In the quiet shade of the forest, a little baby monkey sat clinging to his mother, his tiny eyes wide with hope. His soft hands reached again and again toward her belly, searching desperately for the comfort of warm milk. But this time, his mother pulled herself away, blocking his eager attempts. The baby’s face wrinkled with sadness, and then came the sound—his pitiful, sharp c-r-y that echoed through the trees.
The hungry baby monkey did not understand why the milk was refused. He had been used to the soothing routine, the closeness that fed not only his body but also his little heart. With each attempt denied, his cries grew louder, carrying a mix of sorrow and confusion. Other monkeys in the troop glanced over, curious, some mothers holding their own babies tighter, letting them feed without hesitation. The little one, however, was left in longing.
Hunger made his small body restless. He pawed at the ground, squeaked, and leaned back toward his mother again. For a moment, it seemed she might allow him, but once more she turned away. It was a lesson—perhaps too early for him to understand—that one day he would have to eat fruits, leaves, and other foods instead of relying on milk alone.
Still, for such a tiny soul, the need for milk felt urgent. His little stomach rumbled, and his c-r-y softened into whimpers, like a song of sadness. Slowly, exhausted by the effort, he curled close to his mother’s chest, hoping warmth alone could ease his hunger. Though milk was blocked, the bond of love remained strong, and the little monkey’s struggle showed just how deeply babies depend on that gentle source of life.
