The morning sun had barely risen when Dara heard the first soft whimper from the small woven basket in the corner of his porch. It was a weak, trembling sound—so quiet that most people might not have noticed it. But Dara had been listening for it all night. He rushed over instantly, his heart tightening when he saw the tiny baby monkey curled up inside, her little face scrunched in discomfort.
Her name was Lini.
He had found her the evening before, alone near a patch of bamboo trees where her troop usually passed. She must have fallen behind or gotten separated somehow. When Dara heard her faint cry while walking home from the market, he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped her in his scarf and brought her home, promising himself he would take care of her until she could return to the wild safely.
But today, something was wrong.
Lini wasn’t just crying for attention or hunger. Her cries were different—shaky, breathy, and full of pain she didn’t understand. She kept curling her body and stretching her tiny hands toward Dara as if begging him to make it stop.
Dara lifted her gently, holding her close to his chest.
“It’s okay, little one,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice calm even though he felt helpless. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Lini pressed her face into his shirt, her small body trembling. She didn’t know words, but she knew comfort, and right now, he was the only comfort she had.
Dara paced around the small hut, trying to figure out what was wrong. She had eaten earlier but only a tiny amount. She had tried to play but quickly lost energy. Every few minutes she would cry again, those soft little sounds stabbing straight into his chest.
“I wish you could tell me what hurts,” he murmured.
He checked her belly carefully, feeling if there was anything unusual. He checked her fingers, her feet, her soft fur—any sign of something wrong. Nothing looked dangerous, but the baby was clearly uncomfortable. She kept holding her tiny stomach and curling up in his hands.
Dara worried she might have eaten something strange before he found her. Little monkeys were curious by nature; sometimes they tasted things they shouldn’t. But he didn’t want to guess. He wanted to help her properly.
He quickly gathered a warm cloth, wrapping Lini inside to keep her calm. He stepped outside, locking his door behind him, and headed toward the village healer—a gentle elderly woman named Mae Rina who knew more about animals than anyone else around.
Along the way, Lini cried again, her little voice weak. Dara stroked her back with his thumb.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m almost there.”
Villagers saw him walking with the wrapped bundle and asked if he needed help. Dara explained softly, and they stepped aside with sympathy. They had all seen him care for injured or orphaned animals before. Everyone knew he had a kind heart.
When he reached Mae Rina’s wooden house, she was already outside sweeping the steps. She looked up at the sound of his hurried footsteps.
“Another little one?” she asked gently.
Dara nodded and carefully unwrapped the cloth. “She’s in pain. Crying since early morning. I don’t know what happened.”
Mae Rina reached out her hands, and Dara placed Lini gently in them. The healer studied the baby with calm, practiced eyes. Lini whimpered again, then clung to her finger.
“She’s scared,” Mae Rina said softly. “But let me see what else.”
She brought the baby inside to a small table with jars of herbs and simple tools. Dara hovered behind her anxiously, but the healer smiled. “Don’t worry. She’s safe. Stay close so she knows you’re here.”
Lini kept turning her head toward Dara, trying to see him. When he placed his hand near her, she held onto it tightly, which made him feel both heartbroken and protective.
Mae Rina checked Lini’s temperature and gently pressed along her belly. “Ah,” she murmured. “It’s not serious. Just a stomach ache. Likely from something she ate yesterday in the forest. It’s uncomfortable for her, but she’ll recover soon.”
Dara released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Can… can I do anything?”
Mae Rina prepared a tiny warm herbal mixture—safe for baby animals—and showed Dara how to let Lini sip a few drops at a time. The baby disliked the taste at first and shook her head, but when Dara soothed her and spoke to her softly, she accepted it.
“Now,” Mae Rina said kindly, “keep her warm, rub her belly gently like this, and let her rest. She will cry less once the herbs start helping. But she needs patience and comfort.”
Dara nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
On the walk home, Lini still cried a little, but her cries were quieter, like she trusted that she wasn’t alone anymore. Dara held her close against his chest, shielding her from the breeze.
When they reached his house, he placed her in his lap and started rubbing her belly gently in slow circles. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. “Just rest. I’m not going anywhere.”
The baby monkey gazed up at him with tired, watery eyes. She couldn’t speak, but her tiny fingers clung to his shirt again as if she understood he was trying his best.
Hours passed. Lini drifted in and out of sleep, sometimes whimpering softly, sometimes relaxing as the herbs soothed her discomfort. Whenever she twitched or cried, Dara was right there, talking to her, stroking her back, humming softly to calm her.
By late afternoon, her cries had almost stopped. She blinked her eyes open lazily and looked at Dara. This time, instead of crying, she reached up and touched his chin with her small hand.
Dara smiled for the first time all day. “There you are,” he whispered. “Feeling a little better?”
Lini nuzzled his hand, then curled into his lap again with a soft sigh.
The pain wasn’t fully gone yet, but she no longer felt helpless.
Not when she had someone who cared so much.
Dara leaned back against the wall, still gently rubbing her belly. Outside, the birds began singing their evening songs, and the warm golden light filled the room.
Lini rested peacefully, safe in his hands, and Dara knew one thing for sure:
No matter how small she was, or how helpless she might feel, he would always be there for her—comforting, protecting, and loving her through every moment of fear or pain.
And in that quiet, gentle moment, nothing in the world mattered more.
