Once upon a time, there lived a very rich and powerful king named Ardu. He spent his days in the park with his falcons and his nights in the chambers with his concubines, but still he was unhappy. He felt that something was missing, but he didn't know what it could be. After all, he was rich and powerful and had plenty of everything.
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Early one morning, King Ardu went out into the forest to hunt and passed by a woodcutter sitting on a stump and sharpening his axe. That day the king caught no game, and on his way back to the palace in the afternoon, the woodcutter was still sitting on the same stump, still sharpening his axe.
“You spend all the day sharpening,” the king called out. “Isn’t an axe made for cutting wood?”
The woodcutter put down his whetstone and inspected the blade, which was nearly worn down to nothing. “You spend your days hunting and your nights making merry with your concubines,” he said. “Is that all you were made for?”
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That evening at dinner, a stranger walked in and sat down at the table.
“What are you doing here?” King Ardu asked, wondering how he’d gotten past the guards.
“I'm a traveler,” said the man, “all I need is a decent meal and a place to sleep.”
The king was shocked. “Do you think this is an inn that you can come and go as you please? This is my palace!”
The traveler put some food onto his plate. “Whose palace was it before?” he asked.
“My father’s,” answered the king.
“And before that?”
“My grandfather’s.”
“It sounds like people come and go,” the traveler said, “how is it different from an inn?”
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That night King Ardu had no taste for concubines. He tossed and turned on his huge featherbed, tossed and turned. He heard footsteps on the roof, and a man swung in through the open window.
“What are you doing here?” the king asked, afraid it might be an assassin.
“I’m a farmer,” said the man, “my cow got loose and I'm looking everywhere. Have you seen it?”
The king was confused. “What kind of fool,” he said, “looks for a cow in a palace?”
The farmer pushed aside some draperies and peered behind them. “What kind of fool,” he said, “looks for God on a featherbed?”
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They say the old saints could walk the earth in any form they chose, so why not a woodcutter, a traveler, and a farmer? The next morning, the king stepped out of the palace gates, took to the road, and never looked back. He wasn’t King Ardu anymore, just Ardu.
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On the road, a wealthy merchant saw Ardu walking, dressed in a threadbare tunic, and took pity on him.
“Here, take these gold coins,” he said, holding out his purse.
“I can't accept those,” Ardu said, “it isn't right to take from the poor.”
“But I'm not poor at all,” the merchant said.
Ardu took out a rag and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Do you want more than you have?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” said the merchant.
“Then you are poor,” said Ardu, and continued on his way.
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One day Ardu saw a big stone by the side of the road. On the stone was written: turn me over and read what's underneath. With a great effort, he heaved the stone over. On the bottom was written: why do you want to learn something new, when you don't practice what you've already learned? Ardu knelt down and kissed the stone. “Oh Lord!” he cried, “I didn't recognize you. How do people get by in this world without knowing you?”
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One day, a courtier was passing by in a carriage and saw Ardu on the side of the road, mending his tunic with a needle and thread.
Recognizing the old king, the courtier stopped to talk. “What I don't understand,” he said, “is why you would give up all that power.”
Ardu took up his needle and threw it into the sea. After a few moments, a fish came swimming up with the needle in its mouth. “Does a king command the fishes in the sea?” he asked. “If God wants a thing done, it is done.”
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One day Ardu met a mendicant friar on the road.
“How are you getting your bread?” he asked.
“If something comes to me, I'm grateful,” said the friar. “If nothing comes, I’m patient.”
“But that's just how a dog lives!” said Ardu.
“Why, how do you do it?” the friar asked.
“If something comes to me, I share it,” Ardu said. “If nothing comes, I'm grateful.”
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One day Ardu met an old friend on the road. They stopped in a shady grove to talk.
“It’s so good to see your face again,” Ardu said. “How have you been?”
“I’m starting to question whether I’m a good person,” his friend said. “You’ve known me for a long time. Tell me, what don’t you like about me?”
“I’ve never really looked at you that way,” said Ardu.
Notes: This is mostly adapted from the life and legend of Ibrahim ibn Adhem who is a sort of Islamic counterpart to Gautama Buddha. I made up the story of the woodcutter (since in folktales events come in threes), and transposed the whole thing into a Northern European style and setting. I took the name Ardu from the Irish language (dropping the accent mostly out of laziness).
This is beautiful.