Bitterness is like swallowing poison and waiting for the other person to die.”  Brahmaddata laid his head in Dighavu’s lap to rest. Dighavu unsheathed his sword to take vengeance.

As he held the sword above Brahmadatta’s head, the dying words of Dighavu’s father echoed in his ears and clarified his thoughts: “Be not shortsighted. Be not long-sighted. Hatred is not quenched by hatred; hatred is only appeased by love.”

Dighavu lowered the sword and put it back in its sheath as tears streamed down his face.

Again, the anguish and anger welled up inside Dighavu; he could almost smell the ashes of his parent’s burnt bodies. He pulled the sword out of its casing and lifted it into the air. Amid the pain, he recalled his father’s last hour and pleas that came from the depths of his soul: “Be not shortsighted. Be not long-sighted. Hatred is not quenched by hatred; hatred is only appeased by love.”

With trembling hands, he put the sword back in its scabbard.

As Dighavu sat there, another level of sorrow surfaced. He keenly felt the isolation of his childhood, the loneliness of living in exile away from his parents, a separation made necessary because of the loss of his father’s kingdom.

He took up the sword once more. Again, his father’s words came back to him, words that were the only form of protection and legacy his father was able to offer. He could not dishonor his father by ignoring his guidance. He had to lay down his sword.

Next time: “Grant Me My Life”