my funeral,” she said.

When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, “I wish you enough.” May I ask what that means?”

She began to smile. “That’s a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone.”

She paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail and she smiled even more.

“When we said ‘I wish you enough’ we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them”.

Then turning toward me, she shared the following, reciting it from memory.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

Everyone's special in their Own way !!!

A samurai who was known for his nobility and honesty, went to visit a Zen monk to ask him for his advice.

When the monk had finished his prayers, the Samurai asked, “Why do I feel so inferior? I have faced death many times, have defended those who are weak. Nevertheless, upon seeing you meditating, I felt that my life had absolutely no importance whatsoever.”

“Wait. Once I have attended to all those who come to see me today, I shall answer you.” – replied the monk.

The samurai spent the whole day sitting in the temple gardens, watching the people go in and out in search of advice. He saw how the monk received them all with the same patience and the same illuminated smile on his face.

At nightfall, when everyone had gone, he demanded: “Now can you teach me?”

The master invited him in and lead him to his room. The full moon shone in the sky, and the atmosphere was one of profound tranquility.

“Do you see the moon, how beautiful it is? It will cross the entire firmament, and tomorrow the sun will shine once again.”

“But sunlight is much brighter, and can show the details of the landscape around us: trees, mountains, clouds.”

“I have contemplated the two for years, and have never heard the moon say: why do I not shine like the sun? Is it because I am inferior?”

“Of course not.” – answered the samurai. “The moon and the sun are different things, each has its own beauty. You cannot compare the two.”

“So you know the answer. We are two different people, each fighting in his own way for that which he believes, and making it possible to make the world a better place; the rest are mere appearances.”

Andheri Nagri Chaupat Raja - An Old Indian Fable

Bharatendu Harishchandra is one of the greatest playwrights in Hindi, and Andher Nagari, written in 1881, is one of his masterpiece.




In this hilarious and sardonic tale, a Teacher (Guru) and his student (Shishya/disciple while on a journey to gain knowledge, reached a new city. While walking through a city with his shishya, the Guru saw there was no man on the roads, all the shops were closed during the day, but at night, all the shops got opened, people started working.

He was surprised and asked a man why it is so? The man informs that it is according to the order of their King. Then the Teacher and his Student reaches a shop to get some food, they were more surprised to know that every thing was being sold at one standard price (Take Ser/eat anything for 1). Teacher tells his Student that its a dangerous place to live, and they must leave the city immediately.
But the Student thinks that its a wonderful place to live. Everything so cheap and he can eat delicious things spending very little amount of money, so he requests the Teacher to allow him to stay there for a while. The Teacher repeats his warning but when he realize that the stubborn Student is not relenting, he leaves him there and continue his journey alone.

The city is being run like an experiment of social equality by the eccentric King. There is one fixed price for everything in the city. One can have the run of the mill Bhaji (a simple, inexpensive, vegetable dish) or premium sweet like Khaja (delicious sweet made with wheat flour, refined butter, sugar) at the same price. The citizens are not allowed to question these eccentric rules or the rulers who come up with these stupidities or even talk about irrational and unjust policies of the King and his administrators who design and implement these twisted rules regarding Commerce, Law and Ethics, making it an undesirable place for live and deal with irrespective of monetary or strategic benefits. The young and unwise Student stays, eats, makes merry and enjoys it for a while.
In this strange land, one night four brothers plan a burglary and try to breach the wall of the house of an affluent family. Even the thief of such a doomed city are lazy and incompetent. The bungling incompetent thieves bring the wall down, and in the process are killed by the falling bricks.
The mother of the thieves gets angry when she gets the news. The grieved mother files a lawsuit in the court to seek compensation for her loss. In arguing her case before the court, she claims that her sons were merely following their profession and the inappropriately constructed wall caused their untimely demise, for which the homeowner was liable.

The court following the strange and uniform national code of justice designed to ensure social equality for all, asks the homeowner why he should not be sentenced to death for the loss of the thieves’ lives.

The frightened and frazzled homeowner uses the defense that those who constructed the wall are the guilty party and thus exonerates himself. The bricklayer is then summoned to the court and he says it is not his fault as he did his job well and the cement must have been of poor quality. The wrath of the court and its warped justice then descends on the cement mixer who is accused of pouring too much water during mixing. The cement maker admits that it happened, but attributes it to his required mandatory greeting of the passing Holy man, a legally justifiable diversion that diluted the cement. The Court calls the Holy man – the clueless guy has no excuse and the court pronounces him guilty of the murder of the 4 thieves and sentences him to be hanged till dead.

Like everything else, the King has also legally prescribed fixed size noose which must be used to hang the criminals by the neck. The noose is brought to the courtyard to string up the guilty offender. Living in the city of Idiots could be the fault of the Holy man, but the poor guy was living a humble life himself. It turns out that his neck & head is too thin and the noose keeps slipping off his head and neck. The size of the nose can not be changed since it was fixed by the King. Therefore, it was not possible to hang the Holy man with the prescribed fixed size noose.

This irritated the judge to no end, he had many other commitments too, more cases to resolved, more punishments to be meted out. So the Judge pontificates that the deaths of 4 thieves must be punished and since the circumference of the noose is unalterable by the national code, the only way for justice to be done, is to hang the first person who fits the noose. Anyone who’s neck can fit the noose, not important if an innocent gets punished, but justice must be served.

In the meanwhile, with good food at cheap price, and no work to do, the Student has enjoyed himself immensely and managed to gained a chubby body. He had nothing better to do so he was caught feasting on the cheap dates and idling his time watching the wheels of justice in the court . His stout neck fitted the noose and the court decides that he be hanged in the public square next morning as an example to the citizens and to emphasize that justice not only should be done, but it must also publicly seen to be done.

By godly intervention, his Teachers arrives in the city on his way back and gets to know about the predicament of his Student. The teacher promptly arrived early morning at the public square and creates a ruckus by insisting that he be hanged instead of the Student.

The intrigued Judge was taken aback at this strange self-destroying demand and even the Holy man suspects some theological mystery. They keep asking the Teacher for the reason but he refuses.

The irritated judge then threatened him that if he refused he would be beheaded instead of being hanged. The Teacher pleads that he must be hanged and not beheaded. Under further intimidation and after considerable interrogation, the Teacher relents and confesses that on this day of the new moon, anyone who was hanged would go straight to heaven and was guaranteed double his share of beautiful virgins.

The Judge, then insisted since he was the judge, he would decide who would be hanged. He decided he would hang himself to gain the heavenly rewards.

In the meantime the news had reached the King. He immediately reaches the the scene and uses his ultimate authority and primate privilege as a King of the City and decides that it was he who should be hanged.

The relieved Teacher quickly gestures to his Student to get out of the god-forsaken city before some new twist comes to the story. Both the Teacher and the Student promptly crossed the borders of the strange City, vowing never to return there again.

A letter to the Teacher

A letter written by Abraham Lincoln to the Headmaster of a school in which his son was studying. It contains an advice, which is still relevant today for executives, workers, teachers, parents and students.

