This mesmerizing tale is the last story Rumi told in his poetry. Through poetic prose and vivid imagery, the story delves into themes of desire, obsession, and the pursuit of the unattainable, offering readers a rich tapestry of emotion and allegory.

If I told you that there is a path that will not make you rich, in fact might make you less rich than you are today, will not make you more popular, in fact might make you less popular, will not bring you enlightenment, will not give you happiness, will not solve any of the problems that plague your life and disturb your sleep, and definitely, for sure, without a shred of a doubt will not make you a better person. 

Would you follow this path? 

Why should you chase a shadow you can never catch? 

No sales pitch has sounded so bleak. No self-help expert, ever, dreamed so meek. No spiritual guide inspired so little. No intellectual claimed a discovery more insignificant. 

I am not a sales person, not a psychiatrist nor therapist. I am not a life coach. I am not spiritual. And I am not an intellectual. I am a humble storyteller. What I have to offer you is not worth much. But here it is wholeheartedly.  

The only promise this path makes is solace in your darkest hour and the satisfaction garnered from perusing life with integrity away from the shores of delusion and sentimentality. 

Listen. 

Listen to what I have to say. 

Place your heart in the palm of my hand. Let me be the pulse that dances through your chest for the next few minutes.  

There was a king who had three equally accomplished sons. Each was generous, wise and fiercely decisive when the need arose. They stood like vibrant burning candles before their father, ready to set out on a journey to explore the four corners of the kingdom they were meant to inherit. They wanted to see they were being administered fairly and well. 

Each kissed the king’s hand while saying farewell as a sign of respect. 

“Go wherever the fancy takes you” said the king. “Try everything, taste everything, see everything and experience whatever you will, don’t be afraid to make mistakes, you will learn from those. Dance along the way and enjoy each morsel of delight that comes your way. Nothing is forbidden when you are the king. And I mean nothing. You are protected and blessed by higher powers. I only request that you do not enter one particular castle, the one called The Fortress That Take Away Clarity.” It is a gallery that combines all the most beautiful artworks from all four corners of the earth. Da Vinci, Van Gogh and Monet would weep with pains of inadequacy had they  caught but a glimpse.  “This castle” continued the king “causes great difficulty for members of the royal family. Others can risk going there, but not you.” 

The brothers arrived at one village and were greeted with great fanfare. Banquets and celebrations were held in their honors. People danced in the streets  from joy of having the such honored visitors in their mist. People approached them asking for advice. Business men wanted advice on how to prosper, farmers asked for advice to how to make their crops bountiful, married couples asked for relationship advice. The depressed, oppressed and dispossessed all came running asking for advice. To each person and to every party the three brothers gave exactly the right advice. The masses were dazzled by the wisdom of the young men. “Wow! the future of our glorious kingdom is looking good. We feel safe and protected knowing that these three will be at the helm one day.” Everybody marvelled. Everywhere they went they dispensed pearls of wisdom that would make Confucius blush with shame. “Be patient, you must endure” they said the impatient. “Just Do It” they said to the reluctant. “Love is all you need” to a quarrelling couple. “Can’t we all get along” to feuding clans.  Aaaaaah! such universal truths. 

And so it was in the second village, third village forth village and fifth. With each stop the three princes found less enthusiasm towards helping others and more interest in talking about the Forbidden Castle. 

At night before going to sleep they would sit together and eventually somebody would  ask “I wonder what The Castle That Takes Away Clarity looks like. I wonder what kinds of art work is in it?” With time the three princess became obsessed with talking about that castle. Finally, the eldest brother said what the other two were already thinking: “Look at us! We are celebrated for our strength and wisdom. Our father is a tad over protective of us. He still treats us like are 5 year olds. I am certain that whatever danger lies in the Castle we will be able to handle.” 

The three brothers saddled their horses and set off towards the Castle together. 

It had five gates facing the land and five gates facing the ocean, as the five senses take in color and perfume of happenings and the five inner senses that open onto the mystery. 

Great hall broke into hallways. Thousands of pictures everywhere the eye fell upon. The eldest headed right, youngest headed left and middle brother headed straight forwards. Each on his own wondered the castle dazzled by the immense beauty for hours. Each looked and looked and looked. The more each looked the more he felt hungry for more. The experience was exhilarating but made each feel restless. Completely drunk with beauty, all three arrived at a particular portrait, a woman’s face.  

They fell hopelessly in love. Instantly they realized their mistake, but it was too late. “This is what our father warned us of. We thought we were strong enough to resist.” 

