At dawn, a poor lady farmer sat beside her small hut, holding a baby monkey rescued from the fields. She offered him warm rice, the only food she had, watching his tiny hands tremble. He tried to chew, but his cries returned, thin and weak, because his body needed milk, not grains. Hunger pulled at his belly while confusion clouded his eyes.
The farmer’s face tightened with worry as she remembered mothers nursing calves nearby. She rocked the baby gently, whispering comfort she hoped he understood. With tired steps, she asked neighbors for help, explaining the fragile life in her arms. Some shook their heads, others searched cupboards, until someone found a little milk meant for tea.
When the milk warmed, the baby latched with desperate relief. His cries softened into gulps, eyes fluttering closed. The farmer smiled through tears, feeling hope rise like sunlight. She promised to learn, to find proper care, to protect him from hunger again. In that humble hut, kindness became nourishment stronger than rice.
By evening, word spread, and a volunteer arrived with formula and guidance. Together they fed him slowly, measuring breaths and patience. The baby slept at last, safe and warm. The farmer rested nearby, knowing poverty limited her means, but love had opened a door. Milk saved a life, and compassion carried it forward.
At sunrise, the monkey woke stronger, gripping her finger. She smiled, whispering thanks to everyone who helped. Though fields remained hard, her heart felt light. She learned that feeding is more than food; it is listening, learning, and choosing mercy when resources are few. His breathing steadied, and hope settled quietly, promising tomorrow would be gentler for them both. Neighbors pledged support, sharing milk, advice, and watchful care. Until he thrived. Under patient, loving hands. each gentle day
