A king had six sons and one daughter. The daughter was his favorite—he cherished her, played with her, kept her close. One day, in a moment of anger, terrible words escaped his mouth: "Let the Not-Good take you away." That night she went to her room. By morning, she was gone.
The king was devastated. His viceroy—his most trusted minister—volunteered to find her. He asked for a horse, a servant, and money, and set off into the wilderness.
He searched for years. Deserts, forests, empty roads leading nowhere. Finally, he spotted a path branching off from the main road and decided to follow it. It led to a castle surrounded by soldiers in perfect formation. The viceroy was terrified, but he entered anyway. No one stopped him. He walked from room to room—through halls of increasing beauty—until he found the princess.
She was sitting behind a veil. She told him what he needed to do to free her. He had to choose a place and sit there for an entire year, yearning for her. On the last day of the year, he was to fast completely and not sleep at all. He agreed and began.
He sat for a year. On the very last day—the final hours before freedom—he saw a tree laden with impossibly beautiful fruit. He ate. Instantly, he fell into a deep sleep that lasted years. The princess's servants tried to wake him. They shook him, they shouted. He would stir, mumble, and collapse back into unconsciousness.
When he finally awoke, the princess told him through her servant: you were so close. Now you must try again, another full year. This time, on the last day, do not eat. He sat for another year. On the final day, he saw a spring of water that glowed red and smelled of wine. He had been told not to eat—but surely a sip of water was permitted? He drank. He collapsed into sleep again, this time for seventy years.
Armies marched past him as he slept. Entire civilizations rose and fell. When he finally woke, the princess had moved. She left him a message: she could now be found on a golden mountain near a castle of pearls. He should come find her there.
This is the first of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov's Sippurei Maasiyot (ספורי מעשיות), his sacred fairy tales. The princess, in Kabbalistic interpretation, represents the Shechinah (שכינה)—the Divine Presence—lost and exiled. The viceroy is the soul, searching endlessly for God. And his failure? It is always the same: he comes heartbreakingly close to redemption, and then some small, forgivable weakness—a piece of fruit, a sip of water—sends him back to the beginning. The story remains unfinished. Rabbi Nachman never told the ending.