They stumbled out of the castle bewildered. Outside they met an old wise man. “Who is the woman in the portrait?” they begged for an answer.  The old man shook his head : “Oh I feel sorry for you already.” And then proceeded to inform them of the situation: “She is the princess of China. The hidden one. Her father, the king of China, has concealed her as the spirit is wrapped in an embryo. No one may come to her presence. Birds are not allowed to fly over her roof. No one can figure a way in. I would give you the advice to give up on that and it would be wise advice indeed, but I know that you are in a place where wisdom can’t reach. I can see it in your eyes. So instead I will wish luck.” 

The eldest said, “We’ve always been bold when we gave counsel to others, look at us now. Pathetic. We used to say, Patience is the key, the rules we made for other are of no help now. All the advice we gave others, laugh.! Why are we so quiet? Where is our strength?” 

In despair they set out for China, not with any hope for union with princess, but just to be a little closer to her. They left everything and headed towards the hidden beloved. 

In China, they weren’t three celebrated princess, they were three nobodies. They left their fancy robes, royal status, family, friends, fans, heritage, language, and all that was familiar to live like immigrants. Hoping that some way into the palace might reveal itself through coincidence. 

I am a big fan of using a frame story as a literary device. A story within the story that parallels events in the novel. I love this so much that I have used it in every single one of my novels. For the novel Spoonful Chronicles, I chose the story within the story to be this one. So if you are curios how the story of the three princes can resonate in a modern day setting, read Spoonful Chronicles. 

Finally the eldest: “I can’t wait like this. I don’t want to live if I have to live separated from the beloved. This is the one I have been beating the drum for my entire life.  What does a duck care about a shipwreck? Just the duck’s feet in ocean water is ship enough. My soul and my body are married to this boasting. I brag but I do not lie. I am a candle. Pass the knife through my neck a hundred times, I ‘ll burn just as brightly. The haystack of my existence has caught on both sides. Let it burn all night down to nothing. On the night’s road, the moon gives all the light that I need. I am going to confront the king with my desire.” 

His brothers tried to persuade him not to, but they couldn’t . He Sprang up and came staggering into the presence of the king of China, who knew what was happening, though he kept silent. The king was inside the three brothers, but he pretended to be unfamiliar with them. The fire under the kettle is the appearance. The boiling water is the reality. The beloved is in your veins though he or she may seem to have form outside you. 

 The prince knelt at the king’s feet and stayed there bowed down. 

“This young man will have everything he seeks, and twenty times that which he left behind. He gambled and flung off his robe in ecstasy. Such love is worth a thousand robes. This one is an ambassador from that love, and he is doing his work well.” 

The prince heard this and couldn’t speak, but his soul spoke constantly with that soul. The prince thought: “This is reality, this is waking, this melting away.” He stayed bowed down with the king a long time cooking. “Execution is one thing, but I am being executed again and again every moment! Poor in wealth, rich is lives to sacrifice. No one can play the game of love with just one head!” This joyful waiting consumed the prince.  The form of the beloved left his mind and he found union.   

This part of the story can go no further. What comes next must stay hidden. One rides to the ocean on horseback, but after that the wooden horse of mystical silence must carry you. When that boat sinks, you are the fish, neither silent nor speaking, a marvel with no name. 

Thus the oldest brother died, and the middle brother came to the funeral. 

“What is this? A fish from the same sea!” mused the king. “A son of the same father, the brother next in age to the deceased.” 

The sublime kindness descended again, and the courtyard split apart like a pomegranate laughing, with all of the forms of the universe opening their tent flaps, new creation every second. 

He had read about such revelations in books. Now it was his. He kept saying: “Is there more? Is there more?” Fed from the king’s nature, he felt a satisfaction he’d never felt before, and then there came pride. 

“Am I not also a king, the son of a king? Why does this one have a hold over me? I should open my own shop, independent of him.” 

The king thought, “I give you pure light, and you throw dirt in my face!” 

The middle brother suddenly realized what he had inwardly done, but it was too late. His magnificence was stripped away. No longer a garden peacock, he flew like a lonely owl in the wilderness, like  Adam plowing an ox far from Eden. 

He came to himself and asked forgiveness, and with his repentance came the deep pain that belongs to those losing the union. 

This story must be shortened. After a year when the king came out of his own self-effacement, he found one arrow missing from his quiver and the middle brother dead, shot through the throat. The king wept, both slayer and chief mourner. Yet all was well. The middle brother too had gone to the beloved through the killing eye that blasted his conceit. 

It was the third brother, 

who had been ill up until now, who received the hand of the princess. 

He lived the marriage of form and spirit,  

and did absolutely nothing 

to deserve it. 

Read more love stories on this blog here.