Among the disciples there was a hunchback, a devout man, and a player on the tambourine, whom Jelāl loved.

On the occasion of a festival, this poor man beat his tambourine and shouted in ecstasy to an unusual degree. Jelāl was also greatly moved in the spirit with the holy dance.

Approaching the hunchback, he said to him: “Why erectest thou not thyself like the rest?” The infirmity of the hunch was pleaded. Jelāl then patted him on the back, and stroked him down. The poor man immediately arose, erect and graceful as a cypress.

When he went home, his wife refused him admittance, denying that he was her husband. His companions came, and bare witness to her of what had happened. Then she was convinced, let him in, and the couple lived together for many years afterwards.

It was once remarked to Jelāl, with respect to the burial service for the dead, that, from the earliest times, it had been usual for certain prayers and Qur'ānic recitations to be said at the grave and round the corpse; but, that people could not understand why he had introduced into the ceremony the practice of singing hymns during the pro­cession towards the place of burial, which canonists had pronounced to be a mischievous innovation.

Jelāl replied: “The ordinary reciters, by their services, bear witness that the deceased lived a Muslim. My singers, however, testify that he was a Muslim, a believer and a lover of God.”

He added also: “Besides that; when the human spirit, after years of imprisonment in the cage and dungeon of the body, is at length set free, and wings its flight to the source whence it came, is not this an occasion for rejoicings, thanks, and dancings? The soul, in ecstasy, soars to the presence of the Eternal; and stirs up others to make proof of courage and self-sacrifice. If a prisoner be released from a dungeon and be clothed with honour, who would doubt that rejoicings are proper? So, too, the death of a saint is an exactly parallel case.

One of Jelāl's chief disciples related that, when he first began to study under that teacher, a company of pilgrims from Mekka came to Qonya, and among them was a very handsome young man of this latter city, son to one of the chief professors there.

This young man brought rich presents to Jelāl, and gifts for the disciples, relating to the latter the following adventure:—

“We were travelling in the desert of Arabia, and I chanced to fall asleep. The caravan went on without me. When I awoke, I found myself alone in the track­less sands. I knew not which way to turn. I wept and lamented for a considerable time, took a direction at hazard, and walked until I was thoroughly exhausted.

“To my surprise and joy I espied a large tent at a distance, with a great smoke rising by it. I made for the tent, and there encountered a most formidable-looking personage, to whom I related my misadventure. He bid me welcome, asked me in, and invited me to rest myself. Within the tent I observed a large kettle, full of fresh-cooked sweetmeat of the finest kind, and a plentiful supply of cool clear water.

“My wonder was great. I asked my host what these preparations might mean, and he answered: “I am a dis­ciple of the great Jelālu-'d-Dīn of Qonya, son of Bahā'u-'d-Dīn of Balkh. He is used to pass by here every day. I have therefore pitched this tent for him, and I prepare this food. Perchance, he may honour and bless me with his presence, partaking of hospitality here.'

“As he yet spake, in walked Jelāl. We saluted; and he was begged to partake of the food. He took a little morsel, no larger than a filbert, giving me some also. I fell at his feet, and told him I was from Qonya on pilgrimage, and had missed the caravan by falling asleep. ‘Well,’ answered he, ‘as we are fellow-townsmen, be of good cheer.’ He then bade me close my eyes. I did so; and on opening them again I found myself in the midst of my companions of the caravan. I am now come here, on my return home in safety, to offer my thanks for that miraculous kindness, and to profess myself a disciple of the holy man.”

A man of great learning came once to visit Jelāl. By way of a test, he asked Jelāl two questions: “Is it correct to speak of God as ‘a living soul?’ since God hath said (Qur'ān iii. 182): ‘Every living soul shall taste death!’” and: “If one ought not to call God ‘a living soul,’ what did Jesus mean when he said (Qur'ān v. 116): ‘Thou knowest what is in my soul, but I know not what is in Thy soul’?” The second question was: “Can God properly be called ‘a thing’? If He can be so called, what is the signification of His word (Qur'ān xxviii. 88): ‘Every thing shall perish, save His cause’?”

Jelāl immediately replied: “‘But I know not what is in Thy soul’ means in Thy knowledge, in Thy absentness, or, as we seers say, in Thy secrecy. Thus the passage would be paraphrased: Thou knowest what is in my secrecy; but I know not what is in the secret of Thy secrecy; or, as ‘the people of heart’ would put it: Thou knowest what issues from me in the world; but I know not the secret of what issues from Thee in the world to come. It is quite proper to speak of God as ‘a thing;’ for He hath said (Qur'ān vi. 19): ‘What thing is greatest in testimony? Say thou: “God;”’ i.e., God is the greatest thing in testimony; ‘God will be a witness between me and you in the day of the resurrec­tion.’ The signification of the passage ‘Every thing shall perish’ is; every crcated thing shall perish; not the Creator, i.e., ‘save He.’ The thing excepted from the general category is ‘He.’ But God knows best.”

The man of learning instantly professed himself a dis­ciple, and composed a panegyric on Jelāl.

