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Published 2014
Nasruddin was on a long journey, travelling back to his homeland after a pilgrimage. Tired, dusty and very hungry, he espied a caravan of wealthy-looking merchants dining on a lush pulao (rice dish): it was so fragrant that the aromas of cardamom and saffron wafted across the desert night to where he stood. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a meal of rice: dry bread and dates were the normal fare of travellers. Drooling, he approached where they sat and prostrated himself on the ground.
