He obtained from the emperor the title of ‘Aqil (‘the saga­cious’). He is crazy about statuary. For some time he has laid it upon himself as a duty to eat nothing before he has sent five or six dishes of meat to be thrown into a river, a fountain, or a pond as an offering to Khiẓr (on him be peace). He used to hand these dishes to Qāsim, a native of India (who was a poet and the son of an elephant driver, and also a low-minded fellow), and Qāsim used to go out and invite qalandars* and other rascals to eat the food, and when (on his return) Ṣāliḥ would say, ²⁶² ‘Ha, did you see the Khẉāja?’ the impudent rogue would reply, “Yes, his holiness the Khẉāja deigned to eat the food with much relish, and sent you his blessing,” and would fabricate lying stories of this sort, which the madman believed. He had, how­ever, some poetic genius, and to him might have been applied the saying:—

“Beautiful poetry emanates from the cross-grained Ḥaidar
Kalaj
Just as roses spring from a midden.”

Ṣāliḥ wrote the following couplet:—

“Since the desire of her locks has fettered my feet,
My only way out of this bargain* is to surrender my
life.”

Ṣāliḥ was for some time a favoured and honoured courtier, then fell into disgrace and went to Kābul. He returned thence and was appointed to the trusteeship of the light-diffusing shrine of the Sulān of Shaikhs* (may God hallow his soul!), but did not accept the appointment, and, having obtained leave to return to Kābul, departed.