His name was Bahrām. He was a devotee who believed that he had attained the stage of annihilation.* He was one of the disciples of Shaikh Ḥājī Muḥammad Khabūshānī (may his tomb be hallowed!), and was in some measure mysteriously attracted towards God.* He constantly traversed the streets of Āgra with a few pupils, giving water to the people of God, and while he was thus employed his tongue would be uttering refreshing verses. One of the sons of his religious guide came to India, and to him he gave all that he possessed, and would have given more, had it been possible, and he then set forth on foot, alone and destitute, for Sarandīb,* and on the way to Ceylon the torrent of annihilation swept away the chattels of his existence, and in that infidel land some person, guided by a sign from the prophet (the blessing and peace of God be upon him!) appeared, no one knew whence, and arranged for the obsequies of Saqqā, (may God water his grave!).
He collected several dīvāns of his own poems, and whenever he was overcome by religious ecstasy he would wash the ink from the pages of the dīvāns, one by one, but the remains of his poems form a large dīvān. The following verses are part of the outcome of his clear and sparkling intellect:—
“I am thrown into bewilderment each time I regard the mole
on His cheek,
I distractedly encompass that spot like the leg of a pair of
compasses tracing a circle around its centre.
I, distraught as I am, have withdrawn my gaze from fair
creatures for this reason
That I have in the nest of my heart a Friend of my soul
like Thee.”“I have broken the foundations of austerity that I might
see what would come to pass,
I have sat in the market-place of ignominy, that I might
see what would come to pass.”“I see my poor mad heart distracted with the love of Thy
face,
I see it encompassed on every side with the chains of Thy
locks.”“This day from weeping am I plunged in my heart's blood,
Ah, heart! cause not my head to burst this day with
weeping.”“The love of that beloved one with garments like the rose
has again grasped me by the collar,
Ah, now, at last, it has rent my garment from collar to
skirt.”*