Nasrudin made a wager that he could spend a night on a nearby mountain and survive, in spite of ice and snow. Several wags in the teahouse agreed to adjudicate.
Nasrudin took a book and a candle and sat through the coldest night he had ever known. In the morning, half-dead, he claimed his money.
‘Did you have nothing at all to keep you warm?’ asked the villagers.
‘Nothing.’
‘Not even a candle?’
‘Yes, I had a candle.’
‘Then the bet is off.’
Nasrudin did not argue.
Some months later he invited the same people to a feast at his house. They sat down in his reception room, waiting for the food. Hours passed.
They started to mutter about food.
‘Let’s go and see how it is getting on,’ said Nasrudin.
Everyone trooped into the kitchen. They found an enormous pot of water, under which a candle was burning. The water was not even tepid.
‘It is not ready yet,’ said the Mulla. ‘I don’t know why – it has been there since yesterday.’