Under the shade of the old temple wall, chaos suddenly erupted between two mother monkeys — Linda and Lumi. The troop, usually calm after morning feeding, watched in confusion as Linda’s loud cries echoed through the courtyard. Lumi, the younger mother, clung tightly to her small baby, her face full of both fear and defiance.
Linda approached with sharp, angry movements, her tail flicking side to side. She seemed furious, perhaps jealous, perhaps trying to prove her dominance. The air was thick with tension as Lumi stepped backward, protecting her infant against her chest. Then, in one shocking moment, Linda lunged forward, swiping at Lumi’s shoulder. Both screamed — a raw sound of emotion and pain that made even the baby cry.
The tiny infant reached out for milk, desperate for comfort, but Lumi turned away. She was too shaken, too focused on watching Linda’s every move. Her breathing came fast; her eyes darted between her baby and her rival. It was as if she believed that showing weakness — even by nursing her child — would invite another attack.
The baby whimpered softly, crawling closer to her mother’s belly. But Lumi hesitated. The warmth that usually came from her motherly instinct seemed lost in fear and anger. Around them, other monkeys murmured, restless and uncertain.
After a few tense minutes, Linda retreated, still glaring. Lumi sat frozen, her baby still waiting for milk. It was heartbreaking — a quiet moment of confusion after violence. The tiny one pressed against her chest again, seeking comfort that didn’t come. Perhaps Lumi thought she didn’t need to give milk right now. But for the baby, that moment of rejection spoke louder than any fight could.
