i can hear the sound of your life through the wall

I watched a movie when I was little about a slave growing up a long time ago in India.  You could find the usual suspects to be expected from most Bollywood fare - a dashing hero, an irritated father, the comforting, yet bold friend, and of course, the other girl who got a little to close to your man that you were comfortable with.  Yet this film was rooted in history, you see the dashing hero was really a dashing prince.  The father was the King, and once he found out about our little slave girl and the prince’s budding romance, he buried her alive in a wall to try and get rid of her.  (I’m not sure if you can use the word bury when it’s not something underground)  Her name meant pomegranate flower in English.  Anarkali, in Hindi.  Something about that story always resonated with me, even though I watched it relatively young.

When I was little I had an imaginary friend.  I don’t remember his name now, or if this friend was even a he, but i assume so.  We used to play together, and do things.  When we talked, i never spoke out loud - i just thought it, and he knew what I was saying.  I think the biggest oddity was that he lived inside the walls of our house.  He wasn’t any thinner or smaller than an average imaginary person, I can assure you, but he was content in those walls.  Perhaps he was inspired by Anarkali.

I wonder which prince he made the mistake of falling in love with.