Kitab Tajul Muluk Rumi -

“You seek the Taj al-Ruh ,” the figure said. It was not a question.

The physicians rushed in. The viziers wrung their hands. But the Sultan waved them away. For the first time in his life, he was not a king. He was a beggar kneeling before the throne of every soul he had broken. kitab tajul muluk rumi

He saw a marketplace he had burned. He felt the hunger of a child he had ignored. He wept—not tears of self-pity, but deep, rending sobs—as the ghost of a cobbler whose hands he had ordered cut off whispered, “Do you feel it now, Majesty? The absence of your own hands?” “You seek the Taj al-Ruh ,” the figure said