The Baby Monkey Who Fell Into the Pool
The sun shimmered overhead, casting a golden light over the clearing where a shallow pool of water glistened. It was one of those rare places in the forest where monkeys often gathered to drink, play, and cool off during the heat of the day. The water reflected the canopy above, broken occasionally by the ripples of dragonflies or the splash of a leaf drifting down.
A group of monkeys crowded the branches near the pool, chattering and jumping, their energy loud and restless. Among them was a baby monkey, still very young, clumsy with his movements but endlessly curious. His eyes were bright with wonder, always searching for a new game or a way to join in with the older ones.
The older monkeys swung from branch to branch with ease, their long tails curling, gripping, and balancing them like ropes. The little one watched with fascination, desperately wanting to be part of their game. But he was not yet strong enough to leap the way they did, and his tiny fingers sometimes slipped when he tried to copy them.
That afternoon, one of the juveniles dangled his tail teasingly near the little one, swinging it just out of reach. The baby monkey’s eyes lit up. He squeaked and stretched out his hand, determined to grab hold. The older one laughed in his own monkey way, jerking his tail back, swaying it again like a moving target. The little one leaned farther and farther forward, balancing on the edge of the branch that hung directly over the pool.
The water shimmered below, calm and inviting but dangerous to a small monkey who had never learned to swim. The baby did not think about that. All he could see was the tail swishing temptingly in front of him. He crouched, reached out with both tiny hands, and lunged.
For a second, his fingers brushed the fur of the tail. But it slipped away. His balance broke. His little body pitched forward, and with a startled cry, he toppled off the branch.
SPLASH!
The pool erupted as the baby monkey plunged into the water. His eyes went wide with shock, his small limbs flailing wildly. He tried to grab onto something—anything—but the water swallowed him, cool and heavy. Bubbles rose as he kicked and squirmed, his squeals muffled beneath the surface.
The troop above exploded into chaos. High-pitched alarm calls echoed through the trees as the older monkeys rushed to the edge. The juvenile who had been teasing with his tail froze in guilt and fear, watching the baby splash helplessly below.
The big monkey—an elder of the troop—moved fastest. Without hesitation, he climbed down the trunk, his muscles rippling with urgency. He bounded to the pool’s edge and leaned forward, his powerful arm plunging into the water. The baby monkey’s tiny hands reached out desperately, bubbles bursting from his mouth.
With one swift pull, the big monkey hauled him out, water dripping from his fur in a shining spray. The baby coughed and squeaked, clinging tightly to the chest of his rescuer. His tiny body shook with fear and cold, pressing into the safety of the elder’s strong arms.
The troop gathered around, chattering anxiously, some grooming the little one to calm him. The juvenile who had dangled his tail hung back, ashamed, his head lowered. The baby monkey, though frightened, soon began to relax in the warmth of his guardian’s fur. His breathing slowed, and his cries softened to whimpers.
The lesson was clear: curiosity and play had nearly led to disaster. But it was also a reminder of how the troop protected its own, rushing to save the smallest and weakest when danger struck.
That night, as the baby curled close to his mother, still damp but safe, he dreamt of tails, branches, and shimmering water. Perhaps one day he would learn to swing as gracefully as the older monkeys. But for now, the memory of the pool would remain—a frightening reminder of how quickly a game could turn into danger.
