The man who made a saint weep
When Nizamuddin Auliya heard Khusrau sing for the first time, he wept. Not the composed, inward weeping of a man in prayer. He wept openly, in front of his disciples, in the khanqah at Ghiyaspur in Delhi. Khusrau was perhaps seventeen. He had come not as a student of theology but as a poet who had heard something in the Sufi circle that his court work could not give him. What he found was a man. And what he did with that finding is the strangest, most honest piece of devotional writing India has ever produced.
