Mokdum was a Fakir. He had a stick in one hand and a Tasbeh in the other. His eyes were bright and his sight was deep and keen. He used to eat whatever he got. He passed his night anywhere his night came. He spread his blanket there and lay on it. Sometimes, he spent the entire might in prayer.
Long ago, there was a king in Bengal. His name was Ghiasuddin Azam Shah. His capital was at Sonargaon near Dhaka. He was very just and kind.
The king was fond of hunting. One day he was practicing archery beside a forest. By chance, an arrow pierced a boy. The boy instantly died. He was the only son of a widow. The widow was very much shocked. She went to the Quazi, told him everything and prayed for justice.