The silence in his home grew heavier than the clamor of the outside world. Muhammad Ali watched, day by day, as the light in Sakina Bibi's eyes continued to dim, her form growing ever more fragile. He saw how the very walls of their home in Bijapur, once a sanctuary, had become a prison of her grief, each corner echoing with the ghosts of her seven brothers. Her refusal to eat was not an act of will, but a surrender of the spirit; her heart was starving for a past that could not be retrieved.
Knowing that a change of earth could sometimes heal a broken root, Muhammad Ali made a momentous decision. They would leave. They would turn their backs on the shadow of Gol Gumbaz and the battle-scarred lands of the Sultanate, and migrate south, towards the unknown, hopeful lands of Karnataka.
Their journey, a quiet echo of his own father's pilgrimage a generation before, ended in the town of Kolar. It was a humble place then, not a city of grandeur but a settlement of simple purpose. Yet, it held the pulse of life. Important trade routes passed through its heart, and a modest, bustling market served the local people, a place where the future could be bartered for, one day at a time. Here, away from the specters of war, Muhammad Ali hoped the southern sun might gently thaw his wife's frozen heart, and that in this new soil, his family could once again find a way to grow.
Upon their arrival in the dust and promise of Kolar, Muhammad Ali, a man of quiet dignity but no pretension, knew his first duty was to seek the favor of the local authority. He presented himself at the residence of Shah Muhammad Dakkani, the governor of the district. It was a meeting not between a supplicant and a ruler, but one steeped in the memory of a shared past. The governor, it turned out, had once known Muhammad Ali's father, Wali Muhammad, and remembered the noble character of the man.
Out of this respect for the father, the governor extended his hand to the son. He granted Muhammad Ali a small, clean house nestled near the tranquil Dargah of Hazrat Qutub Gori Rahmatullah Alaih, ensuring the family's life would again be framed by the rhythms of faith and devotion. More than shelter, he provided a modest but honorable job, a means for Muhammad Ali to support his family with the dignity his lineage deserved.
And in this new sanctuary, far from the battlefields that had claimed so much, a miracle of renewal began to unfold. The southern air, the stability of their new life, and perhaps the blessings of the new dargah's saint, worked a gentle magic on Sakina Bibi's spirit. The grief that had clenched her heart began, slowly, to loosen its grip.
In Kolar, their family was not just preserved; it was profoundly blessed. To Muhammad Ali and Sakina Bibi were born four sons, their births a testament to resilience and a promise for the future
Shaikh Muhammad Ilyas, Fateh Muhammad, Shaikh Muhammad, and Shaikh Muhammad Imaam.
Shaikh Muhammad Ilyas, the firstborn, carried the weight of his name with a quiet gravity, showing an early inclination towards the spiritual studies of his forefathers. Fateh Muhammad, true to the 'victory' embedded in his name, possessed a natural strength and a resilient, pioneering spirit. Shaikh Muhammad and Shaikh Muhammad Imaam, their names a testament to the family's deep devotion, grew under the guidance of their elder brothers, each developing a piety that would anchor the family in their new home.
Muhammad Ali, watching his sons grow under the wide Karnataka sky, saw in them the culmination of his family's long journey. They were roots, finally grasping deep into stable ground. He raised them with the same values of spirituality and service he had learned at his own father's knee, ensuring they knew the sacred price of the peace they now enjoyed.
It was from this robust new branch of the family tree—from the strong and determined Fateh Muhammad—that the next great chapter would be written. For Fateh Muhammad would father a son, and that son would be named Haider. And in this boy, the quiet devotion of the dargah and the unyielding courage of his ancestors would fuse into the brilliant, formidable soul of a future king.
The seasons turned in Kolar, and the four sons of Muhammad Ali grew into men, their lives a testament to his steadfastness. Yet, the thread of his life, so resiliently spun through war, migration, and renewal, could not stretch forever. Around the year 1697, a quiet fell upon the house near the dargah. Muhammad Ali, the bridge between the sacred legacy of Gulbarga and the hopeful promise of Kolar, passed away. He was laid to rest in the soil of the land he had chosen for their salvation, his journey ending not far from the shrine that had offered his family solace.
With the anchor of their father gone, the world once again called to his sons. The bonds of brotherhood, though strong, could not keep them tethered to a single hearth. The time had come for them to seek their own destinies. After a period of mourning, the four brothers parted ways.
Shaikh Muhammad Ilyas, Fateh Muhammad, Shaikh Muhammad, and Shaikh Muhammad Imaam—each turned his face towards a different horizon.
They left Kolar, the village that had been their sanctuary, and scattered to the winds of the Deccan, each man walking a path ordained by fate and his own character, carrying with them the indelible marks of their lineage: a heritage of faith, a history of sacrifice, and the unspoken promise of a legacy yet to be fully born.