In the depths of a quiet forest, where the trees whispered with the wind and birds danced through the branches, a tension was rising among a small monkey troop. Among them was a mother monkey named Nali, once gentle and protective, but now increasingly irritable. Something had changed in her—she had grown tired, frustrated, and distant. Her young baby, just a few months old and still learning to walk, didn’t understand why the warmth in his mother’s eyes was fading.
That afternoon, the baby monkey was playing near a bush, trying to mimic the older juveniles. He squeaked with excitement as he reached for a low-hanging leaf. But suddenly, his small hand slipped, and he fell backward onto the dusty ground. He whimpered softly, looking around for his mother. But Nali, instead of rushing over with comfort, stood nearby watching with narrowed eyes.
A few moments passed before she stomped toward him, fur bristling. Without any tenderness, she reached down and grabbed the baby by his tiny arm. Her grip was firm—too firm. The baby squealed, his eyes wide with confusion and pain. Nali began to drag him across the dry ground, not lifting him gently as mothers often do, but yanking him roughly like an object rather than her own flesh and blood.
Dry leaves crunched under the baby’s back as he struggled to keep up. His thin arms flailed. Dust kicked up around them. His tail curled tightly in fear. The troop grew quiet. Some monkeys watched in silence from the trees, unsure whether to interfere. A few juveniles stared with wide eyes, sensing the anger but not understanding the reason behind it.
The baby cried out, a sharp, high-pitched sound full of fear and pain. He wasn’t hurt badly, but emotionally—he was breaking. His mother didn’t seem to care. She dragged him several meters, pulling him out from the open field back under the shade of a large tree, then shoved him against a root. He lay there, breathing hard, confused and scared, eyes welling with tears.
Nali didn’t even look at him. She turned away and sat down with her back toward him, grooming herself as if nothing had happened.
The baby sniffled, trying to understand what he had done wrong. He slowly crawled toward her, hoping for forgiveness or even a single touch of kindness. But when he got close, she hissed and swatted at him, making him flinch and back away again.
Minutes passed. The troop slowly returned to its regular activity, but the baby sat alone, his tiny body trembling. He stared at his mother from a distance, still longing for the warmth of her arms, the gentle hum of her comfort. But that day, there was no softness in her. Only cold silence.
In the forest, moments like this happen—moments when a mother’s patience frays and a child bears the weight of her frustration. It wasn’t that Nali didn’t love him—deep down, that love still lived—but for reasons only she knew, her tenderness had gone quiet.
And so, the baby monkey sat under the tree, small and alone, the red dust clinging to his fur, waiting for a moment when his mother might come back to him—not in anger, but in lov