A WORD TO TEACHERS

"He will have to learn, I know, that all men are not just and are not true. But teach him if you can the wonder of books... but also give him quiet time to ponder the eternal mystery of birds in the sky, bees in the sun and flowers on a green hillside. In school, teach him it is far more honorable to fall than to cheat... Teach to have faith in his own ideas, even if everyone tells him he is wrong. Teach him to be gentle with gentlepeople and tough with the tough. Try to give my son the strength not to follow the crowd when everyone getting on the bandwagon... Teach him to listen to all men; but teach him also to filter all he hears on a screen of truth, and take only the good that comes through. Teach him, if you can how to laugh when he is sad... Teach him there is no shame in tears. Teach him to scoff at cynics and to be aware of too much sweetness. Teach him to sell his brawn and brain to highest bidders, but never to put a price on his heart and soul. Teach him to close his ears to a howling mob... and stand and fight if thinks he is right. Treat him gently, but do not cuddle him, because only the test of fire makes fine steel. Let him have the courage to be impatient. Let him have the patience to be brave. Teach him always to have sublime faith in himself, because then he will have faith in humankind. This is a big order, but see what you can do. He is such a fine little fellow my son!"

- Abraham Lincoln

The Magic Pomegranate

Once there were three brothers who loved adventure. One day they decided to go on a journey, each one to a different country, and to meet again on a certain day ten years later. Each brother was to bring back with him an unusual gift.

The oldest brother decided to go to the East. When he arrived in a certain Eastern town, he was fascinated by what he saw there: magicians, dancing girls, jugglers, and acrobats were everywhere. As the brother was watching the entertainments, he saw one magician hold up a magic glass through which he could see to the distant corners of the kingdom.

“Ah!” thought the oldest brother, “I would like to have that glass, for that would certainly be an unusual object to share with my brothers.” He asked the magician, “Tell me, how much is that glass? I should like to buy it from you.” At first, the magician would not part with his magic glass, but after much pleading by the older brother, and some bargaining, they agreed upon a price and the magician sold the glass to the oldest brother.

The second brother traveled to a country in the West. Wherever he went, he kept his eyes open, and his mind as well. He was always on the lookout for the most unusual gift he could bring back to his brothers.

One day, he was attracted by the cries of an old carpet seller, who called out, “Carpets for sale! Beautiful! Wonderful! Carpets here!” The brother approached the carpet seller and began to examine his carpets, when suddenly he saw the carpet at the bottom of the pile begin to move. It seemed to be moving by itself! “What kind of carpet is this one?” he asked, pointing to the bottom one, which was quite visible by then.

The old merchant motioned for him to bend down and whispered in his ear, “This is a magic carpet. Buy it, and it will take you anywhere you want to go—and quickly too!” The second brother and the carpet seller finally settled upon a price, and the brother took the magic carpet with him, satisfied that he had a most unusual gift.

The youngest brother went South, and when he arrived in a certain country, he traveled far and wide to see what he could find to bring back to his brothers.

Now, this was a country noted for its many forests. One day the youngest brother was walking in a grove of trees when he noticed something strange—a tree that was of a different shape from the hundreds of other trees around it. It was covered with orange-red blossoms, and it was so beautiful!

As the younger brother came closer, he saw that there was only one red pomegranate on the tree.

“This is strange indeed,” thought the young man. “A pomegranate tree with only one pomegranate.” He approached the tree slowly, laughing to himself and thinking of the story he would tell his brothers about the pomegranate tree full of blossoms with only one fruit on it. As he reached for the pomegranate, it fell into his hand even he could pluck it from the branch. As soon as that happened, another pomegranate burst from one of the blossoms. When the brother saw this, he looked at the pomegranate in his hand and said to himself, “This must be a magic pomegranate. It was the only one on the tree, and yet as soon as it fell into my hands when I was about to reach for it, a new pomegranate appeared suddenly. But what kind of magic does it perform, I wonder?”

The youngest brother examined the pomegranate, marveling at its beauty. “The shape is so perfect,” he thought, “crowned with the crown of King Solomon.” He walked away from the tree looking at his mysterious new treasure. When he looked back to see the pomegranate tree once more, it was no longer there. It had disappeared. “Now I know this is a magic pomegranate, and so this is what I will bring to my brothers.”

Ten years passed, and when the three brothers met as they had planned, they embraced with delight. They eagerly showed each other the unusual objects they had brought back from their journeys.

The oldest brother said, “Let me look through my glass and see what I can see.” When he held up the glass, he saw, in a far-off kingdom, a young princess lying ill in bed, near death.

“Quickly, dear brothers, get on my magic carpet and we’ll fly there!” said the second brother. In what seemed like seconds, the three brothers arrived at the far-off kingdom.

In the royal palace of this kingdom, the King, whose daughter lay ill, was grief-stricken. He had sent for every doctor in the country to cure the princess; but they had all failed and there was no hope left for the princess. Finally, the King had sent a messenger throughout the country saying, “Whoever can save my daughter, the princess, will have her hand in marriage, and half the kingdom!”

As if in a dream, the youngest brother heard a voice whisper inside him, “The pomegranate!” The youngest brother approached the King and asked, “May I try to cure the princess?” The King agreed and led the young man to the princess’ chambers.

When the young man saw the princess, he approached quietly and sat by her side. Then he took the pomegranate from his pocket, cut it open with gentle care, carefully cut each kernel from its place, and then fed the juicy red kernels to the princess. In a few moments, the princess felt stronger, and the color returned to her cheeks. Soon, she sat up in her bed, fully restored to health.

The King was overjoyed. He hugged his daughter and, turning to the three young men, he announced, “The man who saved my daughter will many her.”

The three brothers began to quarrel, each one claiming to be the one who should marry the princess.

The oldest brother said, “If it were not for my magic glass, we would never have known the princess was ill in the first place. So, since I discovered this first, I deserve to marry the princess.”

“But, brothers, It was because of my magic carpet that we could arrive so quickly,” argued the second brother. “Otherwise, the princess would have died. I deserve to marry the princess.”

Then the youngest brother said, “It was my magic pomegranate that actually healed the princess. I deserve to marry her.”

Since the three brothers could not decide which one should marry the princess, the King tried to decide. He looked at the three clever young men, but he could not decide who deserved to many his daughter.

The King finally turned to the princess and asked, “Who do you think deserves to marry you, my daughter?”

The princess answered simply, “I will ask each of them a question.” She turned to the oldest brother and asked, “Has your magic glass changed in any way since you arrived in this Kingdom?”

“No,” replied the oldest brother. “My glass is the same as always, and I can look through it and see to every corner of this kingdom.”

The princess then asked the second brother, “Has your magic carpet changed in any way since you arrived in this kingdom?” And the second brother answered, “No, my carpet is the same, and I can fly anywhere on it, as always.”

Turning to the youngest brother, the princess asked, “Has your magic pomegranate changed in any way since you arrived in this Kingdom?” And the youngest brother answered, “Yes, princess, my pomegranate is no longer whole, for I gave you a portion of it”

The princess turned to the three young men and said, “I will marry the youngest brother because he performed the greatest good deed—because he gave up something of his own.

The brothers and the King all understood the wisdom of the Princess. A lavish wedding was arranged for the prin-cess and the youngest brother. And the King appointed the princess and all three brothers to become his royal advisers.

Three Fridays - A Sufi Tale

One of Nasruddin Hodha’s duties in the village of Akshahir was to give the sermon at the mosque on Fridays. Many Fridays the Hodja enjoyed preaching. He had so much to say and he enjoyed looking down on the upturned faces of the congregation while he spoke words of wisdom inspired by the Koran and by the Hodja’s wide experience of village life.

There were other Fridays, however, when the Hodja had nothing to say. It was on just such a Friday that Nasruddin Hodja made his way across the village square, through the great door of the mosque, through the crowd of people who had gathered to hear him, and up into the pulpit. He looked at the beautiful mosaics on the walls, at the carpets on the floor and at the faces below him. Nothing inspired him. His mind was blank. Yet he had to speak.

The Hodja opened his mouth and said, “O people of Akshahir! Do you know and understand what I am about to say to you?”

