Thieves broke into a Zen monk's house at night. There was nothing in the house. Only a blanket, which the monk was lying under. It was a cold night, a full moon night. The monk began to cry, in anguish at the thought of thieves entering his house and finding nothing to steal. Hearing his sobs, the thieves asked, "Why are you crying?" They couldn't help but cry. The monk replied, "They did come—at least once, at least for the first time in my life! You gave me this good fortune! You even gave me this opportunity! People don't go to monks' houses to steal, they go to emperors' houses. You came to steal, but you made me an emperor! For a moment, I even thought thieves could come to my house! Such good fortune! But then my eyes filled with tears. I tried hard to hold back, sobbing, because there was nothing in the house. If you had informed me two days in advance, I would have made arrangements." When you come again, please inform me. I'm a poor man. If I had a couple of days' time, I could have collected something by begging. Right now, I only have this blanket; take it. And please, don't refuse. If you refuse, it will hurt my heart deeply.
The thieves were frightened; they couldn't understand anything. They had never met such a man.
They had been stealing all their life, but this was the first time they had met a man. The crowd was so crowded, where was the man? There were faces of men, where was the man? For the first time, their eyes were filled with shame, their modesty was aroused. And for the first time, they bowed before someone, unable to refuse. Why should I hurt him by refusing? I took the blanket. It was difficult to take it! There was nothing else on it! When the blanket was removed, they realized the fakir was naked. The blanket was all he was wearing; it was his only clothing—his shawl, his bedclothes. But the fakir said, "Don't worry about me, I'm used to being naked." And you walked three miles from the village. It's a cold night, who leaves the house? Even the dogs are hiding. Take it quietly and let me know when you come back.
The thieves were so frightened that they immediately ran out. As they were leaving, the fakir shouted, "Listen, at least close the door and thank me."
The man is strange, the thieves thought. And his voice was so stern that they thanked him, closed the door, and ran. Then the fakir stood at the window and watched the thieves walk away. He wrote a song—the meaning of which is, "I am very poor. If it were in my power, I would bring down the full moon from the sky and gift it to them! Who comes to whose door at midnight when?"
He is a believer. He doesn't believe in God, but he believes in the divinity of every person. No individual is like God, but it has faith in the ocean of divinity that beats within all individuals, that resides in the temple of life, that breathes.
Then the thieves were caught. The case was heard in court, and the blanket was also seized. And that blanket was a well-known blanket. It belonged to that famous fakir. The magistrate immediately recognized that it belonged to that fakir—so you had stolen it from that poor fakir too! The fakir was summoned. The magistrate said, "If the fakir says this blanket is mine and you have stolen it, then we need no further evidence. That man's statement is greater than the statements of a thousand men. Then I will give you the harshest punishment possible. Whether your other thefts are proven or not, I don't care. If that one man says it..."
The thieves were nervous, trembling, and sweating profusely when the fakir arrived in court. The fakir came and told the magistrate, "No, these people aren't thieves; they're very good people. I gifted them a blanket, and they thanked me. And once they thanked me, the matter was over. I gave them the blanket, and they thanked me. Not only that, they're such good people that they even closed the door when they left."
This is faith. The magistrate released the thieves because the fakir said, "Don't harass them. They are lovely people, good people, good people." The thieves fell at the fakir's feet and asked, "Initiate us." They became renunciates. The fakir laughed heartily afterward. He said, "I gifted you a blanket so you could enter renunciation. You couldn't digest that. All my prayers were woven into this blanket. This blanket contained the story of all my words. It wasn't a blanket. Just as Kabir says, "The sheet is finely woven!" Similarly, the fakir said, "It was woven with prayers." I meditated wearing this. It had the color and scent of my samadhi. You couldn't escape it. I was sure the blanket would bring you one too. And you finally came. That day you came at night, today you came during the day. That day you came like a thief, today you came like a disciple. I had faith.
Read more : - The Happiness Paradox
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