There was a landlord near Dhaka called Bhoomia, and he was a robber.
He robbed people on the road by day and broke into their houses by night, with a whole household of men to help him. And with the money he kept an open kitchen, where anybody could come and eat for nothing, and nobody was ever turned away.
He had told the town: if a holy man or a traveller comes, do not feed him. Send him to my house. Anybody who feeds a guest themselves, I will rob.
He honestly believed the kitchen made it all right. The robbing paid for the feeding, and the feeding cancelled the robbing, and so, he thought, he was a good man.
One day Guru Nanak Dev Ji came to that town.
The first householder he met would have loved to take him in, and did not dare, and walked him miserably to Bhoomia's gate instead, thinking: that man has stolen our money, and now he has stolen our chance to do any good with our own hands.
Bhoomia came out himself, delighted, and sat his guest down in the best room, and washed his feet, and said: the food is ready, please eat.
And Guru Ji said: bless you. First tell me. What is your trade.
Bhoomia opened his mouth to lie, and could not do it. He stood there with those eyes on him and out came the truth, all of it. I rob people by day, he said, and break into their houses at night. But I use the money well. Everybody who comes here eats.
Bless you, said Guru Ji. You have told the truth.
Now come and eat.
I cannot eat here, said Guru Ji. You have told me yourself that your trade is a bad one.
But it goes to a good cause.
The people you take it from cry, said Guru Ji. Good fruit does not grow from bad seed.
Bhoomia thought about it, and then he said something braver than a lie.
I cannot stop, he said. My father did this. My grandfather did this. It is in my blood, and I would be telling you another untruth if I promised you I could give it up.
Guru Ji looked at this man who would not even lie to make himself sound better, and did not scold him. He gave him three things to promise instead.
Always tell the truth.
Be merciful to the poor, and do not make them suffer.
And never do harm to anybody whose salt you have eaten.
That is all. Bhoomia promised, and Guru Ji went on his way, and never told him his name.
Now watch what those three promises did.
He went out robbing again, of course. But now, when he saw the faces of the people he robbed, he minded. That had never happened before. So he decided to rob only the rich. But it is very hard to tell, from outside a house, who is rich.
So he decided to rob one house only, an enormous one, enough to keep him for two years, and leave everybody else alone.
He chose the king's palace.
He got in. And then he remembered that he had eaten the king's salt, long ago, and a promise is a promise, so he came away without a single coin.
Next morning the king's men began beating the local poor people to find out who had broken in.
So Bhoomia walked into the palace and told the king it had been him.
The king could hardly believe it. Nobody suspects you, he said. Why have you come.
Because your men are hurting poor people for something I did, said Bhoomia. And because I promised somebody I would not lie.
Then the king heard the whole story, and sat quiet a long time.
I could put you in prison, he said. But prison is full of thieves, and you would only learn more thieving. Whoever gave you those three promises has already sentenced you better than I could. You cannot rob the poor, because you pity them now. You cannot rob the rich, because you would be asked and you would tell. Go home. I am watching you.
And in time Bhoomia stopped robbing altogether, and became a good man, and the king made him a minister.
Goodnight. He never could give up robbing. He only gave up lying, and it turned out that was enough.