The Weeping Willow’s Gift

A young Thai princess learns that the most beautiful things—like the weeping willow’s shade—cannot be rushed.

In a kingdom along the great river Chao Phraya, there was a young princess named Nanta who wanted everything instantly. When she was hungry, she wanted food now. When she was sad, she wanted to be happy now. When she planted seeds in the palace garden, she tugged at them to make them grow faster and killed every one.

Her teacher, an old monk, took her one day to see a very old weeping willow that grew beside the river.

“How old is this tree?” Nanta asked.

“Two hundred years,” said the monk.

Nanta frowned. “Who planted it?”

“A princess,” he said. “Much like you.”

“Did she see it like this? So beautiful?”

The old monk smiled. “She planted the seed and never saw it sprout. Her granddaughter saw it reach her knee. Her great-great-granddaughter sat in its first real shade. The woman who first sat under it as you are sitting now had never met the princess who planted it. But she wept with gratitude.”

Nanta was quiet.

“The princess who planted it,” she said slowly, “did she not feel cheated?”

“She felt the joy of planting,” said the monk. “That is its own reward.”

Nanta thought about her dead seeds. She had never felt the joy of planting—only the impatience of waiting.

She went back to the palace garden that afternoon and planted a new seed. This time, she smoothed the soil gently and poured just enough water. She did not tug.

The next morning she looked at the soil: nothing visible. But she did not pull. She watered it again and went to her lessons.

By the end of the week, a tiny green curl appeared.

Princess Nanta was so happy that she cried—and understood, for the first time, that the willow tree’s original princess had probably felt exactly this.