Harun was an honest and truthful man. As light faded from the sky, he began to think of the elegant dinner being prepared by the women of his house. He had been thinking of food for a long time, because it was Ramadan, and he was fasting. Since a small breakfast before sunrise, he had not eaten, nor tasted any liquid.

When the time to eat came at last, the family sat around the table while Harun offered a short prayer of gratitude. The women passed the many delicious dishes across the table to him. He ate slowly, starting with the steamed rice and vegetables. He savoured the texture and taste, letting his tongue linger over the food as he chewed.

Suddenly Harun noticed something in his mouth. His tongue told him there could be a foreign object in the food. At first, try as he might, he could not find the strange object again. "Perhaps I was mistaken," he thought. But no, after a time, there it was. Yes, there was something foreign in the food. He recognised the familiar sensations of a hair.

It was a long straight hair. It was not the hair of a horse. Nor was it the hair of a camel. It was not the hair of a sheep, nor the characteristic hair of a goat. He decided it was a human hair; long, slender, smooth and straight. He looked about the table as he slowly and gently separated the hair from the food with his tongue and teeth.

He looked at the long black hair of his wife, and at the long straight hair of the other women, considering how he was going to bring this delicate matter to their attention. There had been hairs before, and the subject was discussed, but apparently too lightly. This time, thought Harun, I must make more of a show. There is the important factor of hygiene, and potential illness. As he chewed, he pictured the long black hair in his mouth, carefully considering and constructing in his mind the words and tone he would use to make the necessary impression.

Only after the long hair was clean of entangling food, did Harun slowly bring his fingers up to his lips. He pushed the hair forward, so that he could grasp it between his fingers. He did this with a deliberate and serious air, pinching it from the tip of his tongue. He affected a calculated movement, though with no hint of a theatrical flourish. He wanted to appear dignified, rejecting an earlier, fleeting option of drawing the hair firmly from between his pursed lips sharply upward toward the sky. He rejected this as too theatric. He must do the thing with dignity.

The public display of the long black hair was rehearsed in his mind, along with the opening remarks he would make. He must use a gentle tone, neither angry nor admonitory. It was, after all, Ramadan, and he did not wish to hurt their feelings by his rebuke, no matter how much it was deserved.

When he felt the time was right, Harun guided the hair with the tip of his tongue, pushing it forward between his lips. He held it delicately between his fingers. He slowly drew it forward, looking to see if he was being observed.

At this moment, Harun felt a sharp painful tug at his cheek. He was temporarily distracted, but continued to pull the hair. When he pulled, the pain from his cheek increased. Suddenly he made the connection ... the hair was in his own beard. He looked down, and saw the offending long straight white hair.

Harun instantly changed plans. He released the hair. Lowering his eyes, he decided to say nothing, furtively stroking his beard into place. Reflecting, he started at how close he came to making a false accusation. He blushed to think what a fool he would seem if he made his little speech before extricating the hair, as was an earlier notion.

After a while, Harun began to smile and chuckle at himself. The women asked what was so funny. Harun told them about the hair, embellishing the story in places. They had a good laugh together. Later, Harun repeated the story to friends over coffee, and again he had a good laugh. They too laughed at hearing his story, and carried it on their travels. The story of Harun and his hair became a legend. It survived him, taking on an active life of its own.

Thus, by means of a misplaced hair in his beard, and a simple devotion to truth and honesty, Harun became a famous man, with a modest measure of immortality.