Most philosophies offer some consolation about death. Iqbal's is unusual: he ties immortality to Khudi, to the work of building a self. Immortality, for him, is not automatically given — it is, in some measure, achieved.
His claim, pushed to its furthest edge, is that a self which has become real enough — self-seeing, self-made, self-possessed — has gathered a kind of permanence that death does not simply cancel. A faint, unrealised self fades; a fully built one has become too substantial to vanish without trace.
Whatever one makes of the metaphysics, the practical pull is undeniable. Iqbal turns mortality into a spur: the question is not how long you last but how real you become — because what survives you was never your possessions or your title, but the self you managed to build and what it set in motion.
See it in the verse
Ye bhi mumkin hai ki tu maut se bhi mar na sake
Nikal kar halqa-e-shaam-o-sahar se javedan ho ja
Hazaar sajdon se deta hai aadmi ko nijaat