“No,” said the people. “No, we do not.”

“What?” said the Hodja. “How can I speak to such ignorant people!” And he gathered his robes around him and descended from the pulpit, free—for one more week.

But this week, like all others, passed; and once again the Hodja found himself climbing into the pulpit with no idea at all of what he was going to say. He did notice that the mosque was quite crowded. There were many more faces than usual gazing up at him expectantly.

Once again the Hodja opened his mouth and spoke. “O people of Akshahir! Do you know and understand what I am about to say to you?”

“Yes, Hodja, we do,” answered the people, who remembered what had happened the week before.

The Hodja beamed down at them. “Wonderful!” he said. “Then there is no need for me to speak to you today.” And he gathered his robes around him and descended from the pulpit. Free—for one more week.

It was indeed rare for Nasruddin Hodja to go for three weeks without inspiration, but this time it happened. Another Friday came and the Hodja still had nothing to say. Others, however, had had much to say, and news of the Hodja’s strange words had traveled far and wide. Indeed the Hodja had some trouble pushing his way through the throng in the mosque, and looking down from the pulpit he saw many strange faces among the familiar ones from the village.

The Hodja smiled. “O people of Akshahir!” he said. “Do you know and understand what I am about to say to you?”

Now, some people in the congregation thought of the week before and they answered, “No, Hodja, we do not.” But others, thinking of the week before that, said, “Yes, Hodja, we do!”

“Wonderful!” said Nasruddin Hodja. “Wonderful! Let those who know tell those who do not know.” And Nasruddin Hodja gathered his robes around him and descended from the pulpit. Free. For one more week.

Even Her Taking Was Giving - A Jewesh Tale

Hayya Schechter was a pious woman whose home in Tel Aviv was open to all, like the legendary home of Abraham and Sarah. There was never a day when she and her husband did not have guests. Rabbis, rebbes, and simple people alike all ate at their table, and everyone was treated like a king or queen. Some guests lived in the house for months at a time; sometimes there were ten such guests, at other times as many as thirty! And all of them were made to feel as if they were in their own home.

Hayya was always ready to give everything she had to another human being. She had reached perfection in kindness, and her giving was done wholeheartedly and joyfully.

Another aspect of her perfection in kindness was reported by one of her sons, who said that his mother had once sent him to borrow some money from a neighbor. When he returned with the money in hand, she took the envelope with the money in it from him, placed it somewhere, and never even opened it.

Her son asked, "Mother, why did you borrow the money if you didn't want to use it?"

"I did it," she explained, "so that our neighbor won't be ashamed to borrow from us when he's in need." Hayya Schechter had an open home, an open heart, and an open hand. The Torah says that God is "compassionate and gracious." The usual English translation of the Hebrew "hanun" is "gracious," but that word is antiquated. A better translation would be that God is "giving." Hayya Schechter was "giving," and added to that was her refined sensitivity—to act so that no one would be ashamed to take. Like some other holy people, even her taking was giving.

The King Who Was Fried

Once upon a time, a very long time ago indeed, there lived a King who had made a vow never to eat bread or break his fast until he had given away a hundredweight of gold in charity.

So, every day, before King Karan—for that was his name—had his breakfast, the palace servants would come out with baskets and baskets of gold pieces to scatter amongst the crowds of poor folk, who, you may be sure, never forgot to be there to receive the alms.

How they used to hustle and bustle and struggle and scramble! Then, when the last golden piece had been fought for, King Karan would sit down to his breakfast, and enjoy it as a man who has kept his word should do.

Now, when people saw the King lavishing his gold in this fashion, they naturally thought that sooner or later the royal treasuries must give out, the gold come to an end, and the King—who was evidently a man of his word—die of starvation. But, though months and years passed by, every day, just a quarter of an hour before breakfast-time, the servants came out of the palace with baskets and baskets of gold; and as the crowds dispersed they could see the King sitting down to his breakfast in the royal banqueting hall, as jolly, and fat, and hungry, as could be.

Now, of course, there was some secret in all this, and this secret I shall now tell you. King Karan had made a compact with a holy and very hungry old faqir who lived at the top of the hill; and the compact was this: on condition of King Karan allowing himself to be fried and eaten for breakfast every day, the faqir gave him a hundredweight of pure gold.

Of course, had the faqir been an ordinary sort of person, the compact would not have lasted long, for once King Karan had been fried and eaten, there would have been an end of the matter. But the faqir was a very remarkable faqir indeed, and when he had eaten the King, and picked the bones quite quite clean, he just put them together, said a charm or two, and, hey presto! there was King Karan as fat and jolly as ever, ready for the next morning's breakfast. In fact, the faqir made no bones at all over the affair, which, it must be confessed, was very convenient both for the breakfast and the breakfast eater. Nevertheless, it was of course not pleasant to be popped alive every morning into a great frying-pan of boiling oil; and for my part I think King Karan earned his hundredweight of gold handsomely. But after a time he got accustomed to the process, and would go up quite cheerfully to the holy and hungry one's house, where the biggest frying-pan was spitting and sputtering over the sacred fire. Then he would just pass the time of day to the faqir, to make sure he was punctual, and step gracefully into his hot oil bath. My goodness! how he sizzled and fizzled! When he was crisp and brown, the faqir ate him, picked the bones, set them together, sang a charm, and finished the business by bringing out his dirty, old ragged coat, which he shook and shook, while the bright golden pieces came tumbling out of the pockets on to the floor.

So that was the way King Karan got his gold, and if you think it very extraordinary, so do I!

Now, in the great Mansarobar Lake, where, as of course you know, all the wild swans live when they leave us, and feed upon seed pearls, there was a great famine. Pearls were so scarce that one pair of swans determined to go out into the world and seek for food. So they flew into King Bikramajit's garden, at Ujjayin. Now, when the gardener saw the beautiful birds, he was delighted, and, hoping to induce them to stay, he threw them grain to eat. But they would not touch it, nor any other food he offered them; so he went to his master, and told him there were a pair of swans in the garden who refused to eat anything.

Then King Bikramajit went out, and asked them in birds' language (for, as every one knows, Bikramajit understood both beasts and birds) why it was that they ate nothing.

“We don't eat grain!” said they, “nor fruit, nor anything but fresh unpierced pearls!”

Whereupon King Bikramajit, being very kind-hearted, sent for a basket of pearls; and every day, when he came into the garden, he fed the swans with his own hand.

But one day, when he was feeding them as usual, one of the pearls happened to be pierced. The dainty swans found it out at once, and coming to the conclusion that King Bikramajit's supply of pearls was running short, they made up their minds to go farther afield. So, despite his entreaties, they spread their broad white wings, and flew up into the blue sky, their outstretched necks pointing straight towards home on the great Mansarobar Lake. Yet they were not ungrateful, for as they flew they sang the praises of Bikramajit.

Now, King Karan was watching his servants bring out the baskets of gold, when the wild swans came flying over his head; and when he heard them singing, “Glory to Bikramajit! Glory to Bikramajit!” he said to himself, “Who is this whom even the birds praise? I let myself be fried and eaten every day in order that I may be able to give away a hundredweight of gold in charity, yet no swan sings my song!”

So, being jealous, he sent for a bird-catcher, who snared the poor swans with lime, and put them in a cage.

Then Karan hung the cage in the palace, and ordered his servants to bring every kind of birds' food; but the proud swans only curved their white necks in scorn, saying, “Glory to Bikramajit!-he gave us pearls to eat!” Then King Karan, determined not to be outdone, sent for pearls; but still the scornful swans would not touch anything.

“Why will ye not eat?” quoth King Karan wrathfully; “am I not as generous as Bikramajit?”

