“Ahem!” came from the corner, but the storyteller paid no attention to this and continued:
“‘What do you want?’ asked the governor in a noble and sonorous voice, resembling the roaring of a lion.
“Hodja Nasreddin could barely control his tongue from fear, and his voice sounded shrill, like the barking of a stinking hyena.
“‘O ruler!’ Hodja Nasreddin replied. ‘O light of our region, our sun and moon, giver of happiness and joy to all that lives in our region, hear your lowly slave, who is not even worthy to wipe the threshold of your palace with his beard. You, o luminous one, have kindly deigned to place one of your elephants in our village for billeting and feeding by the villagers. And so, we are a little displeased.’
“The governor moved his eyebrows together menacingly and began to resemble a thunderous storm cloud, while Hodja Nasreddin kneeled before him to the floor, like reeds before a tempest.
“‘What displeases you?’ asked the governor. ‘Speak quickly! Or has your tongue become stuck to your dirty and treacherous throat?’
“‘A… wa… wa…,’ babbled the cowardly Hodja Nasreddin. ‘We are displeased, o illustrious ruler, that the elephant is all by himself and quite lonely. The poor animal is pining away, and all the villagers have also languished and wasted away on his account. So they sent me, o noblest of the noble, who graces the earth, to ask that you deign to render unto us one more favor and send him a she-elephant for billeting and feeding.’
“The governor was quite pleased with this request and ordered it granted immediately, and he showed his favor by allowing Hodja Nasreddin to kiss his boot, which Hodja Nasreddin instantly performed with such great zeal that the governor’s boot turned reddish, while Hodja Nasreddin’s lips blackened…”
But at that moment the storyteller was interrupted by the thunderous voice of Hodja Nasreddin himself.
“You lie!” Hodja Nasreddin exclaimed. “You lie, o shameless coward, who himself resembles the mixture of a jackal, a spider, an asp, and a toad! It is your lips, you filthy, mangy dog, and your tongue, and all your insides, that are black from licking the boots of rulers! But Hodja Nasreddin has never bowed before a ruler, anywhere! You slander Hodja Nasreddin! Do not listen to him, o Muslims, chase him away as a liar and soiler of purity, and let contempt be his lot forever. O Muslims, turn your eyes and hearts from him!”
He dashed forward to deal with the slanderer with his own hands, but then stopped suddenly as he recognized the flat, pockmarked face and shifty yellow eyes. It was the same servant who had quarreled with him in the street about the length of the railing on the otherworldly bridge.
“Aha!” Hodja Nasreddin exclaimed. “I have recognized you, o faithful and pious servant of your master! And I know now that you have another master, one whose name you keep secret! Tell me, how much does the emir pay you to slander Hodja Nasreddin in the chaikhanas? How much are you paid for denunciations, how much for the head of every man you betrayed, who has been executed, or thrown in the dungeon, or bound in chains, or sold into slavery? I have recognized you, emir’s spy and snitch!”
The spy, who had been standing very still and looking at Hodja Nasreddin in fear, clapped his hands suddenly and shouted in a high-pitched voice:
“Guards, over here!”
Hodja Nasreddin heard the running of the guards in the darkness, the crashing of spears and ringing of shields. Wasting no time, he jumped to the side, knocking down the pockmarked spy who was blocking his path.
But here he heard the stomping of the guards running from the other side of the square.
Wherever he went, he kept bumping into the guards. And there was even a moment when he thought he would not be able to break through.
“Woe to me! I am caught!” he shouted in a loud voice. “Farewell, my faithful donkey!”
But then, something unexpected and unusual happened, and the memory of this event lives on in Bukhara even today and will never die, for great was the confusion and great was the destruction.
Hearing the woeful cries of his master, the donkey headed towards him, but then an enormous drum slid out from under the chaikhana platform. In the darkness, Hodja Nasreddin had accidentally tied the donkey to the iron bracket of the drum, which the chaikhana keeper used on major holidays to summon customers to his chaikhana. The drum got snagged on a stone and rumbled; the donkey turned around and the drum rumbled again. Then the donkey imagined that evil spirits, having already made short work of Hodja Nasreddin, were now after his own gray hide, and, braying in terror, he raised his tail and dashed across the square.
“Curses! My drum!” the chaikhana keeper wailed, giving chase.
It was no use! The donkey flew like the wind, like a storm, but the faster he flew, the more fierce, terrifying, and deafening was the crashing of the drum behind him as it bounced over rocks and bumps. The people in the chaikhanas grew alarmed and began to call to each other worriedly, asking: why is a drum sounding at this unusual hour, what has happened?
At this exact time, the last fifty camels were entering the square, loaded with crockery and sheet copper. Seeing a horribly braying, jumping, and banging round object hurtling towards them in the dark, the camels became mad with fear and scattered, spilling the crockery and the rumbling copper.
In a minute, the entire square and all adjoining streets were engulfed in great terror and unprecedented commotion: crashing, ringing, clattering, neighing, roaring, barking, howling, cracking, and rattling merged into a single infernal racket, and no one could understand a thing. Many hundreds of camels, horses, and donkeys got loose and were running around in the gloom, rumbling over the scattered copper sheets, while the drivers screamed and dashed back and forth, waving their torches. People woke up from the awful noise, jumped up, half-dressed, and ran without knowing where they were going, bumping into each other and filling the darkness with cries of desperation and sorrow, for they thought the end of the world had come. Roosters began to crow and flap their wings. The commotion grew, seizing the entire city to the very outskirts, and then the cannons on the city wall began to fire, for the city guards decided that an enemy force had burst into Bukhara; and the cannons in the palace began to fire, for the palace guards decided that a mutiny was underway. Torn, troubling voices of the muezzins came from all the countless minarets. Everything had turned head over heels, and no one knew where to go or what to do! Meanwhile, Hodja Nasreddin was running around in the very thick of it all, dodging the crazed horses and camels with great skill, and following his donkey by the banging of the drum, without success, until the rope snapped and the drum flew aside at the camels, who dashed away from it, crashing through awnings, sheds, chaikhanas, and shops.
Hodja Nasreddin would have had to chase his donkey for a long time had they not managed to bump into each other accidentally, face to face. The donkey was shaking and covered in lather.
“Come, come quickly, it’s a little too noisy for us here,” said Hodja Nasreddin, dragging the donkey away. “It’s amazing what one little donkey can do in a big city if you tie a drum to him! Have a look at what you did! Of course, you rescued me from the guards, but I still pity the poor inhabitants of Bukhara: they’ll be sorting this out till morning. Wherever could we find a quiet, secluded corner?”