The Princess and the Woodcutter’s Son: A Tale of True Love

In the verdant kingdom of Evangiri, ruled by the wise King Sukumaran and the gentle Queen Sujatha, lived their only child, Princess Dhannia. Her beauty was whispered about across the lands—her long black hair cascaded down to her knees like a shimmering waterfall, and her laughter was as soft as the morning breeze over the river that wound through the hills of Evangiri.

Yet, despite her beauty and kindness, Princess Dhannia was unlike other royal maidens. She found no joy in the parades of princes who arrived at her palace gates, seeking her hand with riches and promises. Her heart belonged to the melodies of birds at dawn and the gentle companionship of animals in the palace gardens. She would often slip away from the royal halls to lose herself in the songs of nature, seeking a peace that riches could never offer.

One bright morning, with the sky a canvas of soft blue and drifting clouds, Princess Dhannia set out on a journey through the forest in her horse-drawn carriage, eager to watch the golden sunlight dance upon the river’s rippling waters. The world smelled of wet earth and blooming jasmine, and she felt free, if only for a moment.

But fate had a story waiting for her that day.

A tree, struck down by the night’s storm, blocked the forest path. The horses neighed and halted abruptly, tossing their manes in agitation. The carriage driver tried to move the fallen trunk, but it was too heavy for him alone. As they struggled, a young man appeared, balancing a bundle of firewood on his strong shoulders, an axe tied to his waist. His eyes, dark as the forest soil, were gentle yet held a quiet strength.

Seeing their predicament, he stepped forward and offered to help. Without waiting for thanks, he set down his bundle and began chopping the tree with rhythmic, sure strokes. Sweat glistened on his sun-browned skin, catching the light with each swing of the axe.

Princess Dhannia, curious and unable to resist, peeked out from behind the curtains of her carriage. Her eyes widened as she watched the young man, each movement filled with humble grace and quiet power. Unable to contain her curiosity, she stepped down from the carriage, her maid trailing behind her, and approached him.

“What is your name?” she asked, her voice as soft as the river’s murmur.

The young man paused, leaning on his axe, and without looking at her, simply replied, “Lukesh.”

Before she could say more, he returned to his work, determined to clear the path. Soon, the tree was moved aside, and the carriage could pass once more. Princess Dhannia returned to the palace, but her mind was filled with the image of the young man whose eyes never met hers yet spoke volumes in their quiet honesty.

That night, she could not sleep. She summoned her aide and ordered him to discover the identity and home of the young man from the forest. By the next day, she learned that Lukesh was the son of Saharan, a respected village chieftain, and lived by the river’s edge. She also discovered that Lukesh had once studied poetry and healing with a wise elder in the hills, explaining the thoughtful calm she sensed in him.

An idea took root in her heart, one that would change her destiny.

She went to her parents and requested that a poetry competition be held across the kingdom. The challenge was simple: write a poem about Princess Dhannia, and the poem that touched her heart would decide whom she would marry.

King Sukumaran, overjoyed that his daughter had agreed to marry, ordered the competition announced throughout Evangiri.

Meanwhile, Lukesh’s father, Saharan, heard of the competition and urged his son to participate. At first, Lukesh hesitated, knowing that winning would mean leaving his parents and taking up royal life, a life he had never desired. But seeing the hope in his parents’ eyes and remembering the princess’s gentle voice in the forest, he finally agreed.

Sitting by the river under the moonlight, Lukesh composed his poem, drawing upon the memory of the princess’s eyes, the grace in her movements, and the kindness he had sensed even in her brief words.

When the day of the competition arrived, scrolls of poems from across the kingdom arrived at the palace. Princess Dhannia spent hours reading each one under the shade of her favorite tree in the garden. Though many praised her beauty and spoke of kingdoms and riches, none touched her heart until she found Lukesh’s poem.

The poem read:

A Princess you are from this land of milk and honey,
Your beauty, grace, and charm are known to one and many.

Hearts of many are captivated by your sparkling bright eyes,
Twinkling like two large bright stars in the open dark skies.

Like an angel from heaven you walk with style and grace,
You left the forest that day, gone at such a hurried pace.

Your sweet and gentle voice was a gift to me that day,
I am Lukesh, a chieftain’s son, I humbly say.

A princess you are, but with a heart pure and free,
I seek not riches but your heart to be with me.

As she finished reading, tears of joy filled her eyes, and she knew she had found the heart she had been searching for.

She rushed to her parents, declaring her choice. Though King Sukumaran and Queen Sujatha had hoped for a royal alliance, they saw the happiness in their daughter’s eyes and knew what mattered most.

Lukesh and his parents were invited to the palace. With blessings from the King and Queen, Lukesh and Princess Dhannia were married in a grand yet humble ceremony, attended by the people of Evangiri, where flowers rained down upon them, and birds sang sweetly from the palace gardens.

Together, they ruled Evangiri with kindness, compassion, and wisdom, proving that love rooted in humility and sincerity could blossom even in the grandest palaces.

And so, they lived happily ever after.

Moral of the Story:

True love is found not in titles or wealth but in sincerity and kindness. When we follow the quiet voice of our heart, we often find the path to true happiness.