Page 117 - The Book of Rumi

The Wise Goldsmith

he goldsmith opened the shutters of his shop as usual, unlocked the

Tdoor, and immediately began to sweep the floor. He hated having to
work in a dusty environment, and it had become his habit for years to do one
round of sweeping every morning, even though his assistant was responsible
for the upkeep of the shop. That morning, shortly after he fi nished cleaning
up, an old man walked in, a small pouch in his hand.
“Good morning, my good man. Can you please lend me your scale so I
can weigh my gold scraps?” he asked politely.
“Go on your way, old man. I’ve no sieve, no broom, and no time to sift
through your stuff!”
“What? Are you mocking me? I asked you for a simple scale,” retorted
the old man.
“I told you, I’ve no broom nor a sieve in the shop.”
“I asked you for a scale. I didn’t ask for a broom or a sieve! What are you
rambling on about?”
The goldsmith, who was an old hand at his business, looked the old man
in the eyes and tried his best to be kind:
“I heard you the fi rst time, my dear fellow! I’m not deaf, and don’t even
think that I might be dumb. You, however, are old and your hands shake.
Your gold is in small pieces, almost as fi ne as powder! With one errant shake
of your hand, the whole batch will be on the floor. Then you’ll ask me for a

broom to sweep up the gold, which will now be mixed in with the dust from

the floor. Next, you’ll be asking me for a sieve to clear out the dust. From that
very fi rst moment you stepped into my shop, I could see the end result of our
encounter! Please don’t give me any trouble and go on your way!” concluded
the wise goldsmith, who by now was holding the door open for the old man
to take his leave.

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