Then the swan's wife answered, and said, “Kings do not imprison the innocent. Kings do not war against women. If Bikramajit were here, he would at any rate let me go!”

So Karan, not to be outdone in generosity, let the swan's wife go, and she spread her broad white wings and flew southwards to Bikramajit, and told him how her husband lay a prisoner at the court of King Karan.

Of course Bikramajit, who was, as every one knows, the most generous of kings, determined to release the poor captive; and bidding the swan fly back and rejoin her mate, he put on the garb of a servant, and taking the name of Bikru, journeyed northwards till he came to King Karan's kingdom. Then he took service with the King, and helped every day to carry out the baskets of golden pieces. He soon saw there was some secret in King Karan's endless wealth, and never rested until he had found it out. So, one day, hidden close by, he saw King Karan enter the fagir's house and pop into the boiling oil. He saw him frizzle and sizzle, he saw him come out crisp and brown, he saw the hungry and holy faqir pick the bones, and, finally, he saw King Karan, fat and jolly as ever, go down the mountain side with his hundredweight of gold!

Then Bikru knew what to do! So the very next day he rose very early, and taking a carving-knife, he slashed himself all over. Next he took some pepper and salt, spices, pounded pomegranate seeds, and pea-flour; these he mixed together into a beautiful curry-stuff, and rubbed himself all over with it-right into the cuts in spite of the smarting. When he thought he was quite ready for cooking, he just went up the hill to the fagir's house, and popped into the frying-pan. The faqir was still asleep, but he soon awoke with the sizzling and the fizzling, and said to himself, “Dear me! how uncommonly nice the King smells this morning!”

Indeed, so appetizing was the smell, that he could hardly wait until the King was crisp and brown, but then-oh, my goodness! how he gobbled him up!

You see, he had been eating plain fried so long that a devilled king was quite a change. He picked the bones ever so clean, and it is my belief would have eaten them too, if he had not been afraid of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs.

Then, when it was all over, he put the King together again, and said, with tears in his eyes, “What a breakfast that was, to be sure! Tell me how you managed to taste so nice, and I'll give you anything you ask.”

Whereupon Bikru told him the way it was done, and promised to devil himself every morning, if he might have the old coat in return. “For,” said he, “it is not pleasant to be fried! and I don't see why I should in addition have the trouble of carrying a hundredweight of gold to the palace every day. Now, if I keep the coat, I can shake it down there.”

To this the faqir agreed, and off went Bikru with the coat.

Meanwhile, King Karan came toiling up the hill, and was surprised, when he entered the fagir's house, to find the fire out, the frying-pan put away, and the faqir himself as holy as ever, but not in the least hungry.

“Why, what is the matter?” faltered the King.

“Who are you?” asked the faqir, who, to begin with, was somewhat short-sighted, and in addition felt drowsy after his heavy meal.

“Who! Why, I'm King Karan, come to be fried! Don't you want your breakfast?”

“I've had my breakfast!” sighed the faqir regretfully. “You tasted very nice when you were devilled, I can assure you!”

“I never was devilled in my life!” shouted the King; “you must have eaten somebody else!”

“That's just what I was saying to myself!” returned the faqir sleepily; “I thought—it couldn't—be only—the spices—that”—Snore, snore, snore!

“Look here!” cried King Karan, in a rage, shaking the faqir, “you must eat me too!”

“Couldn't!” nodded the holy but satisfied faqir, “really—not another morsel—no, thanks!”

“Then give me my gold!” shrieked King Karan; “you're bound to do that, for I'm ready to fulfil my part of the contract!”

“Sorry I can't oblige, but the devil—I mean the other person—went off with the coat!” nodded the faqir.

Hearing this, King Karan returned home in despair and ordered the royal treasurer to send him gold; so that day he ate his breakfast in peace.

And the next day also, by ransacking all the private treasuries, a hundredweight of gold was forthcoming; so King Karan ate his breakfast as usual, though his heart was gloomy.

But the third day, the royal treasurer arrived with empty hands, and, casting himself on the ground, exclaimed, “May it please your majesty! There is not any more gold in your majesty's domains!”

Then King Karan went solemnly to bed, without any breakfast, and the crowd, after waiting for hours expecting to see the palace doors open and the servants come out with the baskets of gold, melted away, saying it was a great shame to deceive poor folk in that way!

By dinner-time poor King Karan was visibly thinner; but he was a man of his word, and though the wily Bikru came and tried to persuade him to eat, by saying he could not possibly be blamed, he shook his head, and turned his face to the wall.

Then Bikru, or Bikramajit, took the fagir's old coat, and shaking it before the King, said, “Take the money, my friend; and what is more, if you will set the wild swans you have in that cage at liberty, I will give you the coat into the bargain!”

So King Karan set the wild swans at liberty, and as the pair of them flew away to the great Mansarobar Lake, they sang as they went, “Glory to Bikramajit! the generous Bikramajit!”

Then King Karan hung his head, and said to himself, “The swans' song is true!—Bikramajit is more generous than I; for if I was fried for the sake of a hundredweight of gold and my breakfast, he was devilled in order to set a bird at liberty!”

This Too Shall Pass

Once upon a time there lived this Jewish king named Solomon (Suleiman). In a grumpy mood, he thought of teaching Benemiah Ben Yehoyada, his minister, a lesson. So he assigned to him a seemingly impossible task. He ordered Benemiah to find him a magic ring with extraordinary features. And that was - if you were happy and wore the ring, you would feel unhappy. And vice-versa. If you were joyous and wore it, you would feel absolutely sad.

Solomon gave him a six-month timeline for the search. Deep down in their hearts, both Solomon and Benemiah knew that such a ring did not exist in this universe. Benemiah prayed hard for a miracle. A little before the deadline was over, and having walked all over for such a ring, he decided to go to one of the poorest places in Jerhusalem.

There he saw an old merchant who was spreading out his goods on a carpet. Benemiah was quite intrigued. He thought, “Let me take a chance with him.” Therefore, he asked the merchant whether he had a magic ring that could make a happy person forget his happiness and a sad person forget his sorrow. The merchant smiled. He took a gold ring from his wares and etched four words on it. Benemiah took the gold ring. When he read the inscription, he was extremely happy. He felt that his mission was accomplished. He went back to Solomon.

Solomon and all his ministers began making a mockery of Benemiah, teasing him as he would have returned empty-handed. Benemiah smiled and offered the gold ring to His Majesty. As soon as Solomon read what was written, he stopped teasing. The words were “this too shall pass”. Suddenly, Solomon felt that everything in life was ephemeral, and nothing lasts forever.

Even This Will Pass Away

Once in Persia reigned a king,
Who upon a signet ring
Carved a maxim strange and wise,
When held before his eyes,
Gave him counsel at a glance,
Fit for every change and chance
Solemn words .... “Even this will pass away”.

Trains of camel through the sand
Brought him gems from Samarcand
Fleets of galleys over the seas
Brought him pearls to rival these
But he counted little gain
Treasures of the mine or main
"What is wealth?" the king would say,
"Even this will pass away"...

Fighting on the furious field,
Once a javelin pierced his shield,...
"Pain is hard to bear", he cried,
"But with patience, day by day,
Even this will pass away".

Towering in a public square
Forty cubits in the air,
And the king disguised, unknown,
Gazed upon his sculptured name,
And he pondered, "What is fame?"
Fame is but a slow decay!
"Even-this will pass away".

Struck with palsy, sore and old,
Waiting at the gates of gold,
Said he with his dying breath
"Life is done, but what is Death?"
Then an answer to the king
Fell a sun-beam on his ring
Showing by a heavenly ray,
"Even this will pass away".

