Princess Of Kolkata- O Prince, Thou are that
The young Prince of Kolkata, now a man of twenty, wandered the palace halls one lazy afternoon. His feet led him to the older, forgotten wings of the royal residence, where relics of his childhood and generations before him lay gathering dust.
In a quiet storeroom filled with half-covered furniture and rolled-up tapestries, his eyes fell upon a painting propped against the wall. It was a portrait of a little girl—perhaps five years old. She had a soft gaze, delicate features, and an almost royal grace in the way she sat.
The Prince stood frozen.
"She’s... beautiful," he whispered.
Curious, he bent to look at the date inscribed beneath the canvas. His mind raced as he did the math.
“Wait… she would be the same age as me today!”
From that moment on, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He imagined her now—what she might look like, how she might speak, the life she must be living somewhere in the world. Day by day, his fascination grew into longing. He was in love—deeply, desperately in love—with the girl in the painting.
His behavior didn’t go unnoticed. The old and wise minister, who had served the kingdom for decades, approached the Prince one day.
"My Lord, forgive me, but you seem distant lately, lost in thoughts far away from courtly affairs."
The Prince tried to brush it off. "It’s nothing."
But the minister persisted gently. "You know you can trust me. Speak your heart—I may be able to help."
The Prince hesitated… and then gave in.
"There is someone," he confessed. "A girl… I believe I am in love with her."
The minister smiled knowingly. "Ah, young love! Who is she? What’s her name?"
"I don’t know."
"Then who is her father? Where is she from?"
"I don’t know that either."
"Where did you see her?"
Wordlessly, the Prince led the minister back to the old storeroom. He pointed to the painting.
The minister squinted at the picture. "This child?" he asked, surprised.
"She must be grown up now," the Prince said, "and we are of the same age. I have to find her."
The minister looked again at the painting—this time more carefully. Then, noticing the date, a memory stirred within him. His eyes widened slightly, and then a smile crept across his face.
He turned to the Prince and said,
"My Lord… that girl… is you."
The Prince blinked.
"What?"
The minister chuckled and began his tale.
"Years ago, during a royal festival, the Queen wanted a young girl for a small role in a play. But none were to be found. The Queen, in her wisdom—or mischief—suggested dressing the young Prince, you, as a girl. You were five. The director agreed. You looked so adorable in costume that the Queen commissioned a royal artist to paint you in that very attire."
The Prince stared at the painting, still a little dazed.
He had spent weeks imagining the perfect companion, dreaming of a girl who didn’t exist — or so he thought.
The realization that he had fallen in love with his own childhood image struck him like lightning — absurd, humbling, and strangely liberating.
He let out a soft laugh. The infatuation vanished like a mirage. The painting remained, unchanged — but something inside him had shifted.
The wise Minister placed a gentle hand on the Prince’s shoulder and said,
“Often, what we seek most passionately in the world… is merely a reflection of what lies hidden within.”
In this tale, the Prince's longing was not for another, but for a forgotten part of himself.
We all chase dreams, desires, images — believing they will complete us. But the truth is often simpler, and deeper:
The one we seek is the Self.
Just as the Prince mistook his own image for someone else, we too mistake our own inner light for something outside us.
And when the veil is lifted, longing disappears — because we discover…
We are That.