Delhi by Khushwant Singh Page B

the hem of his cloak or touch his feet. The
dervishes
had to make a cordon to protect him from the surging crowd. The bazaars were decorated with arches with banners saying
Khush Amdeed
(welcome). Women crowded on the roof-tops showered rose-petals on him. Men smothered him in garlands. A huge procession led by parties of
qawwals
wound its way through the main bazaar of Mehrauli to the mausoleum of Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki. The Khwaja Sahib begged to be left alone. He went down into one of the cells in the basement of Auliya Masjid and bolted the door from the inside.
    At night we heard the rumble of clouds. Mehrauli which had not had a drop of rain during the monsoon season had a heavy shower in autumn. May the mouths of unbelievers be stuffed with dung!
    The following Thursday, I took Kamal and Ram Dulari to have
darshan
of the Khwaja Sahib. Such a crowd I had never witnessed at Ghiaspur! It was very hot and my throat was parched. The Khwaja Sahib’s words were like nectar cooled in mountain streams of paradise.
    There is only one God though we call Him by different names. There are innumerable ways of approaching Him. Let everyone follow the way he thinks best for him. His path may lead to the mosque or the tabernacle, to a temple full of idols or to a solitary cave in the wilderness. What path you take is not important; what is important is the manner in which you tread it. If you have no love in your heart then the best path will lead you into the maze of deception.’ He told us of an incident from the life of the Prophet Musa. Musa heard a poor shepherd praying: ‘Where art Thou that I may serve Thee? I will mend Thy boots, comb Thy hair, give Thee milk from my goats.’ Musa reprimanded the shepherd for so speaking to God. God in His turn reprimanded Musa. ‘Thou hast driven away one of my true servants.’
    It was again to the Prophet Musa that Allah conveyed the essence of true religion. The Almighty said. ‘I was sick, and you did not come to see me. I was hungry, and you did not give me food.’ Musa asked ‘My God, can you also be sick and hungry?’ God replied ‘My servant so-and-so was sick, and my servant so-and-so was hungry. If you had visited one and fed the other, you would have found me with them.’
    The Khwaja Sahib made us memorize some Sufi catechisms:
     
    Who is the wisest of wise men?
    One who rejects the world.
    Who is the saintliest of all saints?
    One who refuses to change with changing circumstances.
    Who is the richest of rich men?
    One who is content.
    Who is the neediest of the needy?
    One who has no contentment.
     
    How to be content? I asked myself. The Khwaja Sahib heard the question I had asked only in my heart. ‘Reduce your wants to the barest minimum, conquer your
nafs
.’
    By the time we came out, the sun had gone behind the walls of the hospice. Kamal had fallen asleep in my lap.
Ekkawallas
were clamouring to get back to Mehrauli.
    These were dangerous times. We had to pass through villages inhabited by Jats and Gujars who were notorious robbers. We formed a party of ten or twelve
ekkas
; two dozen men armed with swords and spears rode on either side. We reached Mehrauli without any untoward incident.
    It had been a long day. I put Kamal to bed. Ram Dulari brought me a tumbler of milk which I was in the habit of drinking before retiring. I drew her on my lap. She protested: ‘All day you hear sermons on controlling your passions: but as soon as it gets dark you want to do this.’
    ‘Aree
! How stupid can you be! All day you hear sermons about love; but by the evening you forget everything you heard.’
    ‘The Khwaja Sahib did not mean this kind of love,’ she replied. ‘Hasn’t he often said, “If you want to approach God, you must first conquer your desires.” Is this how you overcome your
nafs
?’ she asked pressing her bottom on my middle. ‘You will never achieve union with God this way,’ she giggled.
    ‘Let us first achieve union between ourselves; we