

Of all the virtues across spiritual traditions, forgiveness may be one of the most admired but one of the hardest to cultivate.
Most of us agree that forgiveness is a good thing... in theory. However, in practice, it can feel far more complicated. We hesitate because forgiveness is often mistaken for excusing harmful behaviour, forgetting what happened, or absolving accountability.
Yet many ancient traditions understood forgiveness quite differently.
In Sanskrit, the word kshama is often translated as forgiveness, but its meaning extends beyond a single act. It encompasses patience, compassion, and the capacity to release resentment. Within Hinduism and Jainism, kshama is considered a virtue of immense spiritual significance. Not only does it benefit the person being forgiven, but more importantly, it transforms the person who forgives.
Modern conversations about forgiveness often focus on the offender: Should they be forgiven? Do they deserve forgiveness? Have they apologised? Have they changed?
Kshama shifts the focus entirely. Instead of asking whether the other person deserves forgiveness, it asks what carrying resentment is doing to us.
This perspective is perhaps most visible in Jainism's annual observance of Kshamavani, a day dedicated to seeking and offering forgiveness. During this practice, individuals ask forgiveness from all living beings for any harm caused knowingly or unknowingly throughout the year.
The traditional phrase is beautifully simple. "Micchami dukkadam" essentially means, if I have caused you offence, knowingly or unknowingly, in thought, word, or deed, I ask your forgiveness. It represents a spiritual cleansing, an acknowledgment of one's own ego, and a choice to let go of past grievances.
What strikes me about this ritual is its humility. It acknowledges a truth that is easy to overlook: none of us move through life without causing hurt. Some of it is intentional. Some of it is not. Relationships are impacted as much by misunderstandings and unintended consequences as they are by deliberate actions.
The ritual invites participants to clear the emotional ledger before resentment has a chance to harden.
This idea appears in many philosophies and doctrines. Christianity teaches forgiveness. Buddhism encourages compassion towards those who cause suffering. Islamic teachings praise mercy. In Sikhism, forgiving someone reminds you to see the divine in everyone. Forgiveness is raised in different ways in most religions. Yet each tradition arrives at a similar insight. Holding onto resentment often does more harm to the person carrying it than the person it is directed towards.
This does not mean that forgiveness is easy. Nor does it mean that every wound should be forgotten or every relationship restored.
Kshama is not about denying pain. It is about refusing to allow pain to become a permanent residence within us.
When resentment festers, it has a way of extending the life of pain. The original event may have passed years ago, yet it continues to occupy emotional space. We replay conversations, revisit grievances, pick at wounds, and silently rehearse arguments that will never take place.
The person who hurt us may have moved on entirely, while we continue carrying the weight.
Seen through this lens, forgiveness becomes less of a gift offered to another person and more of an act of liberation for ourselves.
Perhaps this is why kshama remains so relevant today. We live in a culture that is increasingly skilled at identifying wounds but not always at healing from them. We know how to call out wrongdoing. We know how to assign blame. Yet many of us receive little guidance on how to release anger once it has served its purpose.
The wisdom of kshama does not ask us to excuse what was wrong. It asks whether we wish to remain bound to it. In a world that often encourages us to keep score, there is something radical about choosing release over resentment.
Perhaps forgiveness is not about rewriting the past.
Perhaps it is about reclaiming the future.