When the Mulla was a judge in his village, a disheveled figure ran into his court-room, demanding justice.
‘I have been ambushed and robbed,’ he cried, ‘just outside this village. Someone from here must have done it. I demand that you find the culprit. He took my robe, sword, even my boots.’
‘Let me see,’ said the Mulla, ‘did he not take your undershirt, which I see you are still wearing?’ ‘No he did not.’
‘In that case, he was not from this village. Things are done thoroughly here. I cannot investigate your case.’