 - Theodore Tilten

Soup of The Soup - A Sufi Tale

One evening Nasrudin Hodja and his wife were just sitting down to dinner when there came a knock on the door. The Hodja opened the door to find his good friend Hassan from the next village standing on the doorstep. In Hassan’s hands was a fine rabbit.

“Hodja,” said Hassan, “I have brought you a gift.” And he handed the rabbit to the Hodja.

This was indeed a fine gift. “Come in, come in!” said the Hodja. “We will cook the rabbit. We will make a pilaf. We will have a feast.”

And they did. The Hodja’s wife was a very fine cook. The rabbit and all that went with it was delicious. The Hodja told stories. Hassan laughed. And when Hassan had gone home, the Hodja was pleased to be able to say to his wife, “There is plenty of rabbit and plenty of rice left. We will have rabbit pilaf tomorrow.”

But the next evening, just as they were about to sit down to this fine meal, there was a knock at the door. When the Hodja opened the door, there stood a man he recognized as a neighbor of Hassan’s. The Hodja observed that he carried nothing in his hands.

“Greetings, Hodja,” he said. “I am a friend of Hassan from the village.”

Now, the Hodja knew the custom of hospitality. “Come in,” he said. “We were just about to eat our evening meal.”

The meal was very good, for the Hodja’s wife was indeed a good cook, but the Hodja did not tell quite so many stories. There was not as much laughter and the guest left soon after dinner.

The Hodja looked at the platters. “There are still the bones of the rabbit,” he said, “and plenty of rice and vegetables to make a fine soup.”

All the next day the Hodja’s house smelled of the wonderful soup that was cooking, and in the evening the Hodja and his wife sat down to eat it with good appetites. But just as they picked up their spoons, there was a knock at the door.

The Hodja opened the door, and found on the doorstep a man who looked faintly familiar. “I am a friend of the friend of Hassan from the village,” he said in a friendly voice.

The Hodja thought of how he had hoped to eat two bowls of that good soup which the man on the doorstep appeared to be smelling with pleasure. However, hospitality is a duty: so he said, “Come in. We were just about to eat our soup.”

The guest appeared to enjoy the soup very much, but the Hodja was unusually quiet and he did not object when the man left as soon as he had eaten. He looked into the soup pot and found one large spoonful of soup. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I will prepare the evening meal. I will take care of everything.”

The next day there were no good smells of cooking in the Hodja’s house and the Hodja and his wife did not sit down to eat at their accustomed time. But there came a knock on the door.

The Hodja flung open the door. Standing on the doorstep he saw a stranger, someone he had never seen before. But the man was smiling. “I am a friend of the friend of the friend of your friend Hassan,” he said.

“Indeed,” said the Hodja. “Well, you must come in and share my meal.”

“I would like that very much,” said the stranger. So the Hodja led him to the table. The man sniffed the air.

“Don’t worry,” said the Hodja. “I was just going to fetch the food.” He went into the kitchen and scooped the spoonful of soup from the bottom of the pot. He carefully divided it between two bowls, filled each bowl up with hot water from the kettle, and carried the bowls to the table. He set one in front of the stranger and one in front of himself. Then he sat down and smiled happily at the man.

The man gazed into his bowl. It contained a clear liquid with two grains of rice and a shred of carrot floating in it.

The Hodja spoke: “O friend of the friend of the friend of my friend Hassan, here is the soup of the soup of the bones of the rabbit.” The next night the Hodja and his wife sat down to eat alone, in peace.

A Calabash of Poi - A Tale from Hawaii

One of the disguises which Pele, the goddess of fire, was fond of assuming was that of an aged hag. In fact, it was hardly a disguise at all, for Pele was as old as the hills themselves; besides her quick tem-per and natural jealousy had furrowed her face with deep, hard lines, which a bitter disposition imprints upon a face, quite irrespective of its age. On this day Pele was intent upon a secret mission, and, taking a gnarled branch of the koa-tree for a cane, she trudged at a rather brisk pace down the mountain-side. Only on approaching two Hawaiian houses of varying pretensions did she slacken her speed and finally pause at the outer palisade of the first.

It was a sizable house, or hale, as Hawaiian houses go, perhaps fifty feet long with its side thatched with ti-leaves—a sign of rank. Its only window, a small aperture about a foot square, looked out on a carefully planted taro patch, while rows of tasseled cocoanut palms and fruit-laden banana plants made a pretty background to the setting.

Pele paused for a moment to make a mental summary of the growing crop, and then grasping her cane, hobbled to the threshold.

"Aloha," she said to the small group of people sitting within the door-way.

"Aloha," was the reply in a not over-cordial tone of voice.

Pele waited—apparently there was to be no invitation to enter or to refresh herself.

"I have walked many miles," she said finally, assuming a small and feeble voice. "I am very hungry. Perhaps you have as much as a calabash of pots for me."

"We are very sorry, but we have no poi," said the Hawaiian chief, for such was the master of the house. "Besides our evening meal is pau."

"Then, perhaps, a small piece of salted fish?"

"No, nor fish," was the short rejoinder.

"Then, at least, some ripe ohelo berries for I am parched with thirst?'

"Our berries are all green, as you can see for yourself, providing your eyes are not too dimmed by age."

Pele's eyes were far from dim! She suppressed with an effort the flashes of fire that ordinarily blazed in their black depths at a moment's provo-cation and, bowing low, made her way in silence to the gate. Passing a few steps further down the hard road, she entered a smaller and less thrifty garden and paused on the threshold of a small hut. The work of the day as well as the evening meal was over, and the family of bronzed-skinned boys and girls played about the man and woman who sat watching in rapt attention the last golden rays of the sun sinking in a riot of color behind the gentle slopes of Mauna Loa.

"Ah, I see your evening meal is past;" sighed Pele. "I am sorry for I am both tired and hungry, and had hoped for a little refreshment after a day's walk down the steep mountain."

"Neither fish nor awa have we," promptly said the poor fisherman, "but to such as we have you are most welcome."

Almost before he had concluded these few words, his wife had risen, motioned Pele to a place on the mat and set before her a large calabash of poi.

Pele did not wait for a further invitation but fell to eating with much relish. Dipping her fore-finger in the calabash, she raised it dripping with poi, waved her finger dexterously in the air wrapping the mucilaginous poi about it, and placed it in her mouth. She seemed to finish the entire contents in no time and, looking up, remarked:

"I am still hungry. Would it be too much to ask for another cal-abash?"

Again the woman arose and placed before her a second calabash of poi, not perhaps as large as the first but filled to the brim.

Again Pele emptied the calabash with great relish. Wishing to test the extent of their patience and generosity, she sighed as she finished the last mouthful, calling attention to the empty calabash in her lap.

This time a third calabash smaller than the second—but quite full, was placed before her.

Pele finished half of the third calabash, arose heavily to her feet, and, pausing before the chief, she uttered these words:

"When your neighbor plants taro, it shall wither upon its stem. His bananas shall hang as green fingers upon the stalk, and the cocoanuts shall fall upon his favorite pig. When you plant taro at night, you may pull it in the morning. Your cane shall mature over night and your bananas ripen in one day's sunshine. You may have as many crops as there are days in the year!"

Saying these words, Pele trudged out of the gate and was seen to disappear toward Ha-le-mau-mau in a cloud of flame.

