The midday sun hung over the forest, pouring light through the tall trees and scattering patches of gold across the ground. The air was heavy and hot, filled with the buzzing of insects and the distant calls of birds. In the middle of this forest clearing, tension was brewing among the troop of monkeys.
For days, the monkeys had been restless. Food was becoming scarce, and the older, stronger males fought constantly to protect what little remained. But among the smaller monkeys, especially the babies, this unrest brought fear. They clung closer to their mothers, staying quiet whenever the dominant ones appeared.
One baby monkey, no older than a few months, was especially vulnerable. His fur was soft and patchy, his eyes wide and innocent, and his small body not yet strong enough to defend himself. He liked to play on the lower branches, chasing shadows and reaching for leaves. His tiny squeaks were full of joy. But that day, his happiness was cut short.
A big male monkey, much larger than the others, was in a foul mood. He had lost a fight with another rival and was seething with rage. His eyes were sharp, his teeth bared, and his temper unpredictable. The troop avoided him, keeping their distance. But the little baby monkey, unaware of the danger, had crawled too close.
The big monkey noticed him. Something inside snapped. He rushed toward the baby, his heavy body crashing through the branches. The baby froze in terror, his tiny hands gripping the bark. Before he could escape, the big monkey grabbed him roughly. The baby let out a sharp cry that echoed through the forest.
Then came the bite. The big monkey sank his teeth into the baby’s soft arm. The cry turned into a scream—high-pitched, full of pain and fear. The small monkey struggled desperately, kicking his little legs, clawing at the bigger one with his fragile hands. But he was no match for the strength of his attacker. Blood matted his fur where the bite had torn his skin.
The baby monkey fought back as best as he could. He scratched the big monkey’s chest and even tried to bite in return, his little teeth pressing against the thick fur of his enemy. But his efforts only made the larger monkey angrier. With a furious snarl, the big one shook him violently, slamming him against the tree trunk. The impact sent another wave of pain through the baby’s body, forcing out another heartbreaking scream.
The mothers in the troop cried out from above, rushing to the scene. They screeched loudly, baring their own teeth to scare the attacker. But the big monkey stood his ground, his rage blinding him to the pleas of the troop. He bit the baby again, this time on the back. The poor little one’s cries became weaker, strained and broken by sobs.
The fight turned brutal. The baby flailed, trying to escape, but each attempt left him more hurt. His tiny nails scratched the bigger monkey’s face, leaving thin red lines. The big one roared in anger, lifting the baby and tossing him down onto the ground below. The fall knocked the wind out of him. He lay in the grass, coughing and crying, too weak to move.
The big monkey leapt down after him, teeth bared. The baby tried to crawl away, dragging his injured arm, but he couldn’t go far. The larger one grabbed him again, shaking him harshly. His cries filled the clearing, desperate, painful cries that sounded like pleading for mercy.
By now, the troop was in chaos. The other monkeys screamed, some rushing forward, others keeping back in fear. A few brave mothers leapt toward the attacker, pulling at his fur and clawing his back. Distracted, the big monkey let go of the baby for a moment. The little one collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, his body trembling with fear and pain.
The mothers continued to fight, biting and scratching until the big monkey finally let out an angry roar and retreated into the trees. His heavy body disappeared into the shadows, leaving the troop trembling in silence.
The focus turned immediately to the baby. His mother rushed to his side, scooping him up gently. He cried weakly, pressing his injured face into her fur. Blood trickled from his wounds—deep bites on his arm and back, scratches across his belly, bruises forming where he had been slammed. His little body shook with sobs, every breath sounding like a plea for comfort.
She licked his wounds tenderly, trying to clean the blood. The baby clung to her tightly, whimpering in pain. His cries were softer now, filled with exhaustion and fear. The other mothers gathered around, their eyes full of pity, their voices soft with sympathy. But nothing could erase the hurt he had suffered.
For the rest of the day, the baby stayed pressed against his mother. Every movement hurt him. When she tried to climb, he cried, too afraid of falling again. She moved carefully, staying low, unwilling to risk more pain for her little one. His tiny fingers clutched her fur tightly, as though letting go meant he would be attacked again.
That night, as the troop rested in the trees, the baby whimpered in his sleep. Nightmares made him twitch, small cries escaping even as his mother rocked him gently. The wounds throbbed with pain, but the deeper injury was the fear left inside him. The memory of teeth, the weight of the big monkey, the helplessness of the fight—those lingered more painfully than the blood.
The troop kept close watch, guarding the little one. They knew the big monkey might return, but they also knew the baby needed protection now more than ever. His cries had reminded them of their own young, of how fragile life could be.
The morning came, and the baby was still alive, though weak. His eyes were half-closed, his body tired from crying. He moved slowly, carefully, every step cautious. But when his mother held him close and groomed him, he found a little comfort.
The scars would remain. His tiny body carried the marks of the fight—the bites, the scratches, the bruises. But the most lasting scar was in his heart. From that day on, the baby monkey feared the big ones. Whenever he heard their cries or saw them moving near, he clung tighter to his mother, trembling. He never forgot the pain of the bites, the hopeless fight, and the tears that had poured down his face as he lay injured in the field.
The forest, with all its beauty, had shown him its cruelty too. And though he survived, his cries on that day would forever echo in the memory of the troop—a reminder of how easily the strong can hurt the weak, and how fragile the life of a baby monkey truly is.
