Terrible Joke

Once upon a time, there was a monastery high in the Himalayas. One night, a storm blew up and a traveller came knocking at the door of the monastery, asking to shelter from the weather.
"Certainly," the lama said, and invited him in. "It's almost dark, so why don't you stay the night here until the storm abates?"
The traveller gratefully accepted. After a very welcome dinner, the traveller spent the evening telling the monks of his adventures, while the monks told him stories of their own and helped him to join in their meditation and prayers.
The lama showed the traveller to the bedroom next to his own, sparsely furnished with a bunk and a small altar, and they wished each other a good night.
The lama sat in his room in perfect silence, finished his evening meditation, blew out his candle and climbed into bed. No sooner had his head touched the bunk that he heard:

click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping...

...coming from the next room. "How strange," he thought. "Still, it's only quiet. I expect it's some practice the guy has where he comes from. We do our meditations, he does... whatever that is. I must be accepting of it." So he rolled over and settled down to sleep.

click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping...

He could still hear it through the wall, keeping him awake.
"Okay, breathe deeply, recognise its existence and gently put it out of your mind. Nothing is worth making a fuss about. The Buddha wouldn't get upset over a silly noise." And he tried to meditate and rise above the annoying sound.

click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping...

The next morning, the lama had had no sleep at all. He caught himself feeling a little grumpy at morning prayers and found it hard to concentrate on his reading, but he put it out of his mind. At breakfast, the traveller and all the other monks seemed perfectly well rested. Had he just imagined that noise that kept him up the entire night? Perhaps he had.
The storm had still raged on all that day, so the traveller asked if he could stay another night. "Why not," said the lama. "We're always open to those in need." But also, he was darkly curious if he would hear that noise again.
That night, the lama put his ear to the wall. Nothing - perfect silence. So he blew out his candle and climbed into bed, and felt himself start to drift off to sleep...

click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping...

"Not again!" he grumbled. "But," he told himself, "I must not give in to anger. Lamas all through history have dealt with far worse than this and stayed calm. How can I face the monks if I get angry over a bit of noise?"

click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping...

At around 3AM after another sleepless night and having exhausted every yogic technique he knew to calm himself down, the lama had had enough.
"Maybe just finding out what's making that noise would put my mind at ease. It would be wrong to spy on him, but it's better than getting so angry with the poor man."
So the lama got up, and as soon as his feet touched the floor, the sound stopped. He gathered his robes, opened the dor and snuck out into the corridor. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he turned the corner to the traveller's room and slowly eased the door open a crack.
He peered through into the dark room to see the traveller lying asleep in his bunk, as if nothing had happened. Nothing had changed in the room; there was the bed, and there was the altar with the picture of the Buddha looking back at the lama. He felt a twinge of guilt, and looked away. All that was new was the traveller's small knapsack, sitting at the foot of of the bed.
"Forgive me," the lama said to himself as he crept into the room, knelt down and opened the traveller's bag.
In the darkness, he could barely make out the small collection of objects in there. But as he groped around in the bag, he felt: a smooth apple, a dimpled orange and a short piece of hairy string. There were no pockets on the bag, and nothing else in the room. An apple, an orange, and a piece of string.
The lama went back to bed, more confused and upset than ever. By now the sun was coming up and he'd had another whole night with no sleep, and he'd broken his vow to abstain from taking that which was not his - he'd rifled through their guest's belongings. And to add insult to injury, as soon as he climbed back into bed, again he heard...

click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping... click... clack... fiddly... ping...

...and wept softly into his sheets.

That morning at breakfast, the lama, with eyes red and streaming, approached the traveller.
"Please. I'm so sorry. I have to confess. Last night, I looked through your things."
The traveller grabbed his sleeve and took him aside, away from the other monks. "What?" he hissed. "Don't think I don't appreciate your hospitality, but why would you invade my privacy like that?"
The lama broke down in tears. "I just had to find out what was making that awful sound. Click... Clack... Fiddly... Ping. It's kept me awake two nights now. I can feel myself losing my mental resolve. Everything I studied for and dedicated my life to is slipping away from me, I had to know what's making that sound!"
"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise it was keeping anyone awake. Please, you should have said. It's just... very personal to me."
"I see," said the lama.
The sky was clearing, and there were even a few patches of blue amongst the stormclouds.
"I suppose I'll be moving on this afternoon. Thank-you for letting me stay, I'm so sorry about the noise," the traveller said, and headed back to his room to get his bag.
"Wait! Before you leave... please, would you tell me what you were doing all night? How you made those noises with an apple, an orange, and a piece of string?"
The traveller locked eyes with the lama. "Rinpoche, you must understand, this is deeply personal and private for me. I will tell you, but you must swear to never tell another living soul."

And because the lama was a good, holy man, he kept his word.