Читать книгу More Yarns - Lionel Charles Dunsterville - Страница 10
I
Оглавление“There is only one God.”
A certain nobleman had a large retinue of servants amongst whom were three especial favourites—an English Christian, a Pathan Mahomedan, and a pious Hindu.
The nobleman himself was a devout follower of the Prophet, but like Akbar, the Great Mogul, he was extremely broad-minded, and it pleased him to have these three good men of varying religions as his personal attendants.
He yearned to teach them the lesson he had learnt himself, that, however diverse may be the methods of worship, there is only one God, and there can be no other.
The three men could not speak each other’s language, but, after years of service together, had succeeded in making themselves mutually intelligible on general matters connected with their various duties. The nobleman could speak all their languages fluently.
One hot summer’s day, feeling in a particularly kindly mood, the nobleman thought he would refresh his humble servitors with a present of fruit.
So he sent for them, and addressing each man in his own language, said: “I wish to give you a treat in the shape of some fruit. You shall choose what you most desire, but must agree together as I will only give you one kind of fruit. Retire now and consult. When you have agreed, let me know your choice.”
The three servitors retired into an adjoining room, while the nobleman sat listening to the hum of their voices. In a short time the voices began to grow louder and louder, and it soon became evident that the three men were engaged in a violent altercation.
With a view of ascertaining the cause of strife and of restoring peace to the belligerents, the nobleman rose and entered the apartment into which the three servitors had been ordered to retire.
He found them engaged in a terrific combat. The Mahomedan was belabouring the Hindu, the Hindu was beating the Christian, and the Christian was endeavouring to strangle the Mahomedan.
On the entrance of their master, the three servitors ceased their pummelling and stood shamefacedly before him with downcast eyes.
“What’s all this about?” he asked.
“We can’t agree about the choice of fruit,” said the Mahomedan. “I want a ‘Hinduana’ and nothing else. The others want something else.”
“I want a water-melon,” said the Englishman, “and I’ll take nothing else.”
“And I,” said the Hindu, “desire a ‘Tarbuz’. It’s the only fruit I like.”
“Now,” said the nobleman, “see how silly you all are. A water-melon is a water-melon, and a Hinduana is a water-melon, and a Tarbuz is a water-melon. You are all after the same thing and fighting with each other because you are too stupid to realize that it is the same thing. You shall have a plentiful store of water-melons, and as you eat them try to realize that the one God is like that—called by many names, and worshipped in many ways, but always One and Indivisible.”
