Uncle Molla!
I have only one son. He was the apple of my eyes. He was such a clever and hyperactive boy. He was like Rustam. No one would dare to speak to him. When there was a man older than him, he would kick this man with a stone. One day my son threw a stone at Mashadi Heydar’s hat. Mashadi’s hat fell three 3 meters away. In short, my son was an extraordinary boy. When he came home, he would eat anything like a wolf, I wouldn’t dare to tell him anything. After all, he was the apple of my eyes. Uncle Molla! Now I am unhappy. Everything was gone. My clever, handsome son became mad. I listened to others stupidly and took my poor son to school. Do you know how mad he has been? Now he comes home quietly and opens his book, and says something. If I am not afraid of God and don’t give my son anything to eat, he will not even want anything. I tell him to go to the street, to have a rest, but he doesn’t care for my words. As if I am talking to somebody else. I told him not to go to school, helplessly, but he didn’t listen to me. What can I do? Yesterday a woman took her son to Chenberkend to a mullah. And the mullah told the woman “someone has cast a spell over your son.” The mullah wrote down a prayer and gave it to the woman and said. “Take it and come here once a week so that I write down another prayer. If he doesn’t recover after two months, take him to Nukha, Babaratma Pir. He will recover there. And the mullah told the woman strongly not to let the boy go to school. “I tell him not to go to damned school, he doesn’t listen to me. Everyone says that you have power. You can write down such a prayer that the boy will give up going to school. Please help me, mullah. I will not let you return empty-handed.
Heartbroken
Molla Nasreddin, January 6, 1907, N 11
