Baby monkey Shala cried with burning anger, his tiny face red and tense as he sat waiting for milk that never came. His stomach ached with hunger, and every second felt like a betrayal. Daddy was right there, but he didn’t lift the bottle. To Shala, that felt unbearable.
He screamed loudly, voice sharp and demanding, kicking his feet against the floor. His hands clenched into fists, shaking with frustration. This wasn’t a soft cry for comfort. This was a furious protest. Shala stared straight at Daddy, eyes wide and wet, as if saying, Why are you not helping me?
Daddy tried to calm him with words, but Shala didn’t want talking. He wanted milk. He wanted action. The smell of feeding time lingered in the air, making his anger explode even more. He arched his back, cried harder, and slapped the floor with his palm, showing just how serious his hunger was.
The room filled with his cries. Caregivers watched closely, understanding this storm of emotion. Shala wasn’t naughty. He was overwhelmed. Hunger turned his fear into rage, and rage into shaking sobs. His breathing became fast and uneven, chest rising quickly as tears streamed down.
Finally, Daddy realized the mistake. The bottle was lifted. Shala froze for a second, then screamed once more, releasing all his anger before the milk touched his lips. The moment he latched on, everything changed.
His body softened. His cries melted into quiet gulps. His fists slowly opened, fingers relaxing as warmth filled his belly. Anger drained away, replaced by deep relief. He leaned closer, still watching Daddy carefully, making sure the milk stayed.
After feeding, Shala rested quietly, exhausted from feeling so much. His tantrum was not disobedience. It was communication. A hungry baby asking to be heard.
Shala didn’t cry because Daddy was cruel. He cried because love, when tiny, feels hunger as an emergency. And when help finally came, trust returned, fragile but real, resting quietly in his full belly and tired eyes.
