In old Persia, a shaman and his apprentice are walking in the dusty foothills. Rounding the flank of the hillside, they see in the distance the stooped figure of an old man coming toward them. The apprentice, having studied hard with the shaman for ten years, is eager to show his skills. He bounds ahead of the shaman and runs up to the old man. "Sir, I know what's wrong with you, I know, and what you need for what ails you is pomegranates!" The old man brushes him aside, irritated. He looks exhausted and despondent. Soon he reaches the shaman, who says, "Kind sir, you look tired. Pray stop awhile and share some tea -my eager apprentice here will gather us some kindling, and we can make a refreshment." The old man readily agrees to this warm offer.
It takes an hour to light the fire, unpack the kettle, suffuse mountain water from a spring half a mile away with tea chipped off his tea brick. Holding his own counsel, the shaman by his very silence, allows the old man to speak. It begins backward: where he is going today, which touches on his wife who died, to their wedding, to his father's farmhouse in spring. He tells his life story.
By the time they are packing up, ready to leave, the shaman turns to the old man and, in a soft, kindly voice, asks his permission to make a suggestion regarding his health. The shaman makes a deft, calming gesture with his hands; it is like a little ritual. The old man gratefully agrees.
"Sir, what you need for what ails you is pomegranates," says the shaman. The old man bows in gratitude, and gives the shaman three silver coins from his woven purse. He walks off, a different lift to his walk.
As soon as the old man is out of earshot, the apprentice, no longer able to contain himself, speaks up: "But I told him that. I told him that immediately!" "Yes," answered the shaman, "you were right, he did need pomegranates. But he needed pomegranates, and time."
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