Baby monkey Dum sat inside the garden, fists clenched, face red with anger and tears. The garden was calm—green leaves, soft soil, warm sunlight—but inside Dum, a storm was raging. He cried loudly, sharp cries filled with frustration, calling again and again for mom. She was nearby, but she didn’t pick him up. And for Dum, that felt unbearable.
He stomped his tiny feet, tail flicking wildly. Each time mom looked away or continued what she was doing, Dum’s temper grew stronger. His crying turned into angry screams, his little body shaking with emotion he didn’t know how to control. He didn’t want toys. He didn’t want the garden. He wanted arms. He wanted comfort.
Dum threw himself onto the ground, rolling and crying harder, hoping the sound would pull mom closer. His eyes searched her face desperately. Why isn’t she coming? The question lived in every scream. To Dum, being ignored felt like being forgotten.
Mom watched carefully. She knew Dum was safe. She knew he needed to learn patience, but her heart still ached seeing his pain. She spoke softly, explaining, but Dum couldn’t hear reason through his emotions. All he understood was that his need was unmet.
After long minutes, Dum’s cries weakened. His anger drained into exhaustion. He sat up slowly, shoulders slumped, tears sliding down his cheeks. The garden felt quieter now, too quiet. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, still upset, still hurt.
That was when mom finally came.
She knelt down and opened her arms. Dum froze for a second, then crawled forward quickly, burying his face into her chest. His crying returned—but softer, relieved. Mom held him tightly, rocking him gently, whispering reassurance.
Dum clung hard, afraid she might disappear again. His body slowly relaxed, anger melting into safety. The garden became peaceful once more.
That day, Dum learned something difficult: sometimes waiting hurts. Mom learned something too—that even small lessons need big compassion. And inside that garden, love found its balance again.
