It was a gray, rainy morning in the countryside. The wind blew softly through the tall grass, and the ground had turned into thick, sticky mud from the night’s storm.
There, in the middle of a shallow ditch, two tiny baby monkeys — Binky and Winky — huddled together, soaked, shivering, and crying softly.
Their thin fur was matted with mud, and their little hands trembled as they held each other. Their cries weren’t loud anymore… they were tired, weak sobs, almost as if they had lost hope.
No mother in sight. No warm arms. No food. Just the cold and silence.
Every time Binky tried to move, he slipped and squeaked in fear. Winky clung to his brother’s side, whimpering. They didn’t understand why they were alone. They only knew it hurt — their bellies were empty, their bodies freezing, and no one was coming.
Passersby had walked near the edge of the field earlier, but no one noticed the tiny figures deep in the mud.
Until… a faint voice called out, “Is someone crying?”
A rescue worker in a raincoat, walking nearby, paused and listened. The soft whimpers reached his ears, and he turned quickly, stepping into the muddy field.
There they were — two fragile lives hidden in the filth, barely able to lift their heads.
“Hold on, babies,” he whispered, rushing to scoop them up.
Binky and Winky trembled in his hands, but for the first time, they stopped crying.
They didn’t know who he was.
But he was warm. He was gentle.
And he cared.
Wrapped in towels, they were rushed to safety — where warm milk, a cozy bed, and healing love waited.
