Luna the Monkey’s Accident and the Poor Old Man’s Unspeakable Pain
In a quiet village on the edge of a dense jungle, there lived an old man named Ravi. He was frail, his back bent with the weight of years, but his heart was full of kindness. Despite his struggles, he found solace in the company of a small monkey named Luna. She had been abandoned as a baby, too weak to survive on her own, and Ravi had taken her in, feeding her with whatever little he could spare. Over time, she became his most trusted companion, bringing him joy in his lonely days.
Luna was no ordinary monkey. She had a playful spirit, always scampering up trees and swinging from branches, her mischievous eyes sparkling with excitement. But more than that, she had a deep bond with Ravi. She would sit on his shoulder as he walked through the village, curl up beside him when he rested, and even groom his thin, white hair as if he were one of her own kind.
One fateful afternoon, tragedy struck. Luna, eager to chase after a bright blue butterfly, leaped from the old mango tree near Ravi’s home. She had made the jump countless times before, but this time, she miscalculated. Her tiny hands slipped from a weak branch, and she tumbled downward, hitting the ground with a terrible thud.
Ravi, who had been tending to his small vegetable garden, turned at the sound of her fall. His heart pounded as he rushed to her side, his trembling hands reaching for the little monkey who lay motionless on the dusty earth.
“Luna!” he called, his voice breaking with fear.
She let out a weak, painful whimper, her small body twitching. One of her legs bent at an unnatural angle, and her breathing was shallow. Ravi’s chest ached with unspeakable pain. It was as if his own child had been hurt, and the helplessness he felt was overwhelming.
Tears welled in his tired eyes as he carefully lifted Luna into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. She was so light, so fragile. Her usually bright, curious eyes were now filled with pain and confusion. Ravi knew he had to do something, but what could an old man with no money and no means do?
He carried her into his small hut and laid her on a soft cloth. His hands shook as he tried to examine her injuries. He had no medicine, no proper bandages—only the knowledge passed down from his ancestors. He tore a strip from his own shirt and gently wrapped her injured leg, whispering soothing words.
“Luna, my child, stay with me,” he murmured.
The villagers, hearing of Luna’s accident, gathered outside Ravi’s hut. Some brought herbs, others warm water. Though they had little, they knew how much Luna meant to Ravi, and they wanted to help.
Days passed, and Ravi never left Luna’s side. He fed her mashed bananas, stroked her fur, and whispered old lullabies to her. She remained weak, but she fought to survive. And Ravi, despite his own aches and pains, refused to let go of hope.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the trees, Luna lifted her tiny hand and touched Ravi’s cheek. It was a weak, yet affectionate gesture. Tears slipped down the old man’s face. She was still here. She was still fighting.
The bond between them was stronger than pain, stronger than fate itself. And as long as Ravi had breath in his body, he would do everything in his power to see Luna heal.
