the names of the
omarah
and princes of royal blood who paid homage to Siddi. They said Siddi Maula did not care a cowrie shell for worldly wealth or power and had even turned down the post of chief
qazi
. They said that the daughters of noble houses were eager to marry him but he would not have any of them.
‘Ya Allah
! What kind of
dervish
is this?’ I asked myself: ‘One foot in God’s boat and the other in the courts of kings! Maybe he is one of those who wear the cloak of humility to cover designs of power!’
I saw Siddi Maula and at once knew he was not fit to kiss the dust of the feet of my
peer
, Nizamuddin. He was a rascally looking fellow with a glossy black beard and moustaches that curled up like scorpion tails. He assumed the airs of an aristocrat and was forever sniffing at a perfumed swab of cotton. Although he was a young man, he had developed a paunch. Even a blind man could see that this Siddi did not believe in fasting or overcoming his
nafs
(desires). He was so busy giving counsel to the rich that he had little time left for the poor. He was a proud man. Of the proud, Mustatraf has said:
Tell this fool whose arrogance makes his neck veins swell!
Pride corrupts religion, weakens the mind, destroys
reputations. So take heed!
It is truly said that a country cannot have two kings any more than a scabbard hold two swords. In Delhi we had the Khilji, Jalaluddin Firoze. And we had Siddi Maula who was known to be conspiring with one of the sultan’s sons to overthrow the sultan. It had to be one or the other.
How the old sultan outwitted the
dervish
is quite a story. He got some people to lodge a report that the
dervish
had promised to help a faction inimical to the sultan and had in turn been promised the hand of a young, beautiful princess. No sooner did this charge reach the sultan than he ordered the arrest of Siddi Maula. I was in the
kotwali
when Siddi Maula and a score of his followers were brought in handcuffs. Their feet were in irons. I knew blood would flow and Siddi Maula would curse anyone who sided with his enemies. Why risk the anger of a
dervish
even a false one! I wrote a petition to the
Kotwal
Sahib begging leave for three days as my bowels had suddenly become loose and the
hakeem
had advised rest.
I learnt of what passed with Siddi Maula from the clerks who came to enquire about my health.
Kotwal
Sahib had tried to extort a confession from Siddi Maula. He had him beaten, his testicles squeezed, red hot chillies pushed up his anus, his mouth filled with shit and urine. But Siddi Maula had refused to speak. The sultan was very angry. ‘Make him and his followers walk through fire. If they come out alive, I will believe they are innocent and let them go,’ he said. The next day a huge funeral pyre was prepared near village Baharpur not far from Mehrauli. I could not miss this sight as Siddi Maula was reputed to be able to perform miracles.
The sultan came to watch the spectacle. The pyre was set on fire. Just as the Siddi and his followers were being pushed towards it, the sultan lost his nerve. He sent for the
ulema
and asked them if an ordeal by fire had the sanction of the holy law. The
ulema
shook their heads. ‘It is the nature of fire to burn,’ they said. The sultan cancelled the order and returned to his palace. Siddi Maula and his men were flogged back to the
kotwali.
The sultan turned his wrath on the
Kotwal
Sahib. ‘If you can’t make him talk, send him to us. We will make him open his vile mouth.’
Despite Ram Dulari’s remonstrations that I should stay at home I joined a party of clerks going to Shahr-i-Nau—the new city going up in the vicinity of the Qasr-i-hazaar Sutoon, the palace of a thousand pillars.
Siddi Maula and his gang were already present in the Hall of Public Audience when the sultan took his seat. The sultan was in a very bad mood. The way he talked showed clearly that his mind was as infirm as his body, ‘Confess your crimes,’ he
omarah
and princes of royal blood who paid homage to Siddi. They said Siddi Maula did not care a cowrie shell for worldly wealth or power and had even turned down the post of chief
qazi
. They said that the daughters of noble houses were eager to marry him but he would not have any of them.
‘Ya Allah
! What kind of
dervish
is this?’ I asked myself: ‘One foot in God’s boat and the other in the courts of kings! Maybe he is one of those who wear the cloak of humility to cover designs of power!’
I saw Siddi Maula and at once knew he was not fit to kiss the dust of the feet of my
peer
, Nizamuddin. He was a rascally looking fellow with a glossy black beard and moustaches that curled up like scorpion tails. He assumed the airs of an aristocrat and was forever sniffing at a perfumed swab of cotton. Although he was a young man, he had developed a paunch. Even a blind man could see that this Siddi did not believe in fasting or overcoming his
nafs
(desires). He was so busy giving counsel to the rich that he had little time left for the poor. He was a proud man. Of the proud, Mustatraf has said:
Tell this fool whose arrogance makes his neck veins swell!
Pride corrupts religion, weakens the mind, destroys
reputations. So take heed!
It is truly said that a country cannot have two kings any more than a scabbard hold two swords. In Delhi we had the Khilji, Jalaluddin Firoze. And we had Siddi Maula who was known to be conspiring with one of the sultan’s sons to overthrow the sultan. It had to be one or the other.
How the old sultan outwitted the
dervish
is quite a story. He got some people to lodge a report that the
dervish
had promised to help a faction inimical to the sultan and had in turn been promised the hand of a young, beautiful princess. No sooner did this charge reach the sultan than he ordered the arrest of Siddi Maula. I was in the
kotwali
when Siddi Maula and a score of his followers were brought in handcuffs. Their feet were in irons. I knew blood would flow and Siddi Maula would curse anyone who sided with his enemies. Why risk the anger of a
dervish
even a false one! I wrote a petition to the
Kotwal
Sahib begging leave for three days as my bowels had suddenly become loose and the
hakeem
had advised rest.
I learnt of what passed with Siddi Maula from the clerks who came to enquire about my health.
Kotwal
Sahib had tried to extort a confession from Siddi Maula. He had him beaten, his testicles squeezed, red hot chillies pushed up his anus, his mouth filled with shit and urine. But Siddi Maula had refused to speak. The sultan was very angry. ‘Make him and his followers walk through fire. If they come out alive, I will believe they are innocent and let them go,’ he said. The next day a huge funeral pyre was prepared near village Baharpur not far from Mehrauli. I could not miss this sight as Siddi Maula was reputed to be able to perform miracles.
The sultan came to watch the spectacle. The pyre was set on fire. Just as the Siddi and his followers were being pushed towards it, the sultan lost his nerve. He sent for the
ulema
and asked them if an ordeal by fire had the sanction of the holy law. The
ulema
shook their heads. ‘It is the nature of fire to burn,’ they said. The sultan cancelled the order and returned to his palace. Siddi Maula and his men were flogged back to the
kotwali.
The sultan turned his wrath on the
Kotwal
Sahib. ‘If you can’t make him talk, send him to us. We will make him open his vile mouth.’
Despite Ram Dulari’s remonstrations that I should stay at home I joined a party of clerks going to Shahr-i-Nau—the new city going up in the vicinity of the Qasr-i-hazaar Sutoon, the palace of a thousand pillars.
Siddi Maula and his gang were already present in the Hall of Public Audience when the sultan took his seat. The sultan was in a very bad mood. The way he talked showed clearly that his mind was as infirm as his body, ‘Confess your crimes,’ he
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