In a remote and silent corner of the forest, where the leaves barely rustled and danger often lurked, a tiny baby monkey lay motionless—barely breathing. His thin body was curled under a fallen log near a muddy trail, hidden from view, as if the world had forgotten him.
His tiny chest rose with faint effort, eyes half-closed, and his limbs stiff from weakness. A few flies circled him, and the humid air made it hard to breathe. He had been alone for too long—no sign of his mother, no warmth, no milk, and no protection.
When rescuers happened upon the area, they didn’t expect to find life. But then, one of them spotted a small movement beneath the log. “There’s a baby here!” the man shouted. Everyone rushed over, their hearts pounding. The baby was still alive—but barely. His body was cold, soaked with wet earth, and his breath was shallow.
They worked quickly. One wrapped the baby in a towel, another gently cleaned the mud from his face, while a third prepared a warm bottle of milk. The baby didn’t even cry—he had no strength left to make a sound.
As warmth returned to his body, a soft whimper escaped his lips—a faint cry for help, a sign of fight still within. The team didn’t stop. They massaged his tiny limbs, whispered gently, and fed him drops of warm milk.
Hours later, he opened his eyes fully for the first time—weak but alive.
It was a heartbreaking scene, but also one of hope. This baby had been left in one of the most dangerous places, nearly gone. But kindness, care, and urgency gave him another chance at life.
They named him Lucky—for surviving when no one thought he could.
