Under the warm afternoon sun filtering through the thick canopy of the jungle, a gentle scene was unfolding. Moly, a curious and playful young monkey, had his eyes fixed on his mother’s peaceful face. She was lying on her side, clearly exhausted, her breathing slow and shallow after a long and difficult day. Her children surrounded her with visible concern etched into their tiny expressions.
Moly, always the most inquisitive of the bunch, leaned closer and gently touched his mother’s lips. His small hand hovered over her mouth, and then, with the innocent mischief of a baby monkey trying to help, he tried to pull her tongue out. He didn’t understand what was happening—only that his mother wasn’t moving much, and that worried him. His tiny fingers tugged with care, as if he thought that helping her breathe or wake up depended on that small action.
Nearby, Dodo watched with wide eyes. He chirped and moved closer, placing his hands on his mother’s chest. He mimicked what he’d seen the elder monkeys do—patting gently and making little sounds. Mory sat at their mother’s side, quietly pressing against her shoulder, her tiny body trying to provide warmth. Donal, the oldest of the four, stood watchfully a short distance away, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings to make sure no danger approached.
Their mother, though tired and worn, stirred a little under their loving touch. A soft groan escaped her lips, and her eyes blinked open for a brief moment. Moly squeaked with excitement, hopping up and down. The others responded with relieved chatter, climbing closer to her and gently nuzzling her arms.
This wasn’t the first time these four siblings had shown remarkable instincts. With no adult nearby except their weak mother, they had taken it upon themselves to care for her in the best way their young minds knew how. They groomed her fur, brought her leaves and fruit, and never strayed far from her side.
As the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the forest floor, the young monkeys nestled around their mother, pressing close to her for warmth and comfort. Moly still looked puzzled, staring at her mouth once more, then leaning in as if trying to hear her breathe.
It was a moving picture of pure familial love—four young monkeys, barely old enough to care for themselves, instinctively doing everything they could to protect and comfort their mother.
Their actions might have seemed comical—Moly’s attempt to tug on her tongue, Dodo’s awkward chest pats—but they were acts of pure devotion. In their own way, they were saying, We’re here. We won’t leave you.
That evening, as a soft breeze rustled the leaves above, their mother stirred again. This time, she lifted her head and looked at them—tired but grateful. Moly reached out and gently touched her cheek, a small smile playing across his face. They had kept her safe. They had kept her loved.