Once upon a time, not so very long ago, and in a land not a million miles from here, there were two hungry dervishes, who are seekers, people of the 'poor'.
One evening in their travels, they came across a small village and decided to stay for the night. There was an inn there, just by the side of the village green. But because they had no money, the two dervishes could not afford to stay there. Sometimes the pair would take out their musical instruments and play and entertain the inhabitants with jokes and news, in exchange for a few coppers for food and lodgings. But not tonight, for it had been a long haul up into the foothills of the mountains that day, and they were both too dog-tired to play, or even raise a smile.
So it was that the two dervishes set their scant belongings down by the side of the village green, right in front of the inn. While one of them set about stacking up the sticks of wood he had scavenged along the way, the other arranged the stones which he'd collected in his travels, into a small circle around the wood.
Being a sleepy little village unaccustomed to strangers, it was not long before the two travellers' arrival attracted the attention of the villagers as they passed by on their way to-and-from the inn, or about their business. Some stood watching nearby and others had their faces pressed to the glass of the windows of the inn, whilst one or two of the younger ones gathered close-by to see what was going on.
Soon, with the aid of a flint, a steel blade and a little tinder, the first dervish had a fine fire going. And meanwhile, the second dervish had taken out a large cauldron from his bulging back-pack and had returned from the village duck pond to set the smoke-blackened pot of water a-top the blazing fire.
Then the villagers saw a most curious thing. Having looked to the heavens and begged the Lord's assistance in their enterprise, the second dervish knelt down and took from his inside breast pocket a large bright purple, velvet purse. And then, with the utmost care and due ceremony, he reached inside the purse and drew out first one, then a second and finally a third small stone. Holding each up toward the waning sun, as it slipped down toward the horizon, he chanted some more incomprehensible words, which sounded to one or two of those villagers closest to the travellers, like some kind of magical incantation. And then, again, with exaggerated ceremony, he placed each stone on the end of a long wooden spoon and gently lowered each stone in turn into the heart of the simmering cauldron.
One of the youngsters watching nearby could contain herself no longer.
'What are you doing, stranger?' she asked. For what she had seen made no sense to her.
'Boiling stones,' replied the second dervish.
'Boiling stones? Whatever for?'
The first dervish looked up from gently stirring the pot and replied, with a benign smile: 'Why, we are making stone soup, my child.'
'What's that?' a villager asked, sidling up to the girl. 'What's yon stranger say?'
'They're making stone soup,' the girl replied, with a shrug of her shoulders to suggest that she, too, was as baffled as the others.
'Stone soup? Stone soup! Never heard such stuff and nonsense,' muttered the man, and he sidled off toward the others to tell them what was going on, and one went scurrying inside the inn to relay the strange news.
And before long, half the village were slowly edging their way toward the fire to see for themselves the truth of the strangers' exploits with the stone soup.
Drawing-in a deep breath and surreptitiously crossing herself to ward off any evil that might be lurking in the village that evening, the girl took a step closer toward the cauldron, intent on having a quick peek at this strange concoction the strangers called stone soup.
'Please, dear friend,' invited the second dervish. 'Come and join us, if you wish.'
'Here,' said the second dervish, taking off his jacket and laying it on the grass. 'Sit down here.'
He stood up and raised his voice. 'Indeed, friends, come and join us one and all. And when it is ready, you may all savour the heaven-sent delights of our famous stone soup, renowned across the realm, from Bahl in the east to Cesil in the west. From Rinjan in the north to the capital in the south.'
Not one of the villagers made a move, though by now the whole of the small population were out on the green, standing there and looking on at this strange phenomenon.
'Come, come,' said the second dervish, dipping the long wooden spoon into the cauldron, raising it to his lips, sniffing the vapours and taking a small sip. 'Mmm .... How can anything with such a mouth-watering aroma and splendid taste, and made under the ever-watchful eye of the Good Lord, be in any way harmful to you. See, have I not tasted this delicious stone soup with my own lips? What more re-assurance do you need that we are here with the best possible intentions and, though yet strangers to you, that we mean you no harm, only good?'
'Come, my friend,' he smiled, offering the steaming spoon toward the girl. She stepped closer.
A gruff-looking hulk of a man, evidently the girl's father, rushed forward and stepped between the girl and the dervishes. 'No, stranger, let me taste this stone soup of yours first. Just to be on the safe side, eh? Not that I'm inferring that you're a liar or a sorcerer or anything like that ....'
