Page 200 - The Book of Rumi

him mercilessly. The man cried out, begging them to allow him to explain why
he was there, and fi nally one of the policemen took pity on him and stopped
the others from beating him further.
“Go on, then, you’ve one minute to explain what you’re doing out in the
streets in the middle of the night! You don’t look like you’re from here. Tell
me, what’s your game?”
“I’m not a common thief,” whimpered the man helplessly. “I don’t go
around robbing people. I’m from Baghdad and a stranger in your city.”
Without further ado, the young man related his dream about the treasure;
the policeman, detecting a hint of honesty in his story, felt sorry and kindly
advised him: “I can see that you’re not a thief or a criminal, but you’re not
very intelligent, are you? How could you come all this way just because of a
dream you had?”
The poor man felt ashamed and lowered his eyes painfully. The police-
man continued: “I, too, have dreamed many times that there’s a great treasure
buried in a neighborhood in Baghdad, in the basement of a house that belongs
to a Mr. X. Do you think I should’ve given up everything and just gone there?”
The young man heard his name uttered by the policeman in disbelief. To
make sure he had heard correctly, he asked him to repeat the name of the per-
son in Baghdad he had just mentioned. When he heard his name spoken again,
he was ecstatic but tried not to show it. He begged the policemen’s forgiveness
and, the next morning, contentedly started making his way back to Baghdad,
wondering all the way why he had insisted on taking such an arduous journey,
tolerating such hardship and deprivation, to fi nd out in the end that what he
sought had been safe in his own home all along!

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