In the ancient temple ruins, where monkeys roamed freely among the stone carvings, a tiny newborn clung tightly to his mother’s belly. His soft fur barely protected him from the morning chill, and his tiny fingers trembled as he held on. His mother, a fierce and seasoned monkey, moved swiftly over the stone steps, ignoring his faint cries.
The baby, named Piko by temple visitors, had yet to learn the ways of survival. He depended on his mother for warmth, food, and protection. But today, something changed. His mother suddenly grabbed him by the scruff, pulled him off her belly, and tossed him into a shallow pool of temple water.
Piko shrieked. His tiny body splashed into the cold water, his limbs flailing as he struggled to stay afloat. His cries echoed through the temple grounds, making the nearby tourists gasp. Some reached out as if to help, but the mother only sat on the edge, watching.
This was no act of cruelty—it was a lesson. The temple was surrounded by water sources, and for a monkey in this area, knowing how to survive in water was essential. Still, Piko panicked. He kicked and squirmed, his cries turning desperate.
Just as it seemed he could sink, his mother leaped in, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to safety. Soaked and shivering, Piko clung to her fur again.
The lesson was harsh, but necessary. The wild was unforgiving, and she knew that one day, her little one would have to fend for himself.
From the temple steps, the older monkeys watched silently—this was nature’s way.
And Piko, though shaken, had taken his first step toward survival.
