In the heart of a lush, sun-dappled forest deep in Southeast Asia, a family of monkeys thrived among the tall trees, mossy rocks, and gently flowing streams. Their troop lived a simple yet challenging life—one filled with love, jealousy, survival, and sometimes, heartbreaking moments. Among them were two young monkeys: a curious baby named Lino and a fragile newborn only days old, whom the elders had not yet given a name. What happened between them one fateful morning shocked the entire troop—and left the tiny newborn fighting for her life.
A Playful Baby Named Lino
Lino was about seven months old—a rambunctious, curious, and energetic little monkey. He had just begun exploring life beyond his mother’s arms. Every morning, Lino would dash through the trees, leap between rocks, and climb high on branches while chattering and giggling like any wild child.
But Lino had recently started showing signs of confusion and jealousy. He had once been the center of his mother’s love, but things had changed. Just a week ago, his mother gave birth to a tiny new baby. A soft, fragile little creature, wrapped always in her mother’s arms. Suddenly, Lino was no longer the center of attention. His mother didn’t have time to cuddle him anymore. She didn’t groom him as much or offer him her milk as often. She was constantly caring for the newborn.
Lino didn’t understand. All he felt was loss—he missed the love he once had. The little newborn had taken that from him.
The Innocent New Life
The newborn monkey was so small her eyes hadn’t fully opened yet. Her fur was still thin and patchy. She clung tightly to her mother’s belly, barely strong enough to hold on. She made tiny squeaking noises when she was hungry or cold, and the mother never left her alone—not until that tragic morning.
The troop had settled near a rocky cliffside—a popular sunbathing area where the monkeys liked to warm themselves in the morning light. It was peaceful, the view stretching far over the green canopy below. But it was also dangerous for the tiny ones. The rocks were steep and sharp. Any wrong step could be fatal.
That Morning
It was early. The dew was still on the leaves. The mother of the newborn monkey, tired from caring for her baby through the night, gently laid the little one down for a moment on a flat rock near the edge. She needed to stretch, to find food. The newborn was nestled safely inside a shallow groove in the stone, swaddled in her own scent and warmth. Other mothers often did this, trusting the area was safe with so many monkeys around.
But no one expected what would happen next.
Lino was watching. He had seen the newborn being placed down. He crept closer. He didn’t know what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to look at her. Maybe he wanted to feel the soft baby fur. Or maybe—just maybe—he wanted to push away the source of all the attention he had lost.
He looked around. No adults near. The mother had stepped just a few meters away to pick fruit. Lino inched forward.
The tiny newborn lay quietly, eyes closed, making soft breathing sounds. She was innocent—too small to even recognize danger.
Then Lino did something no one could have imagined. With one quick push—perhaps out of confusion, anger, jealousy, or pure childish ignorance—he nudged the newborn. At first, she just shifted slightly. But the surface was tilted. The newborn rolled slowly, her weak limbs unable to stop her.
Then it happened—she rolled right off the edge of the rock.
A scream echoed. A tiny, piercing cry as the newborn dropped a few feet onto a jagged lower ledge, then tumbled again. She hit the rough stone, then another. Her tiny body flopped and bounced like a broken doll, before finally coming to rest in a crevice full of leaves and dust.
The forest went silent.
The Cry of a Mother
The mother turned at the sound. Her heart knew. She dropped the fruit and ran to where she had left her baby. When she saw the empty rock, her whole body shook. She looked down—and what she saw shattered her spirit.
Her newborn lay far below, motionless, limbs bent awkwardly, blood seeping from her little mouth. She wasn’t crying anymore. Just barely breathing.
The mother let out a heart-wrenching howl. She screamed, jumped, and scrambled down the rock face, slipping and scraping herself in panic. Other monkeys began to gather, sensing something had gone terribly wrong.
She reached the baby and scooped her up with trembling hands. The newborn’s body was limp. Her soft face bruised. Blood trickled from her tiny nose and lip. Her ribs rose and fell with shallow breaths.
The mother licked her gently, crying and rocking. The troop gathered around, watching with wide eyes. Lino stood at the top of the rock, frozen.
The Troop Reacts
At first, no one knew what had happened. But an older female had seen Lino push. She let out a sharp warning cry, and several monkeys turned to him. Lino, confused and scared, backed away.
He didn’t understand death. He didn’t understand how badly he had hurt his little sibling. He only knew that the adults were angry now. His mother looked up at him—and there was a pain in her eyes that pierced through everything.
One of the older males lunged at Lino, causing him to flee. He scampered away into the trees, alone, confused, and suddenly afraid.
The Fight for Life
Down below, the mother didn’t leave her newborn’s side. She licked her wounds, kept her warm, and cradled her like a fragile flower. The baby whimpered occasionally, but she couldn’t open her eyes. One leg didn’t move at all.
Other mothers brought leaves, soft moss, and bits of food. The troop’s mood changed. There was no more playfulness, no more chattering—only quiet, somber silence.
The mother tried everything to help her baby. She placed her on her belly, trying to offer milk. The newborn suckled weakly, but the pain was too much. Every little movement made her whimper.
Night came. The forest grew cold. The mother held her close, warming her with her body, whispering quiet monkey sounds of love and sorrow.
Lino watched from a distance. Alone. Hungry. He didn’t try to go near his mother. He had never seen her like this—broken, angry, grieving.
A Slow Recovery… or the End?
Over the next few days, the baby held onto life. Her wounds scabbed. Her cries grew louder. But her left leg remained stiff, maybe broken. One eye never opened. Her breathing was uneven.
The mother stayed by her constantly. She didn’t go far to find food. She didn’t groom others. Her entire world was now this fragile life she was trying to save.
Other monkeys took turns watching over them, guarding from predators, bringing food. Even those who hadn’t been close to the mother before came forward with help. Pain united them.
Lino remained distant. He was still young, but something inside him had changed. He no longer played. He no longer smiled. He would sit for hours, watching the mother hold the baby he had pushed—watching the suffering he caused.
No one played with Lino anymore. No one groomed him. Not even his own mother.
A New Name, A Mark of Pain
After many days, the newborn began to make stronger sounds. She opened her right eye and looked up at her mother. Her small hand reached up and grasped her fur. The mother cried again—this time not in grief, but in hope.
The troop gathered once more, quietly. The elder female finally gave the baby a name: Mara — which meant “Wounded One.”
Mara had survived, but she would always carry the scars—on her face, her leg, and perhaps even in her heart. She would never walk quite right. Her eye would stay closed forever. But she had her mother. She had the forest. She had life.
As for Lino, he never fully returned to the troop’s love. Some forgave him as he grew older. Others never did. He became more distant, more solitary. His childhood had ended the day he made that push.
Final Reflections
The story of Mara and Lino spread quietly through the forest. To those who saw it, it was a lesson—a painful reminder of how jealousy and neglect can harm even the most innocent. It reminded them that love, though powerful, can be fragile when not shared wisely.
The mother never had another baby again. Her world remained centered on Mara. She carried her until she grew strong enough to climb with one hand. They were inseparable. The love between them was deeper than words, shaped by pain and survival.
And every time someone asked why Mara limped, why she had only one eye, or why her mother seemed sad even in happy moments—those who knew the truth would lower their heads and whisper:
“Because once, a little brother pushed her from the rocks.”
