a

provincial　town　arrived　at　one　of　the　largest　mosques　in　a　capital　city；　all　right；

let’s　call　it　the　Bayazid　Mosque。　It’d　be　appropriate　to　withhold　his　name；　so

let’s　refer　to　him　as　“Husret　Hoja。”　But　why　should　I　cover　up　anything　more：

This man was one boneheaded cleric。 He made up for the modesty of his

intellect with the power of his tongue； God bless it。 Each Friday； he so

animated　his　congregation；　so　moved　them　to　tears　that　some　would　cry　until

they　fainted　or　dried　up　and　withered　away。　Don’t　get　me　wrong；　unlike　other

clerics with the gift of preaching； he himself didn’t weep。 On the contrary；

while everyone else cried； he intensified his oration without a blink as if to

chastise the congregation。 In all probability； the gardeners； royal pages； halva

makers； riffraff and clerics like himself became his lackeys because they

enjoyed　the　tongue　lashing。　Well；　this　man　was　no　dog　after　all；　no　sir；　he　was

a　human　being—to　be　human　is　to　err—and　before　those　enthralled　crowds；

he lost himself when he saw that intimidating throngs of people was as

pleasurable as bringing them to tears。 When he understood that there was

much　more　bread　to　be　made　in　this　new　venture；　he　went　over　the　top　and

had　the　nerve　to　say　the　following：

“The sole reason for