It was a hot afternoon in the small village near the forest edge. The troop of monkeys rested under the big mango tree, the air still and heavy. Among them was a mother monkey with her young baby — a tiny, playful thing that followed her everywhere.
The baby was full of curiosity, climbing on branches, touching everything it could reach. But the mother was tired and easily irritated that day. The heat, the noise, and the other monkeys crowding around made her restless.
When her baby pulled at her tail and tried to climb on her back while she was eating, the mother suddenly turned around, her face tense, her eyes flashing.
The Sudden Anger
The baby froze for a moment, not understanding what had happened. The mother gave a loud warning sound — sharp and quick — but the baby didn’t move away. It only reached out again, thinking she wanted to play.
That small mistake made her even angrier.
The mother grabbed the baby roughly by the arm, pulling it away. The baby let out a frightened squeak, twisting to free itself. But the mother was too strong. She scolded the baby in loud cries, shaking it lightly as if trying to discipline it.
Other monkeys nearby turned to watch. Some older females made soft calls, as if telling her to calm down. But the mother didn’t listen. Her stress had turned into frustration.
The baby began to cry — a high, trembling sound filled with fear. Its small body shook as it tried to hide behind her leg, still crying softly.
The Pain and Fear
In her anger, the mother pushed the baby aside roughly. The little one stumbled on the ground, hitting its arm on a rock. It cried louder now, clutching its arm and crawling slowly toward her again for comfort.
But the mother, still upset, hissed and moved away.
The troop went quiet. The sound of the crying baby echoed under the tree. It was a heartbreaking moment — the confusion of a child who didn’t understand why the one it trusted most was suddenly cruel.
The baby didn’t fight or run. It only sat there, eyes full of tears, making tiny sounds of apology — soft, broken calls meant for the mother’s forgiveness.
After a moment, the mother turned her head and stared. Her anger began to fade. She saw her baby trembling, the little hands clutching the dirt, eyes wet and pleading.
The look melted her rage.
The Return of Tenderness
Slowly, the mother moved closer. She reached out, touching the baby’s face lightly with her hand. The baby whimpered, uncertain, then crawled closer.
The mother picked it up gently this time, pulling it against her chest. She made soft cooing sounds, grooming its fur as if trying to erase what had just happened.
The baby pressed its face into her stomach, still shaking but calming down bit by bit. The mother’s eyes softened; she licked the baby’s small wound, cleaning it carefully.
For a long time, she held her child close, rocking it quietly under the shade. The other monkeys, sensing the peace return, began to relax again — grooming each other, playing softly nearby.
Quiet After the Storm
The air grew cooler as the sun began to sink. The baby was now asleep against her body, breathing softly, safe once more. The mother stared into the distance, her expression thoughtful and sad, as if she understood what she had done.
She touched the baby’s tiny fingers and sighed, a sound almost human — full of regret.
No mother means to hurt her baby. In the wild, frustration sometimes replaces calm, and stress replaces patience. But love always returns. It was love that made her hold the baby again, love that made her gentle once more.
The evening wind moved softly through the trees. The troop climbed higher into the branches to rest. The mother curled around her sleeping baby, protecting it from the night’s chill.
And though the day had been filled with anger and pain, it ended — as always — with love, warmth, and forgiveness.
