The Story of the Blind Man, Baba Abdallah

In the bustling city of Baghdad, where merchants from distant lands gathered to trade silks and spices, there lived a man known as Baba Abdallah. He was neither rich nor poor, earning his living by buying and selling goods in the great bazaar. But what set Baba Abdallah apart from other merchants was not his wealth or wisdom—it was his insatiable greed that burned in his heart like an unquenchable fire.

Every morning, Baba Abdallah would rise before dawn and make his way to the marketplace, his eyes constantly scanning for opportunities to increase his profits. He counted every coin that passed through his hands twice, and dreamed each night of the riches that might be his if only fortune would smile upon him.

One scorching summer day, as the sun beat down mercilessly on the dusty streets of Baghdad, Baba Abdallah was returning from an unsuccessful trading expedition to a nearby village. His mule was laden with unsold goods, and his purse remained disappointingly light. The heat shimmered off the desert sands, and his water skin was nearly empty.

As he traveled along the lonely road, he spotted a figure in the distance—a man dressed in the simple robes of a dervish, sitting peacefully in the shade of a large boulder. The holy man appeared to be in prayer, his lips moving silently as he fingered his prayer beads.

“Peace be upon you, brother,” called out Baba Abdallah as he approached, his voice hoarse from the heat.

“And upon you be peace,” replied the dervish, looking up with eyes that sparkled with inner light. He was an elderly man with a long white beard and a face marked by years of spiritual contemplation. “You appear weary, friend. Come, share this shade with me and rest your mule.”

Grateful for the respite, Baba Abdallah dismounted and sat beside the holy man. The dervish offered him dates and fresh water from a gourd that seemed miraculously cool despite the blazing heat.

“What brings you to this lonely place, venerable dervish?” asked Baba Abdallah after quenching his thirst.

The old man smiled mysteriously. “I am on a pilgrimage, seeking the treasures that Allah has hidden in the earth for those pure of heart. And Allah, in His infinite mercy, has shown me where such a treasure lies.”

Baba Abdallah’s eyes immediately gleamed with interest. “A treasure? What manner of treasure do you speak of?”

“Not far from here,” the dervish explained, “lies a cave filled with jars of the finest ointment. This is no ordinary salve, my friend, but a magical preparation with wondrous properties. One application to the right eye grants the ability to see all the treasures hidden beneath the earth—every buried gold coin, every concealed gem, every secret hoard.”

“And what of the left eye?” Baba Abdallah asked eagerly, his merchant’s mind already calculating the possibilities.

The dervish’s expression grew serious. “The left eye must never be touched with this ointment, for the consequences would be most dire. But with the right eye alone, one can see riches beyond imagination.”

Baba Abdallah’s heart began to race. “Respected holy man, would you be willing to share this treasure with a humble merchant? I could assist you in carrying the jars—surely there are more than one man can transport alone?”

The dervish studied Baba Abdallah’s face carefully, as if reading the very depths of his soul. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Very well. You seem honest enough, and I am indeed in need of assistance. But we must make an agreement—we shall divide the jars equally between us, and each man will take his fair share.”

“By Allah, I swear it!” declared Baba Abdallah, though his mind was already scheming ways to claim more than his portion.

Together, they traveled to a hidden valley where, concealed behind a curtain of hanging vines, lay the entrance to a cave. The dervish spoke strange words that Baba Abdallah did not understand, and the rocky entrance swung open as if by magic.

Inside the cave, the sight that greeted them was beyond Baba Abdallah’s wildest dreams. Hundreds upon hundreds of large clay jars lined the walls, each filled to the brim with a golden ointment that glowed with its own inner light. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine and rare spices.

“Take as many as your mule can carry,” instructed the dervish. “But remember our agreement—we share equally.”

Working through the afternoon, they loaded jar after jar onto both the dervish’s camel and Baba Abdallah’s mule. True to his word, the holy man ensured that each received an equal share. When they had finished, Baba Abdallah’s mule was so heavily laden that it could barely walk.

As they prepared to part ways, the dervish handed Baba Abdallah a small amount of the ointment. “Here, my friend. Apply this to your right eye, and you will see the truth of what I have told you.”

With trembling fingers, Baba Abdallah dabbed the golden substance onto his right eye. Instantly, his vision transformed. The earth became transparent before him, and he could see countless treasures buried beneath the sand—ancient coins, precious jewels, and golden ornaments beyond counting. The power was intoxicating.

“It is true!” he gasped. “I can see treasures everywhere! Oh, wise dervish, this is indeed a gift from heaven!”

The holy man smiled gently. “Use this gift wisely, Baba Abdallah. Remember that true wealth comes not from what we possess, but from contentment with what Allah has provided.”

But Baba Abdallah was no longer listening. His mind was consumed with visions of unlimited wealth. As they prepared to go their separate ways, a terrible idea took root in his heart.

“Wait, my brother,” he called out to the dervish. “I have been thinking—it hardly seems fair that we should part with so many jars remaining in the cave. Would you not agree that I should carry more? My mule is strong, and I could return for additional loads.”

The dervish shook his head. “We agreed to equal shares, and equal shares we have taken. More than this would not be just.”

But Baba Abdallah’s greed had grown beyond all reason. “Come now, surely a holy man such as yourself has no need for worldly goods? Why not give me your portion as well? I could put it to good use in my trading business.”

