As the winter was slowly setting in Delhi on an October morning in 1325, Khusro breathed his last, sitting by the side of his beloved master, Hazrat Nizamuddin, in Delhi. Later he was buried next to his master, just as he desired.
I wrote a fictional account of the last few months of his life inspired by his famous lines in Farsi.
"Mun tu shudam tu mun shudi,mun tun shudam tu jaan shudi
Taakas na guyad baad azeen, mun deegaram tu deegari"
It roughly translates in English to:
_"I have become you, and you me,
I am the body, you soul;
So that no one can say hereafter,
That you are someone, and me someone else.” _
amir khusrow hazrat nizamuddin story death
An old man praying at Nizamuddin's dargah
The last few tormenting days of my life
When the sun was slowing rising on my last day of the trip, I had a vision. It was a blur of images, and most of them had my Master calling out to me, holding my hand and guiding me, His holy voice revealing the eternal truth, His cold kisses telling me how much he loved me, more than anyone else, and how I came just next to the supreme Allah. These visions told me nothing, just pressed me to move faster and not waste even a moment more on the journey. I entertained no guests, including Sultan's messengers who were waiting patiently for me at the gates of Delhi.
As I walked closer to my master's home, I saw faces all around, men and women, old and young, friends and enemies, all covered in tears, some silent in grief, others wailing. They were waiting for me, but didn't know how to approach to me, what to tell me. Leaving my horse on the side, I ran on my bare feet, to the doors of my God. There were flowers everywhere, some on the walls, others crushed on the ground, and the air heavy with the smell of incense. As I got closer, I could hear Alam's distant voice singing praises to the Master, often breaking down and wailing in grief. As the truth dawned upon me, I ran even faster.
Throwing my turban on the side and my coat on the side, I ran barefoot. I was late already, and my grief knew no boundaries. Delirious with emotions I hadn't experienced before, I tore all my clothes and collapsed on the floor, crying my heart out - calling out to him, crying out to him. No one came close to me, no one consoles me, for they knew they were not a part of the moment anymore. Life as I knew it was already over, what remained was just my lifeless body...
For the next six months, I saw nothing but an image of my master, peace be upon him, heard nothing but his sweet voice singing praise to Allah. Everything else was a blur - like a make-believe world, a world which didn't actually exist. Then finally when He couldn't take it anymore, he decided it was time for me to let go, of everything that was holding me back. It was time for me to be reunited and become one with my Master.
Khusrow's poetry is often full of love and it's hard not to relate to all that he said centuries ago. I admire his work greatly and here's another couplet which I personally love:
"Khusrau darya prem ka, ulti wa ki dhaar,
Jo utra so doob gaya, jo dooba so paar."
English translation:
Oh Khusrau, the river of love,
Runs in strange directions.
One who jumps into it drowns,
And one who drowns, gets across.