When the astonished fisherman passed beyond the threshold of his hut on the following morning, yellow bananas hung on the new plants, the full grown taro stood ready to be pulled, and the cane-cuttings reached to the eaves of his house. Looking across at his rich and powerful neigh-bor, he saw that, indeed, the curse of Pele had already descended upon him. In place of the rich man's prosperous acres stood the sun-parched remnants of but yesterday's proud crop. "There," said Alec, the old half-breed guide, "Whether you believe in the ole lady Pele or not, don't you ever forget to be nice to the ole folks. It just might be Pele. You can't always tell."

Loosening The Stopper - A Jewish Tale

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev's grandchild married the grandchild of the famous rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi. “Now that we are related by this marriage,” said Rabbi Schneur Zalman, “let us join in performing a good deed. An innocent Jew is being held by the local authorities. Let us take up a collection, to give the officials the sum they demand for his release.”

“Excellent idea,” said Rabbi Levi Yitzhak. “But I ask one condition. Let us accept whatever donation is offered to us, no matter how small.”

The two men went door to door. Two such distinguished rabbis seldom visited these townspeople together, so most gave generously. At last, the two rabbis came to the home of a wealthy man. He greeted them politely, then reached in his pocket, drawing out a mere half-penny. To Rabbi Schneur Zalman's horror, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak thanked the man warmly, blessed him, and turned to leave.

When Rabbi Schneur Zalman had followed his companion outside, he could contain himself no longer. “Why should we accept that insultingly small amount from one who has so much!”

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak said, as they walked on, “I asked you to accept whatever we were given. Please be patient.”

Some time later, the rich man strode up behind them. “I am sorry,” he said. “Please accept more from me.” He gave them a silver coin, then turned and left. Rabbi Levi Yitzhak called after him, “You are a good and generous man!”

Rabbi Schneur Zalman fumed at Rabbi Levi Yitzhak. “He could afford a hundred times as much! Why must we bless this stinginess?”

“Please bear with me, honored relative.” They continued walking.

A short while later, the rich man caught up to them again. Out of breath, he said, “Will you forgive me for how little I gave you?” He held out a sack bulging with a hundred silver coins.

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak took the rich man's hand. “Yes, with all my heart,” he said. The rich man gave the coins and left, obviously relieved.

Now Levi Yitzhak turned to Rabbi Schneur Zalman. “May I tell you the story of that wealthy man?

“He has always given generously to those in need. But a week ago, a beggar approached him while he was meeting with a group of businessmen. Reluctant to interrupt the others to get his purse, the wealthy man reached into his pocket and gave the beggar the only coin he found there, a half-penny.

“The beggar was furious. This rich man was famous for giving silver coins. Why had he slighted him? The beggar threw the coin at the rich man, striking him in the face. In his pain, the wealthy man vowed to stop being so generous. From now on, he would give everyone a half-penny—no more!

“It is said that each step downward leads to another, honored relative. He was within his rights to offer the beggar only what he had. But he erred when he treated others the same way. Since that day, every one who approached him has angrily refused his paltry half-penny gifts. He found himself unable to offer more. “It is also said that each step upward leads to another. Once we accepted his half-penny, we loosened the stopper on his generosity. Each gift he gave made the next one possible. Now, our willingness to receive has restored him to his goodness.”

Deck of Cards

It was quiet that day, the guns, the mortars and the land mines for some reason hadn’t been heard. The young soldier knew it was Sunday, the holiest day of the week.

As he was sitting there, he got out an old deck of cards and laid them out across his bunk.

Just then an army sergeant came in and said, “Why aren’t you with the rest of the platoon?

The soldier replied, “I thought I would stay behind and spend some time with the Lord.”

The sergeant said, “Looks to me like you’re going to play cards.”

The soldier said, “No, sir. You see, since we are not allowed to have Bibles or other spiritual books in this country, I’ve decided to talk to the Lord by studying this deck of cards.”

The sergeant asked in disbelief, “How will you do that?”

“You see the Ace, Sergeant? It reminds me that there is only one God.
“The Two represents the two parts of the Bible, the Old and New Testaments.
“The Three represents the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.
“The Four stands for the four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
“The Five is for the five virgins that were ten but only five of them were glorified.
“The Six is for the six days it took God to create the Heavens and Earth.
“The Seven is for the day God rested after making His Creation.
“The Eight is for the family of Noah and his wife, their three sons and their wives–the eight people God spared from the flood that destroyed the earth.
“The Nine is for the lepers that Jesus cleansed of leprosy. He cleansed ten, but nine never thanked Him.
“The Ten represents the Ten Commandments that God handed down to Moses on tablets made of stone.
“The Jack is a reminder of Satan, one of God’s first angels, who got kicked out of heaven for his sly and wicked ways and is now the joker of eternal hell.
“The Queen stands for the Virgin Mary.
“The King stands for Jesus, for He is the King of all kings.
“When I count the dots on all the cards, I come up with 365, one for every day of the year.
“There are a total of 52 cards in a deck; each is a week, 52 weeks in a year.
“The four suits represent the four seasons: Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter.
“Each suit has thirteen cards; there are exactly thirteen weeks in a quarter.
“So when I want to talk to God and thank Him, I just pull out this old deck of cards and they remind me of all that I have to be thankful for.”

The sergeant just stood there. After a minute, with tears in his eyes and pain in his heart, he said, “Soldier, may I borrow that deck of cards?”

Tetan Buri and Boka Buri - A Tale from Bangladesh

In Bangladesh almost every villager knows the folktale of the Tetan Buri (clever old woman) and the Boka Buri (the foolish old woman). Two old women chummed up together. One of them was very cunning and sharp while the other one was very foolish and credulous. They shared one common wrap (Kantha), one cow and a small piece of land.

The Tetan old woman suggested that the wrap will be used by her in the night and the Boka old woman would have it in the day. The other woman agreed. The result was that in the cold night the foolish old woman shivered while the clever one slept soundly with the wrap. Regarding the cow the clever one suggested that the front portion belonged to the foolish old woman and the hind part was hers. This was agreed to. The result was the foolish old woman had to feed the cow and give her water but the other one took all the milk. When there was paddy or sugarcane grown on the small piece of the land the arrangement was that the clever one would get the portion above the ground while the part below the soil would go to the goody goody old woman. This was also agreed to. The paddy or the maize went to the clever one while the goody one had the useless roots which she had to pull out and burn to make the land ready again.

The foolish old woman was practically starving and used to beg for a little food. One day she approached the barber of another village for some food. The barber (all barbers are very clever) asked why she was begging when she had a piece of land and a cow along with another old woman. Our goody goody old woman narrated the story. The barber smiled and told her to soak the wrap in water when handing it over to the other one in the night and not to give any fodder to the cow and rather [yell at] her in the front part. He further advised her to take out the roots when the paddy was young or the maize was not ready.

The advice had the result. The old woman shivered and shivered in the night. The cow used to kick her when she would try to milk her. The crops failed and she starved too. She saw that there are people who were more cunning. The villagers decided that there should be the arrangement which was more just to the two women.

Defending His Property - A Jeweish Tale

One day, an innkeeper came to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev. "Rabbi," he said. "Is a man permitted to defend his property?"

The rabbi said, "Of course. What needs defending?"

"My inn," said the man. "So you'll give me your blessing?"

"That depends. Who are you defending it against?"

"Rabbi, the local peasant boys break into my kitchen at night, to steal the food that I keep for my customers."

"I see," said Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. "And how do you plan to defend yourself from them?"

"Rabbi, I've been at my wit's end. I've yelled at them when I saw them running off with my food. I even bought a guard dog. But they fed it! When I got up in the morning, the dog was eating the stolen meat they gave it. So I got rid of the useless dog. But now, I have no choice. I'm off to the city to buy a rifle. Please give me your blessing on my journey!"

