Muntakhab al-tawarikh 79.22.6

79.22.6

They spake for a little while, they are now silent, They are vanished from the memory of their friends. Of all those consolers not one remains, I and grief are left, for all my friends are gone. How shall I lay my drowsy head on the pillow, When my friends have made their pillow on the clay. My heart desires the corner of solitude, I have no desire for the companionship of any one. Alas ! that those, who now sit behind the veil of secrets, Are not gone to a place whence they can return. When in confusion on that bed of sorrow I fell like clay, and settled like dust, Over that mortal-clay I raised many a cry : To my ear no answer came from any. On the twenty-second of Jamada’-s-sani of the year nine hundred and ninety-seven the Emperor set out from Kabul for Kashmir, which he called his private garden. He left the ladies of his haram with the young prince Sultan Murad at Bhimbar, where the road to Kashmir begins, and went on by forced marches. When he had visited that beautiful country, he sent a farman to the Prince ordering him the take the haram on to Rohtas and there await the Emperor’s arrival. At this time that wonder of the age Shah Fath-ullah of Shiraz developed a burning fever in Kashmir, and since he was himself a skilled physician, he treated himself by eating pottage, and however much the Hakim ‘Ali forbade it, he would not be prevented. So the exactor Death seized his collar and dragged him off to the eternal world.