Long ago in northern India, a young prince married a girl he greatly treasured. For a short time, their love flourished and their time together was sublime ... until the princess died of an insect sting one day while out riding.
The young prince was plunged into the blackest despair. When he recovered, he declared that he would erect a monument around her grave and call it "The Pearl of Love."
So began what became a lifelong project for the prince. Year by year more magnificent rooms and chamers were built around the original mausoleum. At last, the prince, now a bent and decrepit old man, gazed upon his handiwork and felt satisfied.
One day, as he wandered through the place, he noticed an imbalance, a blemish, a flaw that lay in the centre of his Pearl of Love. A rough hewn stone box had been left behind by a careless team of builders and the prince found that the longer he started at this strange, ugly, quite purposeless object, the more it offended his eyes.
So he called his chief architect and with his voice echoing through the vaults and galleries of the vast sepulcher, commanded him to have it taken away and buried.
Alas, in an attempt to "objectify" his love, the prince never knew lasting happiness.
A story to ponder over on a sleepless night.
A story to ponder over on a sleepless night.
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