The orb of the sun rose like a disk of gold, careering over the azure vault from an impulse given to it by the bat of God’s decree. It attained the altitude of a lance-length. ‘Ārif contemplated it, and smiled. Shortly afterwards, he spoke as follows:—
“I am tired of this lower world, and have no wish to remain beneath the sun, surrounded with dust and misery. The time is come for me to trample on the stars that encircle the pole, mounting beyond the sun, to occupy myself with the mysteries of the heavenly choir, and to be entirely delivered from the instabilities of this world of change.”
His disciples burst into tears, and he continued—
“There is no remedy hereto, but to die. During life, my pleasure has been to journey and wander about, in outward space, and in inward self-exploration. For idle spirits come into the world of material forms to contemplate the marvels of the horizons, and the wonders of men’s minds,—to acquire knowledge, and attain to certainty. Through the gravity of the body I have been impeded in the investigation, and I shall not be able to travel again. Let me, then, wend my way to the future state, for here below I have no real companion. My only anxiety is, to be with my father and grandfather. How long shall I be severed from them in this world of suffering? I long to behold my grandfather, and I will certainly depart.”
He then cried aloud. After which he slowly returned to his chamber, and there continued to moan.
He managed to crawl, as well as he could, to the congregational service of worship of that Friday at noon. Thence he proceeded to the mausoleum, kissed the shrine, sang a hymn, performed a holy dance, and uttered ecstatic cries. He then laid himself down at full length on the floor, under which he is now buried, and said: “Where the man falls, there let him be interred. Bury you the deposit of my corpse in this spot.”
That day was as though the last judgment were at hand. A tempest arose; all creation, mortal and immortal, seemed to be groaning.
The day following, Saturday, the traces of his malady were but too visible in ‘Ārif’s features. He strove to battle with it, and to converse, as if he were in perfect health.
His sickness lasted about five and twenty days. On the twenty-second of Zū-’l-Hijja there was a violent shock of earthquake.
There was then in Qonya a certain saint, commonly known as “the Student,” a successor of the legist Ahmed. In his youth he had made himself a great reputation for learning, in all its branches. But, for forty years, he had been paralysed, and had never risen from his seat, summer or winter. He was well versed in all mysteries, and now began to say: “They are taking away the lamp of Qonya! Alas, the world will go to utter confusion! I, too, will follow after that holy man!”