The night Prince Dawit was born, the sky over Axum darkened, cloudless. The stars hid as if they were scared, and a weird, heavy breeze blew. There was panic in the land, especially in the royal chamber.
It was supposed to be a day of merriment but that would depend on what the Oracle has to say about him.
Nobody slept that night. They all lay awake waiting to hear the oracle’s voice from far within the city, crackling like a whip.
“And he will rise with cruelty in his heart. He will rule with an iron fist, and he will leave this kingdom in ashes.” he stared at the king with bloodshot eyes. "He will be the doom of this lineage.'
The king’s hand, broad and calloused from years of war, tightened on his staff. “Then this child will not sit on my throne,” he declared. "He will be born but not reign because he will not be raised as the king's son but a commoner in the streets.!"
Queen Selam whimpered sadly. She clutched the swaddled infant closer to her chest. His tiny breath warmed her skin.
“No... No. He's not a curse. A baby I nurtured for months in my womb is not a curse. The fruit of my womb is not a curse." she cried uncontrollably. She threw herself before the king, her husband “He is my son. He doesn't have to be king but please don't take him away from me.”
The king turned away from her. His heart was heavy with tears and fear. Tears of disowning his son and fear of the oracle's prophecy
“Selam, I wish I had a choice. You know... You know the blood of this family. My father ruled cruelly. His father was more. I fought to be different. To rule my people with love. But now the prophecy binds my own son to the same nature as my lineage. If we keep him, doom will follow.”
That night, the king ordered the child to be taken to a distant clan, far away from the throne, where an old farmer would raise him.
Selam, being a wise woman, acted first before the guards would do as commanded. With only a trusted maid, she smuggled her son, Dawit through the narrow gates and rode to the high monastery hidden far in the mountains. There, he left him in front of the monastery, praying that the monks would find him. While she hid behind the monastery.
Just as she prayed, the monks, draped in their white cotton robes, heard of Dawit's innocent cry and took him in.
"But who will leave such a child in such a condition?" Their abbot said.
"We should take him to the orphanage." Another suggested.
“No, this child is destined for something great. I can feel it. We will raise him just as we, servants of God,” their abbot said.
Tears burned Selam’s eyes, as she listened to them debate from her hiding place. The world already expects his cruelty. But she wished they would teach him to be kind.
That night she rode home in tears. Tears of losing a son and of ignorance of what may become of him
Dawit grew within the four walls of the monastery. It became his world.
He grew in the wisdom and stature of his true lineage. Tall, and strong. Behind the shadow of stone walls, he rang their bells. He tilled their soil, baked their bread, and carried their water down from the cliffs. As his hands hardened, his heart softened. He learnt kindness from the monks. Kneeling in prayer with them. And in his free evenings, he played the lyre, his laughter echoing against the cold stone.
Yet sometimes, in the silence, a flicker of something darker stirred. A sudden rage when a boy mocked him. A hunger for control when he led the novices in chores. The abbot saw it and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Remember, Dawit. Anger is a seed. You must decide whether to water it.” the abbot who was now old would always say to him
Dawit lowered his head. “But what if it decides to grow on its own?”
“Then you must grow stronger roots to withstand its rot.”
When Dawit turned twenty, Selam rode up the mountain. Her hair was streaked with silver, but her eyes were filled with pain. She embraced her son tightly, as though afraid he might vanish if she told him the truth of who he was. In whispers, she spoke
“The king is dead. We need our prince.”
But Dawit didn't understand her words. "That woman is insane because I am no prince," Dawit said to the abbot in laughter.
Salem had to narrate her story and how she left him at the monastery doors. The abbot concurred with her story and how they had found him at the door.
"Go. Go with her. For I knew you were always special" the Abbott nudged him.
“Come with me, Dawit. The throne awaits you.” Salem pleads
Dawit’s heart pounded. “Mother, I am no king. I am a monk’s son.”
“No, you are both,” she said. “And that, is your strength.”
Back at the palace of Axum the noble sneered openly at his return. “What does a boy raised among monks know about ruling a kingdom?" One of the next bles spoke.
"Already, the prophecy speaks through him.”
There was chaos in the land as the people struggled to accept him. This flared Dawit as he slammed the table before he realized his actions.
He locked himself in his chambers that night with fear, fear of him being cruel enveloping him.
That night, Selam came to his chamber. She, too, feared his sin and the prophecy coming to pass.
“Am I doomed, Mother? Am I the prophecy?” Dawit had asked in tears.
Salem let her hands brush his cheek. “No, Dawit." She smiled although she wasn't sure. "You are the result of every choice you make. And I trust you to make the right ones only."
It didn't take long for the yes to come
Darin the North, a rebellion broke out, led by men who doubted his right to rule.
His generals urged him to show his power and spill their blood. “Strike them down," they said. Make an example of them, your majesty.”
The advice was tempting, but it only meant following the hum of cruelty in Dawit’s bones. Truly striking them would be so easy. One command, and his name would be feared for generations. But the abbot’s voice rang in his ear: "Anger is a seed. You must decide whether to water it.
Dawit rode his chariot to the far north with open hands instead of his warriors. He met the rebels not as enemies but as brothers. He listened to their grievances, shared bread with them, and promised them reforms.
Right under the shade of their council room he signed a peace accord that even the generals marveled at his wisdom.
And that endeared the people to him.
In the coming years, the land thrived in peace and harmony. Farmers tilled land without fear, merchants filled the markets, and the people spoke of a king who ruled with both strength and mercy.
One evening, sitting on the palace balcony. Salem looked at her son and smiled. Together and in love, she had broken the chain of cruelty. This time not by prophecy, but by love.
[Image source](https://pixabay.com/photos/monk-monastery-sweep-clean-broom-4420676/)