The Sound of Money for the Smell of Food

In the market of Aksehir there was a cook's shop. Such lovely smells rose from the cook's pots that the mouths of passers-by watered. One day a poor porter took the dry bread out of his pocket and ate it in front of the shop, holding each bite in the steam from the pots. He soaked his bread in the smell and filled his stomach.

When the cook saw this, he rushed out of his shop: "Hey! You ate your bread with the smell of my food. Pay for the smell!" The porter was astonished: "I didn't take a single bite of your food!" The cook would not give up; he grabbed the porter by the collar and took him to the judge. That day the judge was Nasreddin Hodja.

The cook explained: "Judge, this man made use of the smell of my food. The smell is my work too. He must pay for it." The Hodja listened carefully, then turned to the porter: "Is it true, my boy?" The porter bowed his head: "It's true, Hodja. I held my dry bread in the smell."

The Hodja nodded: "Very well, the cook is right. The smell must be paid for." The cook was delighted and the porter was dismayed. The Hodja took a purse from his own sash. He held it close to the cook's ear and jingled it.

"Did you hear that, cook? Did you hear the sound of the money?" Bewildered, the cook said, "I heard it." The Hodja tucked the purse back into his sash: "Then you're even. This man took the smell of your food, and in return you took the sound of my money. If a smell is the price of food, then a sound is the price of money."

Everyone in the court laughed. The cook turned red with shame. The Hodja said to him: "My boy, God has given you such a fine skill that even your smells fill people up. Be thankful for that. Giving a ladle of soup to the poor man at your door won't make you poor; on the contrary, it will bring plenty to your shop."

The cook was deeply ashamed. From that day on, every evening he put a pot of soup outside his shop and shared it with the poor. And his shop became busier than ever.