For centuries Khoja Nasreddin has been wandering through the East. It would be as difficult to name the country of his birth as it would be to name the author of The Thousand And One Nights. Daghestan, Azerbaijan, Central Asia, Turkey, Persia-all claim him as their own. Wag and wit, slyboots, merry fellow, kind soul, boon companion, and eternal vagabond, he turns up everywhere.
He is unarmed but not defenceless, for he has a deadly weapon-his tongue and wit. He is poor, but the world is his. He is lonely, but has a million friends. He often finds himself in hot water, but never loses his head. Fate deals him blow after blow, but he is as cheerful as ever. He spares neither kings nor feudal lords, neither the rich nor the holy, neither mullahs nor prophets. Taken all round, he is a flagrant subverter, a thorn in the side of the powers that be, a disturber of the peace.
He is deathless. He can no more be destroyed than can John Barleycorn of the popular ballad made famous by Burns. He is the soul of the people, and like the people, immortal.
Such is the picture of Khoja Nasreddin which Leonid Solovyov depicts for us in his book.