This week falls the 713th Urs, death anniversary of Hazrat Amir Khusrau, the beloved poet-disciple of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, who would often tell Khusrau: “Pray for my life, for you will not be able to survive me long.” The prophecy came true for the disciple died of heartbreak, exactly six months after the death of his master. Hazrat Nizamuddin famously said: “Khusrau is the keeper of my secrets and I shall not step in paradise without him. Had it been permissible by Islamic law, I would have willed that he be buried in the same grave as me.”
The mystic, philosopher, musician and litterateur enjoyed the patronage of seven successive sultans during the volatile period of the Delhi Sultanate. Along with Sadi, Nizami and Firdausi, Khusrau is acknowledged as one of the four great pillars of 14th-century Persian literature. He was awarded the title of Tuti-e-Hind, Nightingale of India. However, Khusrau is most known for his devotion and closeness to Hazrat Nizamuddin, at whose feet he lies buried in the same dargah. It is for this reason, devotees to the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin, offer flowers and prayers at Khusrau’s tomb before visiting the master, to seek his intercession.
Khusrau played a key role in the evolution of Hindustani classical music. Several musical compositions set in qawwali, khayal, tarana and naqsh, as well as several ragas are attributed to Khusrau. The invention of the table and sitar is also attributed to him. Influenced by the spiritual philosophy of Hazrat Nizamuddin, Khusrau believed in affection and harmony between people belonging to different faiths and creed. He wrote about his love for Delhi and Hindustan, describing their flowers, fruits, vegetables, trees, people and animals. His verses are testimony to his love for the land, sometimes comparing it to paradise.
Amir Khusrau died in the year 1325. He did not write anything after the death of his master. The last verse he composed on hearing the sad news of his master became amongst his most famous lines:
Gori sove sej par, mukh par daare kes
Chal khusrau ghar aapne, rain bahi chahun des.
The fair one lies on the couch
black tresses scattered over her face
O Khusrau, go home now,
for night has fallen over the world