The rabbi stroked his beard, thoughtfully. "The loss to you is serious. These boys seem determined to steal. But how will the rifle protect your property?"

"I'll fire it into the air; they'll hear it. And if I see one of them on my property, I'll point it at him. Nothing else will work with these ruffians, Rabbi. They only understand force!"

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak looked down for a moment. Then he spoke. "I can't bless this journey. Do you think that peasant boys can't get rifles, too—even more easily than Jews can? I'm afraid you're only encouraging them to become even more clever and violent."

The innkeeper's face grew red. "Then I'll go—without your blessing! A man has to defend his property!" He slammed the door behind him as he left.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak watched the man climb onto his wagon, pick up the reins, and begin to drive off. Suddenly, the rabbi ran out into the street and yelled, "Wait! I've changed my mind!"

The man stopped his horse, dismounted from the wagon, tied his horse to a tree, and returned to the rabbi.

The rabbi said, "I MAY give you my blessing—will you submit to a brief test?"

"What kind of a test?"

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak raised his arm and slapped the man on the face.

The man was incensed. "Why did you do that, Rabbi? You don't have to hit me!"

The rabbi beamed. "Ah! In that case, I owe you an apology."

The innkeeper rubbed his cheek.

Gently, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak put his hand on the man's chest. "You see, for a moment, I thought that YOU only understand force. But I was mistaken. You—the one who understands that violence isn't always necessary when talking is possible, who would never point a gun at a child —you, I give my blessing to."

The man put his hand over Rabbi Levi Yitzchak's hand, which still touched his chest. His face softened. "Thank you, Rabbi. I think I might have been a little mistaken, myself."

The man got on his wagon, and turned it around toward home.

Later that evening, when the moonless night provided a perfect cover for thieves and mischief-makers, the innkeeper heard a noise outside his inn.

Opening the door, he saw someone standing twenty paces from the inn, with a cloth sack at his side. "A thief," he thought. He strode toward the intruder. As he got closer, he saw that the thief was facing away from him. "Who are you," he said. "Get out of here!"

The figure turned to face him. The man gasped. "Rabbi! What are you doing here?"

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak said, "A man has to defend his property! So I came to help you, by standing guard." He lifted the sack, and showed the innkeeper the bread and cheese inside. "When the boys come, perhaps I can feed them and talk to them, the way they tamed your dog."

Speechless, the innkeeper just looked at the rabbi.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak put his arm on the man's shoulder. "But while I was standing here, I noticed what a beautiful night it is. Don't you think?" For a long time, the two stood there, looking at the vast night sky.

A Wise Head Is Better Than A Full Purse

There was once a young girl who lived with her father, a woodcutter. Their home was a tumbledown shack and a gap-toothed axe was the only tool they owned. A lame old horse and mule were their transport.

But, as wise folk say, a rich family's fortune is in its herds, a poor family's in its children.

And true enough, whenever the old woodcutter gazed upon his daughter, who was only nine, he forgot all his cares and woes. The girl's name was Aina-kizz and she was so clever that people came from miles around to ask her advice.

One day the woodcutter loaded his horse with a pile of logs and told the girl, "I am going to market and will be home by dusk. If I sell my logs I'll bring you a little present."

"May good luck be with you, Father," she replied. "But do be careful, for one man's gain at market is another's loss."

The woodcutter went on his way, arriving in time at the bazaar. He stood to one side beside his horse and awaited buyers for his wood. But no one came. As it was getting late, a rich bai came strutting through the market, showing off his silk robe and stroking his black beard. Catching sight of the poor man and his wood-laden horse, he called, "Hey, old fellow, what will you take for your logs?"

"A single tanga, sir."

"Will you sell your wood exactly as it is?" the bai asked with a sly grin.

The woodman nodded slowly, unsure of what he meant.

"Here's your coin," said the bai. "Bring your horse and follow me."

When they came to the bai's big house, the poor man went to unpack the logs from the horse's back. But the bai shouted in his ear, "Stop! I bought the wood ‘exactly as it is’—which means the horse belongs to me since it's carrying the wood. If you're not content, we'll go before the judge."

As wise folk say: just as a bad master can turn a steed into a useless nag, so a bad judge can turn right to wrong. And so it was.

Having heard the two complaints, the judge stroked his beard, glanced at the bai's silk robe and gave his verdict: the woodman had got his just desserts. It served him right for agreeing to the terms!

The rich man laughed in the woodman's face, and he, poor man, trudged wearily home to tell his tale to Aina-kizz.

"Never mind, Father, tomorrow I'll go to market," she said. "Who knows, I may be luckier than you."

Next day at dawn, she loaded up the mule with logs and, driving it along with her switch, made her way to the bazaar. There she stood beside the mule until the selfsame bai approached her.

"Hey, girl, what will you take for your wood?" he called. "Two tangas."

"And will you trade it exactly as it is?" he said.

"Certainly," she replied, "if you pay the money exactly as it is."

"Surely, surely," said the bai, holding out his hand to show her two gold coins. "Follow me."

The same thing happened to her as to her father. But she did not mind. As the bai smilingly paid her two coins, she stood her ground.

"Sir," she said, "you bought my wood just as it is and you have my mule together with the wood. But you gave your word to pay the price exactly as it is. So now I want your arm as well."

The bai was taken aback. His beard shook with rage as he cursed her soundly. But she did not yield at all. At last, they set off together to the judge. That worthy man heard the complaint, yet this time he could not help the bai—he had to pay two tangas for the wood and another fifty for his arm.

How the rich man regretted that he had bought the wood, the horse and the mule. Handing over the money before the judge, he told the girl, "You outwitted me this time, but a sparrow cannot match a hawk. I bet you cannot tell a bigger lie than I can; I'll put five hundred on it. You put the fifty I paid you and whichever lie the judge says is the bigger wins the bet. What do you say?"

"Done," said Aina-kizz.

Winking to the judge, the rich bai began his tale.

"One day, before I was born, I found three ears of corn in my pocket and tossed them through the window. Next morning my yard had become a field of corn so thick and tall it took riders ten days to find a way through. And then, by the by, forty of my best goats were lost in the corn. No matter how hard I searched, I could not find them. They had vanished without a trace.

"In late summer, when the corn was ripe, my laborers gathered the harvest in and the flour was ground. Rolls were baked and I ate one, all fresh and hot. And what do you think? Out of my mouth leaped one goat, followed by a second and a third.... Then, one by one, out came all forty beasts, bleating hard. How fat they had become—each one bigger than a four-year bull!"

When the bai fell silent, even the judge sat open-mouthed. But Aina-kizz did not turn a hair.

"Sir," she said, "with such wise men as you, lies can be truly grand. Pray, listen now to my humble tale." And she told her story.

"Once I planted a cotton seed in my garden. And, do you know, next day a cotton bush had grown right up to the clouds; it cast a shadow as far as three days' journey across the sands. When the cotton was ripe, I picked and cleaned it, and sold it at market. With the money I received I bought forty fine camels, loaded them with silks and bade my brother take the caravan to Samarkand.

"Off he went dressed in his best silk robe; but I had no news from him for three whole years. Only the other day did I hear he had been robbed and slain by a black-bearded bai. I gave up all hope of finding the villain, yet now, by chance, I have discovered him.

"It is you, bai, for you are wearing my brother's best silk robe!"

At these words, the smiles upon the two men's faces quickly dimmed. What was the judge to do? If he said the story was a whopping lie, the bai would lose five hundred gold coins; that was the bet. Yet if he said she spoke the truth ... that was even worse. She would claim compensation for her brother and, besides, for forty fine camels loaded with rich silks.

