Carefully and attentively he counted and then recounted his money, and found that if invested in the ways of Allah it would bring a return of no less than one thousand piasters.
"Think of it," said the Hodja to himself, "one thousand piasters! One thousand piasters! Mashallah! a fortune."
So, having dismissed his school, he sallied forth, his bag of money in his hand, and began distributing its contents to the needy that he met in the highways. Ere many hours had passed the whole of his savings was gone. The Hodja was very happy; for now he was the creditor in Allah's books for one thousand piasters.
He returned to his house and ate his evening meal of bread and olives, and was content.
The next day came. The thousand piasters had not yet arrived. He ate his bread, he imagined he had olives, and was content.
The third day came. The old Hodja had no bread and he had no olives. He suffered the pangs of hunger. So when the end of the day had come, and his pupils had departed to their homes, the Hodja, with a full heart and an empty stomach, walked out of the town, and soon got beyond the city walls.
There, where no one could hear him, he lamented his sad fate, and the great calamity that had befallen him in his old age.
What sin had he committed? What great wrong had his ancestors done, that the wrath of the Almighty had thus fallen on him, when his earthly course was well-nigh run?
"Ya! Allah! Allah!" he cried, and beat his breast.
As if in answer to his cry, the howl of the dreaded Fakir Dervish came over across the plain. In those days the Fakir Dervish was a terror in the land. He knocked at the door, and it was opened. He asked, and received food. If refused, life often paid the penalty.