Long ago, there lived a prince in a kingdom shaped by forests, flowing water, and wide hunting grounds. From early youth, he loved riding more than ceremony or courtly life. Because of this, every morning, before the palace fully stirred, he mounted his black mare and rode out with bow and arrows. The mare responded instantly, swift and obedient, and the prince trusted her without question.
For a long time, this routine satisfied him.
Most evenings, he returned only after sunset. Yet one evening, he came back much earlier than usual. At first, no one thought much of it. Hunts failed now and then. Still, instead of entering the palace, he led the mare toward the stream near the outer grounds.
As the sun sank lower, its red light spread across the water. Because of this, the stream appeared dark and scarlet, as though wounded. The mare’s reflection wavered with the current, stretching and breaking again and again. The prince stopped there. For several moments, he did nothing but watch.
Then something unusual drifted into view.
Strands of hair floated on the surface of the water. At first, he doubted his sight. Yet as the current carried them closer, their colors became clear—silver entwined with gold. The sight unsettled him. After a pause, he crouched and reached into the stream, lifting the hair carefully into his hands.
Because the hair felt real, he could not ignore it.
At first, the thought that followed seemed harmless. He imagined a woman with such hair. Naturally, he imagined her beauty. After that, he imagined how rare she must be. Slowly, almost without notice, the idea grew heavier. Soon enough, it settled into him as forbidden desire. Without questioning himself further, he carried the hair back to the palace and hid it close to his body.
That night, the queen waited for her son to join the evening meal. However, he did not come. As time passed, the food grew cold, and the hall filled with silence. Eventually, a maid found the prince lying alone in a dark corner of the storeroom. When he noticed her, he asked her to keep quiet. Even so, she went to the queen.
When the queen entered the storeroom, she pretended to search for grain. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw her son and felt unease rise within her. After a moment, he showed her the silver and golden hair. His voice sounded calm, yet his insistence did not.
He told her he would marry only a woman with such hair.
Fear tightened the queen’s chest. Still, because he was her son, she promised to help him. And so, messengers rode across the kingdom. In time, young women gathered at the palace, their hair washed, braided, and adorned. One by one, they passed before the prince. Each time, he turned away.
Because none matched the image in his mind, his longing deepened.
What had begun as curiosity hardened into forbidden desire. Day after day, this forbidden desire occupied his thoughts. Because of this, he grew impatient. Advice irritated him. Delay angered him. Over time, this desire weakened his moral restraint until reason no longer guided him.
Then, one afternoon, everything changed.
While walking through the royal enclosure, the prince noticed two familiar figures seated in the shade. At first, he could not name what drew his attention. Then he saw their hair—silver and gold, shining clearly in the light. Only then did recognition strike.
They were his sisters, Sona and Rupa.
The change in his expression did not escape the queen. Dread settled in her chest the moment she followed his gaze. Even then, the prince did not hesitate. His desire had already crossed into taboo relationships, dissolving boundaries he once understood. He pressed his demand again and again, arguing without pause. Fear, slowly and shamefully, silenced the king. In the end, the palace yielded.
Sona and Rupa understood at once. They saw the loss of moral boundaries in their brother’s eyes and felt it in his voice. Because of this, they knew they faced not reason, nor love, but destructive obsession.
Before the wedding rites could begin, they fled.
They ran to the riverbank and climbed the sandalwood tree they had planted long ago, when life still felt safe. The river flowed beneath them, unchanged and indifferent. Even when the palace discovered their absence, the sisters refused to return.
After a long search, the king and queen found them among the branches. They pleaded. Still, the sisters refused. Finally, the prince arrived. He begged. He promised. Yet his words rang hollow, for desire had already taken too much.
Then, without warning, the sky darkened.
Thunder rolled across the river. Because of this, the sandalwood tree shuddered. Its trunk cracked open, and within moments, the sisters vanished into the living wood. After that, silence returned. The storm passed. The tree stood whole again.
Sona and Rupa did not return.
At last, the prince collapsed beside the river. His forbidden desire had led only to irreversible consequences—loss without remedy, absence without forgiveness. The river continued to flow, and the kingdom endured. Still, the damage remained, because unchecked desire, once released, never leaves quietly.
If You Liked This Folk Tale…
If this tale of forbidden desire and its irreversible consequences stayed with you, you may also want to read our previous folk tale from Meghalaya. That story explores a quieter, yet equally painful truth—how taking people for granted slowly erodes love, trust, and relationships until regret is all that remains. Together, these two folk tales reflect different human failings: one driven by unchecked desire, the other by neglect and indifference. Both remind us, in their own ways, how fragile moral restraint can be—and how easily it breaks when we stop paying attention to the people who matter most.
Kalai is passionate about reading and reinterpreting folk tales from all over the country. Write to her at kalai.muse@gmail.com to know more about her.