In the heart of the lush green jungle, where the trees stretched high into the sky, a young monkey named Moka played with boundless joy. She leaped from branch to branch, her tiny hands grasping the vines as she swung effortlessly. Her mother, Molla, watched over her from a nearby tree, her eyes filled with love and caution.
The jungle was their home, but hidden dangers lurked within. Wires from human villages had stretched into the trees, carrying a deadly force that no monkey could understand. Moka, in her innocent curiosity, reached out toward one of these thin black lines, mistaking it for a vine.
The moment her tiny fingers touched the wire, a crackling burst of energy surged through her body. A bright spark flashed, and Moka was thrown backward with a violent jolt. She landed hard on the jungle floor, her small body convulsing, her limbs jerking uncontrollably. Then came the most heart-wrenching sound—her agonized scream.
Molla, who had been watching from above, let out a cry that shook the trees. A mother’s cry of desperation, fear, and unbearable pain. She rushed down the trunk, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heart pounding like a drum.
When she reached Moka, the young monkey was rolling on the ground, crying loudly in agony. Her little body writhed in pain, her eyes squeezed shut, her tiny hands clutching at the air as if begging for relief. Molla scooped her up, cradling her in trembling arms.
Tears streamed down Molla’s face as she gently rocked her child, whispering soothing sounds, but Moka’s cries did not stop. The other monkeys gathered around, their worried chatter filling the air. Some reached out to touch Moka’s trembling body, their eyes filled with sorrow.
Molla pressed her forehead against Moka’s, her mind racing. She had to do something—anything—to ease her daughter’s suffering. She quickly carried Moka to a nearby stream, dipping her burned hands and feet into the cool water. Moka whimpered, the cold numbing some of the pain, but her cries still echoed through the jungle.
Molla’s heart ached. She let out another sorrowful wail, a desperate call that rang through the trees. It was a mother’s cry—a cry for help, a cry of warning, a cry that carried the weight of all the love and fear in the world.
As the hours passed, Moka’s cries weakened, her tiny body exhausted from the pain. She nestled closer to her mother, her breathing shallow but steady. Molla held her close, refusing to let go, her tears soaking into Moka’s fur.
The jungle remained silent, as if mourning with her. The other monkeys sat close, offering their quiet support. But Molla knew this was not over. The deadly wires remained, waiting for another innocent soul.
With Moka still in her arms, Molla looked up at the trees and let out one final cry—not just of sorrow, but of fierce determination. A mother’s love was stronger than any danger, and she would fight to protect her child, no matter what it took.