The bai roared like a wounded bull, "You lie, you lie! That's the biggest lie I've ever heard! Take your five hundred tangas, take my silk robe, only go and leave me in peace."

With a smile, Aina-kizz counted out the coins, wrapped them in the robe and walked back home.

Fearing for his daughter, the woodcutter was waiting anxiously at the door to greet her. How he hugged her to him, not even remarking on the missing mule.

"Father, I sold our mule with all the logs, exactly as it was."

"Oh, my poor child," he muttered, "so that hard-hearted bai has swindled you as well."

"But I received a fair price for the wood," she said quietly. And she handed him the silken robe.

"This is a handsome robe," he said sadly. "But what good is it to me? Without our horse and mule, we shall likely starve to death."

Thereupon, Aina-kizz unrolled the robe before her father's astonished gaze and the golden coins showered upon the floor. Then she told him the tale of her adventures in the town. How he laughed and cried in turn, listening to her tale. She ended the story thus: "Father, where the rich keep their fortune, so the poor keep their cunning. A wise head is better than a full purse."

The Secret of Growing Good Corn

There once was a farmer who grew award-winning corn. Each year he entered his corn in the state fair where it won a blue ribbon.

One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbors.

"How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?" the reporter asked.

"Why sir," said the farmer, "didn't you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn."

So it is with our lives. If we are to grow good corn, we must help our neighbors grow good corn.

Wisdom

A great Japanese master received a university professor who came to enquire about wisdom. The master served tea.

He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he could no longer restrain himself. 'It is overfull. No more will go in!'

'Like this cup,' the master said, 'you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you wisdom unless you first empty your cup?'

The Secret of Happiness

A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness from the wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert for 40 days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain. It was there that the wise man lived.

Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main room of the castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went, people were conversing in the corners, a small orchestra was playing soft music, and there was a table covered with platters of the most delicious food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone, and the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the man's attention.

The wise man listened attentively to the boy's explanation of why he had come, but told him that he didn't have time just then to explain the secret of happiness. He suggested that the boy look around the palace and return in two hours.

"Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something", said the wise man, handing the boy a teaspoon that held two drops of oil. "As you wander around, carry this spoon with you without allowing the oil to spill".

The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace, keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned to the room where the wise man was.

"Well", asked the wise man, "Did you see the Persian tapestries that are hanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master gardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?"

The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing. His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

"Then go back and observe the marvels of my world", said the wise man. "You cannot trust a man if you don't know his house".

Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of the palace, this time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty of the flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected. Upon returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.

"But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?" asked the wise man. Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.

"Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you", said the wisest of wise men. "The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon".

100 Dollars

A well known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $100 bill. In the room of 200, he asked. "Who would like this $100 bill?"

Hands started going up. He said, "I am going to give this $100 to one of you - but first, let me do this."

He proceeded to crumple the 100 dollar note up. He then asked. "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air.

"Well," he replied, "what if I do this?" He dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. "Now, who still wants it?"

Still the hands went into the air.

"My friends, you have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $100.

Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless; but no matter what happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value.

Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless. The worth of our lives comes, not in what we do or who we know, but by ...WHO WE ARE.

The frogs and the tower

There once was a bunch of tiny frogs...

... who arranged a running competition. The goal was to reach the top of a very high tower. A big crowd had gathered around the tower to see the race and cheer on the contestants...

The race began...

Honestly, no-one in crowd really believed that the tiny frogs would reach the top of the tower. You heard statements such as:

"Oh, WAY too difficult!!"

"They will NEVER make it to the top".

"Not a chance that they will succeed. The tower is too high!"

The tiny frogs began collapsing. One by one...

... Except for those who in a fresh tempo were climbing higher and higher...

The crowd continued to yell

"It is too difficult!!! No one will make it!"

More tiny frogs got tired and gave up...

...But ONE continued higher and higher and higher...

This one wouldn't give up!

At the end, everyone else had given up climbing the tower. Except for the one tiny frog who, after a big effort, was the only one who reached the top!

THEN all of the other tiny frogs naturally wanted to know how this one frog managed to do it?

A contestant asked the tiny frog how the one who succeeded had found the strength to reach the goal?

It turned out...

That the winner was deaf.

The Story of Karoly Takacs

You’ve probably never heard of him. However, in Hungary, he’s a national hero – everybody there knows his name and his incredible story. 

In 1938, Karoly Takacs of the Hungarian Army, was the top pistol shooter in the world. He was expected to win the gold in the 1940 Olympic Games scheduled for Tokyo.



Those expectations vanished one terrible day just months before the Olympics. While training with his army squad, a hand grenade exploded in Takacs’ right hand, and Takacs’ shooting hand was blown off.

Takacs spent a month in the hospital depressed at both the loss of his hand, and the end to his Olympic dream. At that point most people would have quit. And they would have probably spent the rest of their life feeling sorry for themselves. Most people would have quit but not Takacs. Takacs was a winner. Winners know that they can’t let circumstances keep them down. They understand that life is hard and that they can’t let life beat them down. Winners know in their heart that quitting is not an option.

Takacs did the unthinkable; he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and decided to learn how to shoot with his left hand! His reasoning was simple. He simply asked himself, “Why not?”

Instead of focusing on what he didn’t have – a world class right shooting hand, he decided to focus on what he did have – incredible mental toughness, and a healthy left hand that with time, could be developed to shoot like a champion.

For months Takacs practiced by himself. No one knew what he was doing. Maybe he didn’t want to subject himself to people who most certainly would have discouraged him from his rekindled dream.

In the spring of 1939 he showed up at the Hungarian National Pistol Shooting Championship. Other shooters approached Takacs to give him their condolences and to congratulate him on having the strength to come watch them shoot. They were surprised when he said, “I didn’t come to watch, I came to compete.” They were even more surprised when Takacs won!

The 1940 and 1944 Olympics were cancelled because of World War II. It looked like Takacs’ Olympic Dream would never have a chance to realize itself. But Takacs kept training and in 1944 he qualified for the London Olympics. At the age of 38, Takacs won the Gold Medal and set a new world record in pistol shooting. Four years later, Takacs won the Gold Medal again at the 1952 Helsinki Olympics. Takacs – a man with the mental toughness to bounce back from anything.

Winners in every field have a special trait that helps them become unstoppable. A special characteristic that allows them to survive major setbacks on the road to success. Winners recover QUICKLY. Bouncing back is not enough. Winners bounce back QUICKLY. They take their hit, they experience their setback, they have the wind taken out of their sails, but they immediately recover. Right away they FORCE themselves to look at the bright side of things – ANY bright side, and they say to themselves, “That’s OK. There is always a way. I will find a way.” They dust themselves off, and pick up where they left off.

The reason quick recovery is important is that if you recover quickly, you don’t lose your momentum and your drive. Takacs recovered in only one month. If he had wallowed in his misery, if he had stayed “under the circumstances,” if he had played the martyr, and felt sorry for himself much longer, he would have lost his mental edge – his “eye of the tiger” and he never would have been able to come back.

When a boxer gets knocked down, he has ten seconds to get back up. If he gets up in eleven seconds, he loses the fight.

Takacs definitely had a right to feel sorry for himself. He had a right to stay depressed and to ask himself “Why me?” for the rest of his life. He had the right to act like a mediocre man.

Takacs could have let his terrible accident cause him to become permanently discouraged, to take up heavy drinking, to quit on life all together, and maybe even to end his own life. He could have acted like a loser.

But Takacs made the DECISION to dig deep inside and to find a solution. To pick himself up and to learn to shoot all over again.