The legend goes that Jelāl made a practice of seeing the new moon of the Arabian new year, and always uttered the following prayer on seeing it:—“O our Lord God! Thou art the Past-eternal One, the Future-eternal One, the Ancient One! This is a new year. I beg of Thee therein steadfastness to withstand the lapidated Satan,* and assistance against the rebellious spirit (within me); also, occupation in what will approximate me to Thee, and an avoidance of what might elongate me from Thee. O God! O the All-merciful One, the All-compassionate One! Through Thy mercy, O Most-compassionate of the merciful ones! O thou Lord of majesty and of honour!”

It is related that Jelāl cured one of his disciples of an intermittent fever by writing down the following invoca­tion on paper, washing off the ink in water, and giving this to the patient to drink; who was, under God's favour, immediately relieved from the malady:—“O Mother of the sleek one (a nickname of the tertian ague)! If thou hast believed in God, the Most Great, make not the head to ache; vitiate not the swallow; eat not the flesh; drink not the blood; and depart thou out of So-and-So, betaking thyself to some one who attributes to God partners of other false gods. And I bear witness that there is not any god save God, and I testify that Muhammed is His servant and apostle.”

One day Jelāl paid a visit to a great Sheykh. He was received with the utmost respect, and seated with the Sheykh on the same carpet, both together falling into ecstatic heart-communion with the world of spirits.

A certain dervish was there present also, who had repeatedly performed the pilgrimage at Mekka. The dervish addressed Jelāl, and inquired: “What is poverty?” Jelāl returned no answer; and the question was thrice repeated.

When Jelāl took his leave, the great Sheykh accom­panied him to the street door. On his return to his room, he reprimanded the dervish severely for his insolent intru­sion on the guest; “especially,” said the Sheykh, “as he fully answered thy question the first time thou puttest it.” The dervish, surprised, asked what the answer had been. “The poor man,” said the Sheykh, “when he hath known God, hath his tongue tied. That is being a real dervish; who, when in the presence of saints, speaks not; neither with the tongue, nor with the heart. This is what is sig­nified by (Qur'ān xlvi. 28): ‘Hold ye your peace.’ But now, prepare thyself for thy end. Thou art struck by a shaft from heaven.”

Three days later, the dervish was met by a gang of reprobates, who attacked and killed him, carrying off every thing he had about him. Salve fac nos, Domine!

In the days of Jelāl there was in Qonya a lady-saint, named Fakhru-'n-Nisā (the Glory of Women). She was known to all the holy men of the time, who were all aware of her sanctity. Miracles were wrought by her in countless numbers. She constantly attended the meet­ings at Jelāl's home, and he occasionally paid her a visit at her house.

Her friends suggested to her that she ought to go and perform the pilgrimage at Mekka; but she would not undertake this duty unless she should first consult with Jelāl about it. Accordingly she went to see him. As she entered his presence, before she spoke, he called out to her: “Oh, most happy idea! May thy journey be prosper­ous! God willing, we shall be together.” She bowed, but said nothing. The disciples present were puzzled.

That night she remained a guest at Jelāl's house, con­versing with him till past midnight. At that hour he went up to the terraced roof of the college to perform the divine service of the vigil. When he had completed that service of worship, he fell into an ecstasy, shouting and exclaiming. Then he lifted the skylight of the room below, where the lady was, and invited her to come up on to the roof also.

When she was come, he told her to look upwards, say­ing that her wish was come to pass. On looking up, she beheld the Cubical House of Mekka in the air, circumam­bulating round Jelāl's head above him, and spinning round like a dervish in his waltz, plainly and distinctly, so as to leave no room for doubt or uncertainty. She screamed out with astonishment and fright, swooning away. On coming to herself, she felt the conviction that the journey to Mekka was not one for her to perform; so she totally relinquished the idea.

Jelāl was once standing at the edge of the moat round the city of Qonya, when a company of students, under­graduates of one of the colleges in the neighbourhood, seeing him, agreed to try him by asking the question: “Of what colour was the dog of the Seven Sleepers?”

Jelāl's immediate, unpremeditated answer was: “Yel­low. A lover is always yellow (sallow); as am I; and that dog was a lover.” The students bowed to him, and all became disciples.

The Superior of the monks of the monastery of Plato was an old man, and was held in the very highest esteem for his learning in all Constantinople and Firengistān, in Sīs, Jānik, and other lands. (Sīs was capital of the king­dom of Lower Armenia, and Jānik was the secondary “Roman Empire” of Trebizond.) From all those lands did disciples flock to learn wisdom from him.

This Superior related the following anecdote:—

“One day, Jelāl came to the monastery of Plato, situated at the foot of a hill, with a cavern therein, from whence issued a stream of cold water. Jelāl entered the cavern, and proceeded to its farther extremity. The Superior remained at the cavern's mouth, watching for what might happen. For seven whole days and nights Jelāl remained there, seated in the midst of the cold water. At the end of that period he came forth from the cavern, and walked away, singing a hymn. Not the slightest change was apparent in his features, nor in his eyes.”

The Superior made oath that all he had read about the person and qualities of the Messiah, as also in the books of Abraham and Moses, were found in the person of Jelāl, as well as the grandeur and mien of the prophets, as set forth in books of ancient history, and far more besides.