Once, in a quiet village nestled between hills, a man began spreading rumours* about a neighbor — whispers that questioned his character, twisted his words, and cast shadows where there was once trust. Over time, the man began to feel the weight of what he had done. The guilt grew heavy, and he went to the village elder to ask how he could make it right.
“I spoke falsely about a man,” he confessed. “I’ve seen how it hurt him and realize it's affect on his community and life. I want to fix it. I want to make amends.”
The elder looked at him thoughtfully and said, “Take a feather pillow, go to the town square, and cut it open. Then come back to me.”
Though puzzled, the man obeyed. He took the pillow to the village center, cut it open, and watched as hundreds of feathers caught the wind—spinning, floating, drifting far and wide beyond his sight.
He returned to the elder.
“Now,” the elder said gently, “go and gather every last feather.”
“But that’s impossible!” the man cried. “They’re gone—scattered to places I’ll never reach.”
The elder nodded solemnly. “So it is with gossip. Your words were carried to places you cannot now reach. You may be sorry—and that is good—but you cannot undo the harm completely. Be careful with your words. They have more power than you know.”