In Baghdad, there lived a man who had inherited great wealth. As he was young and inexperienced, he spent frivolously and was soon penniless. On the verge of becoming homeless, he turned to God, begging to be saved and to recover his wealth. He cried endlessly, feeling remorseful that he had wasted what had passed of his life and had nothing to show for it.
One day, having exhausted himself with many hours of lamenting and weeping, the young man fell asleep and had a dream. In his dream, a voice advised him to go to Egypt, where he was certain to find a great treasure that had been hidden for many years. What was keeping him, the voice persisted; why didn't he wake up and just go?
The man woke up in a strange mood, still trying to process the odd dream he'd just had. He thought, with nothing more to lose, why not join the first caravan that was headed for Egypt? And that's exactly what he did.
After several days, he arrived in Cairo, destitute, hungry, and unable to secure shelter. He was too embarrassed to beg openly, fearful even in this foreign city that he might bump into someone familiar from his more carefree days. Thus, he decided to wait for the cover of darkness before exposing his plight so that he could remain faceless. Although practically dying of hunger, he struggled with the humility of having to beg. Back and forth he went, undecided about how to approach people, and before he knew it, much of the night had passed.
The previous week, there had been a few robberies in the neighborhood where the man had ended up, and the police were on guard, having been reprimanded by the mayor for being too lenient on criminals. They were ordered to arrest anyone who might look suspicious, even if the detainee happened to be a relative of the caliph. The punishment for theft was nothing less than the amputation of one's arm! The police felt considerable pressure to find culprits, even if they weren't sure that a suspect was actually guilty.
When they saw the poor man from Baghdad cowering in a dark corner off the street and shivering in the cold night air, they were relentless and beat him mercilessly. The man cried out, begging them to allow him to explain why he was there, and finally one of the policemen took pity on him and stopped the others from beating him further.
“Go on, then, you've one minute to explain what you're doing out in the streets in the middle of the night! You don't look like you're from here. Tell me, what's your game?”
“I'm not a common thief,” whimpered the man helplessly. “I don't go around robbing people. I'm from Baghdad and a stranger in your city.”
Without further ado, the young man related his dream about the treasure; the policeman, detecting a hint of honesty in his story, felt sorry and kindly advised him: “I can see that you're not a thief or a criminal, but you're not very intelligent, are you? How could you come all this way just because of a dream you had?”
The poor man felt ashamed and lowered his eyes painfully. The policeman continued: “I, too, have dreamed many times that there's a great treasure buried in a neighborhood in Baghdad, in the basement of a house that belongs to a Mr. X. Do you think I should've given up everything and just gone there?”
The young man heard his name uttered by the policeman in disbelief. To make sure he had heard correctly, he asked him to repeat the name of the person in Baghdad he had just mentioned. When he heard his name spoken again, he was ecstatic but tried not to show it. He begged the policemen's forgiveness and, the next morning, contentedly started making his way back to Baghdad, wondering all the way why he had insisted on taking such an arduous journey, tolerating such hardship and deprivation, to find out in the end that what he sought had been safe in his own home all along!