In the quiet shadows of the forest, a tiny baby monkey trembled, its fragile body wracked with desperate cries. Hunger gnawed at its belly, and fear clutched its small chest, yet its mother remained indifferent. She was absorbed in her own needs, foraging relentlessly for food, her focus entirely on satisfying herself. The baby’s plaintive cries pierced the air, echoing among the trees, but they fell on ears that refused to listen. Its small hands reached out, seeking comfort, warmth, or even a simple touch, yet she turned away, oblivious to the suffering of her helpless offspring. Each moment without nourishment left the baby weaker, its fragile limbs trembling with exhaustion, its tiny chest heaving with futile wails. Around them, the world carried on—birds chirped, leaves rustled in the wind—but for the baby, life had become an agonizing struggle for survival. Its eyes, wide and pleading, reflected confusion and sorrow, a silent question of why its cries were ignored. In that forest, survival depended on care, protection, and instinct, but in this moment, the mother’s self-absorption overshadowed her maternal duty, leaving the baby alone, vulnerable, and painfully aware of the cruel indifference of the very one who should have nurtured it.
