Chanakya Niti: Never Forgive These 3 Betrayals, Even If They Apologize

There’s forgiveness and then there’s self-respect. One is about letting go. The other is about knowing where to draw the line. We’re taught from childhood that forgiveness is noble. That turning the other cheek is the higher path. That people make mistakes, and everyone deserves a second chance. But what no one tells you is this: Not all mistakes are created equal. Some are not lapses of judgment, they’re revelations of character. Chanakya, one of the sharpest minds in Indian history, understood this deeply. His writings are not just about politics or warfare; they’re about the quiet wars we fight in everyday life, the betrayals that happen behind smiles, the lessons we learn when someone we trusted turns away at the moment we need them most. And he left us with this: There are three kinds of betrayals you must never forgive. Not because you’re vengeful. But because forgiving them would mean forgetting who you are. Let’s walk through them.


This isn’t about keeping score. It’s about remembering how people behave when they’re no longer in need. You stood by someone. Helped them rise. Gave them time, energy, maybe even a few sacrifices that cost you quietly. And when they didn’t need you anymore, they didn’t just move on. They turned on you. That’s not ambition. That’s not growth. That’s ingratitude in its most dangerous form.

• Chanakya warned: “One who forgets the source of their rise will eventually fall from the same height.”

Don’t waste energy wondering why they changed. They didn’t change. They just never showed you who they were when power was on their side. And when someone weaponizes your kindness, it’s not wrong to walk away without a backward glance.


They say “I’m here for you,” until one day, your secrets are floating in a room you never entered. You trusted them. With truth. With the version of you that isn’t curated. With stories you hadn’t even told yourself out loud. And they used that trust as leverage. To gossip. To manipulate. To twist the narrative and play innocent when it all came crashing down. What they broke wasn’t just your privacy, it was the sacred space of safety we all seek in the people we love.

• Chanakya wrote: “Never trust a person who smiles while stabbing.”

Because what they destroy isn’t visible. It’s internal. It's how you hesitate before opening up again. It’s how you start saying “I’m fine” just to feel safe. This is not the kind of hurt you forgive. This is the kind you learn from.


Not everyone who celebrates your success is rooting for your survival. When everything is going well, support is easy. Praise is plentiful. Friendship is fashionable. But when the lights go off, emotionally, financially, spiritually, watch who disappears.

• Chanakya called this out bluntly: “A friend who is not present in times of need is no friend at all.”

Because the truth is, loyalty that only shows up when it’s convenient isn’t loyalty. It’s public relations. It’s a costume worn for applause. Forgiving someone who abandoned you in your hardest hour doesn’t make you enlightened. It just sets you up to be abandoned again. Some people only stay when the weather is pleasant. Respect yourself enough to stop inviting them into your storm.

This isn’t about holding grudges. It’s about guarding your garden. About protecting the spaces of your life that should only be entered by those who know how to care for them. Chanakya didn’t teach revenge. He taught discernment. He didn’t say “don’t forgive.” He said know what you’re forgiving. And know what forgiving it will cost you. So the next time someone returns with an apology wrapped in nostalgia and half-truths, ask yourself:

• Are they here because they’re sorry?
• Or because they think you’ll say yes?

Your peace is too expensive to rent out to people who once proved they couldn’t handle it. Choose wisely. Walk away kindly. And remember: forgiveness is a gift. But it’s not an obligation.