He loved her. She right back at him. They lived in the hills amidst vast expanses of empty lands. Their love seemed to be born of the landscape. Man, a tribal soul had fought and killed for what he called his own today. The princess’ father was a blind man. And as he groped his way about, the prince got killed. A pyre flamed up, the agony of love drew her into the pyre and they both rose up to the heavens. Their premature departure wasn’t quite; they returned. The princess set herself with the tea plant as leaves while the prince turned white as salt. And ever since, butter tea is brewed in Ladakh. The prince meets the princess now on a different sort of pyre.