“I cannot do that, my friend. The ointment was given to me in trust, and I must use it as Allah intends.”

Seeing that persuasion would not work, Baba Abdallah’s manner changed entirely. His face darkened with cunning and malice. “Then perhaps we should settle this matter differently. You are old and alone on this desert road, while I am strong and carry a sharp dagger. Give me your jars, old man, or I will take them by force!”

The dervish’s eyes filled with profound sadness. “So this is the true nature of your heart, Baba Abdallah. I had hoped that the gift of sight would teach you wisdom, but instead it has revealed only the darkness within you.”

“The jars!” demanded Baba Abdallah, drawing his weapon. “Give them to me now!”

With great sorrow, the dervish transferred his portion of the jars to Baba Abdallah’s already overloaded mule. “You may take my share of the ointment,” he said quietly, “but know that in stealing from me, you steal from yourself.”

Baba Abdallah laughed harshly. “Spare me your riddles, old man. I have what I came for.”

But then, as the dervish prepared to leave, Baba Abdallah was struck by another thought. If the ointment granted such miraculous power to one eye, what might it do for both eyes? Surely he would be able to see even greater treasures, hidden perhaps in the very heavens themselves?

“One moment more,” he called out. “Tell me truly—what happens if the ointment is applied to both eyes? You spoke of consequences, but what man could resist such power?”

The dervish turned back, his expression grave. “I warn you solemnly, Baba Abdallah—touch not your left eye with this substance. The price is beyond your imagining.”

But Baba Abdallah’s greed had made him deaf to all wisdom. “You lie to keep the greatest treasure for yourself! If one eye shows earthly treasures, then both eyes must reveal the treasures of paradise itself!”

“Please,” the dervish pleaded, “I beg you to reconsider. Some gifts are too dangerous for mortal men to possess.”

But Baba Abdallah would not be deterred. “Stand back, old fool, and watch me become the richest man in all the world!”

Despite the dervish’s cries of warning, Baba Abdallah scooped up a large portion of the golden ointment and applied it liberally to his left eye. For a moment, his vision seemed to expand beyond all earthly bounds. He saw glimpses of celestial realms, of treasures that belonged to djinn and angels, of riches beyond mortal comprehension.

But then, in an instant, his sight began to fade. The magical vision disappeared first, then the normal sight of his right eye, and finally even the dim perception of light and shadow. Within moments, Baba Abdallah was plunged into utter darkness.

“My eyes!” he screamed, clawing at his face. “I cannot see! What have you done to me, you cursed dervish?”

The holy man’s voice came to him filled with infinite compassion. “I did nothing, my brother. You chose this fate despite all my warnings. The ointment grants sight to see hidden treasures, but when applied to both eyes, it takes away all sight forever. This is the price of greed that knows no bounds.”

Baba Abdallah fell to his knees in the sand, weeping bitterly. “Please, I beg you! Restore my sight! I will give you back all the jars, all the treasure—everything!”

“The blindness cannot be undone,” the dervish said sadly. “But perhaps it will teach you to see with different eyes—the eyes of the heart, which perceive treasures that thieves cannot steal and rust cannot corrupt.”

“Do not leave me here!” cried Baba Abdallah. “I am blind and alone in the desert! How will I find my way?”

The dervish, despite the wrong that had been done to him, showed mercy. He helped the blind man onto his mule and guided him back toward the road to Baghdad. At the city gates, he spoke his final words: “Baba Abdallah, you sought to possess all the treasures of the earth, and in doing so, you lost the greatest treasure of all—your sight. Learn from this, and perhaps you will discover riches that blindness cannot take away.”

From that day forward, Baba Abdallah wandered the streets of Baghdad as a blind beggar, dependent on the charity of others for his daily bread. The jars of magical ointment, abandoned in the desert when his mule fled in terror, were scattered by the winds and lost forever.

But in time, something unexpected happened. As Baba Abdallah sat at the gates of the mosque, dependent on the kindness of strangers, he began to hear things he had never noticed before—the laughter of children, the prayers of the faithful, the gentle words of comfort offered by the compassionate. He learned to distinguish between the coins of the generous and those given grudgingly, not by their sound, but by the spirit in which they were offered.

Slowly, painfully, Baba Abdallah began to understand what the dervish had meant. There were indeed treasures that blindness could not take away—the warmth of human kindness, the peace that comes from accepting one’s fate, and the wisdom born of suffering. He learned to be grateful for small mercies and to find contentment in simplicity.

Years later, when people asked him about his blindness, Baba Abdallah would tell his story as a warning against the dangers of unchecked greed. “I once could see all the treasures hidden in the earth,” he would say, “but I was blind to the treasures that were already mine. Now that my eyes see nothing, my heart sees clearly for the first time.”

And though he remained poor and blind until the end of his days, those who knew him said that Baba Abdallah had found a peace and wisdom that many sighted men never discover. For he had learned the hardest lesson of all—that the greatest treasures are not those we grasp, but those we learn to appreciate, and that sometimes we must lose everything to understand what truly matters.

Thus ends the tale of Baba Abdallah, a reminder that greed blinds us to the blessings we already possess, and that true sight comes not from the eyes, but from the heart.