The first dervish smiled and held out the spoon. 'Here, my friend, taste this stone soup, which is like no soup you have ever tasted before. Savour it.'
The man took the tiniest sip, then waited a moment. Then, finding that he had not in fact been transformed into a newt or turned into a pillar of salt, as he had imagined he might, he took another larger slurp and stood there for a time, unsure of quite what to say, without causing offence and without being thought an idiot for having such a coarse and indiscriminate palette.
Another, the man's wife, stepped forward now, snatched the wooden spoon from his hand and took a sip. Like him, she stood there for a time pondering. And then she spoke up. 'Kind sirs, this is indeed the most delicious soup I have ever tasted, but ...' she paused for a moment. 'If you will indulge me, I do believe that it would be an even finer soup were you to add a couple of onions. I have some fresh ones at home, straight out of our very own garden, if you can wait just a moment.'
Begging her leave, the woman dashed off down the village high street to her house and returned some short time later with the onions. She was about to drop them in the pot, when another of the villagers spoke up. 'Their juices might blend into the soup better, dear Grandma Hagathi, if the onions were cut up into small pieces.'
'Here,' said one of the young lads close-by. And he brought out a knife he carried with him and handed it to the woman. But when he saw that the woman's hands were terribly deformed by disease and that she could no longer hold a knife and safely cut, he sat down in the grass and began to cut the onions up.
'Hang on, I'll get you a board to cut the onions on', offered one of the others, and she dashed inside the inn to have a word with the cook.
Moments later, the cook himself came out to see what was going on. After all, with all the villagers outside, there was no trade in the inn to take care of.
He stepped forward and peered into the simmering cauldron as the lad added the diced onion.
'May I?' he asked, pointing toward the spoon, for he'd already heard of this allegedly famed stone soup from the others, and he wanted to check for himself whether it really was as good as had been made out.
'Help yourself. You'll taste no finer, squire,' the second dervish beamed.
The cook raised the spoon to his face, ran his nose over it to smell the bouquet, took a sip and swished the stone soup back and forth in his mouth, as his own master had instructed him as an apprentice.
'Hmm ....' the cook said.
The two dervishes had their hands clasped in front of them and they were looking to him in eager anticipation for his official seal of approval.
'Um, yes indeed, it is a delicate soup,' the cook began, not wishing to cause unnecessary offence. Besides, Lord only knows what might happen if these two strangers were angered.
'And do you know what, if you'll forgive my impertinence ....'
'Fire away,' agreed the first dervish.
'Well, I do believe that this fine stone soup would be even better - if such a thing is possible - were you to add a few wild mushrooms. Now, it just so happens if you can wait a few moments, I have the very thing in the kitchen. They'll only go to waste if they're not used.' And judging by the way trade had gone in the inn that evening, they would indeed be going to waste.
All this time, the first dervish was carefully tending the cauldron and sniffing the air and licking his lips. 'Mmm,' he'd say from time to time: 'It won't be long now. The finest stone soup you've ever tasted.'
By now, the villagers had largely lost their inhibitions toward the two strangers and they were all gathered closely around, waiting in eager anticipation. And every now and again, one of them would put on a brave face and ask for a sip. And then they'd say. 'Mmm. That is delicious. But it might be made even more delicious if we were to add some potatoes ....' or whatever.
'What about some tomatoes?', offered another, growing quite excited and eager with anticipation. And even the village butcher came to the camp fire himself and offered them some meat that he had left over.
... Until, shortly, by the contribution of a little by many, a hearty stew was made, upon which the entire village and the weary dervishes dined... and while doing so, shared their tales, talents, and camaraderie throughout the night.
The very next day, having left the magical stones in the safe-keeping of one of the village elders, the two dervishes (who by now could be called "strangers" no more), continued their journey, leaving the sleepy little village and its people behind. But the villagers never forgot them, and the lesson they had learned. In fact, during the hardest of times, in such a time as this tale, that little village thrived, because the village folk never forgot how to make "stone soup".
Such is the legend of the "Stone Soup".
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Image: Amashiga bakoresha muguteka bakayaterekako inkono / NathanRUZO / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0.
Image description: A large cooking pot, propped-up between two rocks over a camp fire.
