In the middle of a quiet, muddy field, a tiny baby monkey lay curled in the dirt—alone, soaked, and shivering. His cries echoed softly in the air, so small, so broken, it was hard to believe such sorrow could come from someone so little.
No one knew how he got there. Maybe his mother had passed. Maybe she had been chased away. All that was certain was that this baby, barely a few days old, had been abandoned in a world far too cold for someone so young.
His fur was matted with mud, his fingers stiff from the chill. He lifted his little head, eyes wide with fear and confusion. Each breath came out like a soft moan, and he cried—louder, desperate. He wanted to be held. He needed warmth. But all he had was the damp ground beneath him and silence all around.
A butterfly fluttered by and paused briefly, as if to say, “You are not invisible.” But then it flew on, like everything else that passed him by.
Time felt endless for the tiny soul lying in the mud.
Then, from a distance, came a sound—the rustle of footsteps, soft but steady. A kind man, walking the edge of the field, stopped suddenly. His eyes widened as he spotted the tiny creature crying in the puddle.
Without a second thought, he rushed forward, carefully scooping the shivering baby monkey into his arms. “Oh no, poor baby… you’re safe now,” he whispered.
The baby was too weak to move, but his crying softened.
