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One day, as Bahlul, the wise fool of Baghdad, was walking through the market, leaning on his staff, his attention was drawn to a fabric merchant. This merchant was overflowing with arrogance. He had spread silk across his shop, placed an ivory chair for himself, and surrounded himself with servants and attendants.

Whenever a poor man passed by his shop, the merchant would shout, “Get away from me, you penniless wretch! Do not pollute my goods with your breath!” But if a wealthy or influential person entered, he would stand up, honor them, roll out the finest carpets, and even kiss their hands.

Bahlul, dressed in his tattered clothes, approached the merchant and stood before his shop. The merchant glared at him and said, “What do you want, you wretch? I have nothing to give you.”

Bahlul replied, “I want to buy a shroud.”

The merchant laughed mockingly and said, “Shrouds are not sold here. This is the market of the rich. Go to the market of the poor!”

Bahlul smiled, sat down on the ground, took a pouch full of dust from his sleeve, and began to measure the dust with his hands, scattering it around.

The merchant was amazed and asked, “What are you doing, man?”

Bahlul replied, “I am buying and selling.”

The merchant said, “And what are you selling? It’s just dust!”

Bahlul said, “I am selling the entire world. Would you like to buy it from me?”

The merchant grew angry and said, “Am I to buy dust? I own this entire market!”

Bahlul raised his voice and said, “Oh, you poor man! Do you think you own the market? By Allah, you do not own even a single span of the ground beneath your feet!”

The merchant was furious and said, “How is that?”

Bahlul said, “Come with me, and I will show you.”

He took the merchant to a cemetery and stopped at an old, eroded grave. He said, “O merchant, this is the grave of Harun al-Rashid, the Commander of the Faithful, who ruled the East and the West. Where is his silk now? And where is his ivory chair?”

Then he pointed to a nearby grave that was almost invisible and said, “And this is the grave of a sweeper who used to clean the market. Both have turned to dust, side by side. Can you tell which is which?”

The merchant was stunned, his face turned pale. Bahlul continued, “O man, the shroud I asked you for does not distinguish between the rich and the poor. The silk you take pride in will be eaten by worms one day. And the breath of the poor man you despised is the same breath that will one day leave your own chest when death comes.”

The merchant returned to his shop in silence, deep in thought. From that day on, he removed his ivory chair, spread out a simple mat, and whenever a poor man entered, he would stand up, honor him, and offer him drink, saying, “Welcome to the one who reminds us of dust.”