Nasrudin was walking past a well, when he had the impulse 
to look into it. It was night, and as he peered into the deep water, 
he saw the Moon’s reflection there.
   ‘I must save the Moon!’ the Mulla thought. ‘Otherwise she will 
never wane, and the fasting month of Ramadan will never come 
to an end.’
   He found a rope, threw it in, and called down: ‘Hold tight; keep 
bright; succor is at hand!’
   The rope caught in a rock inside the well, and Nasrudin heaved 
as hard as he could. Straining back, he suddenly felt the rope give 
as it came loose, and he was thrown on his back. As he lay there, 
panting, he saw the Moon riding in the sky above.
   ‘Glad to be of service,’ said Nasrudin. ‘Just as well I came along, 
wasn’t it?’