The Kotwal came with tears in his eyes and placed the royal command at the Khwaja Sahib’s feet. The Khwaja Sahib comforted him: ‘Son, I have seen the coming and going of many sultans. When I first came to Delhi, it was Ghiasuddin Balban. Thereafter there was Kaikobad and Jalaluddin Firoze; then there were Alauddin and Qutubuddin of the Khilji tribe followed by Nasiruddin. And now Ghiasuddin Tughlak. That makes seven. Kings come and kings go. The will of Allah is eternal’

The Kotwal did not understand the meaning hidden in the Khwaja Sahib’s words. ‘Beloved of God! You are more to me than my father and mother. The sultan is only three marches from Delhi. What am I to do?’ he wailed.

‘Go home in peace. Hunooz Dilli Door Ast! (It is a long way to Delhi),’ remarked the Khwaja Sahib.

As soon as the Kotwal returned to Shahr-i-Nau he received the news that the sultan had met with an accident. The next day runners brought the news of his death which had occurred when an archway he was passing under fell on him. This was in AD 1325. Allah is indeed the greatest of plotters and the strength of the feeble! And as the Khwaja Sahib had prophesied, the great citadel that Ghiasuddin had raised was soon deserted; the river Jamna receded from its walls and all its wells dried up. It became the abode of jackals, owls, bats and Gujars. Its once golden walls began to crumble—all that remained intact was the tomb in which Ghiasuddin Tughlak was buried—it was as if Allah wanted him to see what had happened to his dreams of glory.

God is the author of the Book of Destiny in which are written the past, the present and the future. God allowed our Khwaja Sahib to read the chapter on events to come. One day in his sermon the Khwaja Sahib said no one should ever fear death because it was a lover’s tryst with his Beloved. ‘For ninety years I have been separated from Allah,’ he said, ‘but every hour of every day of those ninety years I have longed to be reunited with Him.’

His words cast a gloom over Ghiaspur. I sought audience with the Khwaja Sahib. When I came before him I broke down and wept. ‘If it is for me you cry,’ he said, ‘be assured you will follow us soon. And your wife will not linger in this caravanserai very long after you.’

I cried, ‘O Beloved of God! Take us with you so that we may continue to serve you in paradise.’

I became very low in spirits. Much as I told myself that life was no longer worth living because I could hardly see or walk unaided and that death would be a release from the sufferings of old age, I was afraid of dying. I would prefer being ill and in pain than going into the dreaded kingdom of Yama. I did not desire union with the Beloved; my toothless Ram Dulari was good enough for me.