So Pity to Ban Tia Milk Cry, Rock Tiny Up Down Sob Louder, Keep on Tall Tree Longer Hours Hungrily
High in the swaying trees of the deep forest, the air was thick with humidity and a quiet tension that seemed to sit on every branch. Among the tall canopy, a tiny baby monkey named Rock was cradled against a tree trunk, his soft cries echoing like gentle heartbreak through the leaves. His eyes were red from crying, his little body weak with hunger, and his small chest rising and falling rapidly from sobs that wouldn’t stop.
His mother, Tia, sat a few feet away, her body tense, eyes distant, and her arms tightly wrapped around her legs. Something was wrong—deeply wrong. A harsh rule had descended upon their troop: Tia was being banned from nursing her baby.
It was a strange and cruel decision made by the dominant females of the troop. Tia, once a respected mother, had recently fallen out of favor. Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps a past mistake—but the others began pushing her away, and with them came a terrible act of control: stopping her from feeding her own child.
Rock, too young to understand the politics of the troop, only knew hunger. And pain. Every time he reached for his mother’s chest, Tia gently pushed him away, her face full of sorrow and guilt.
“Mmm… mmm…” Rock whimpered.
He rocked his body up and down, up and down, on the branch—his way of trying to self-soothe, a rhythm of sadness. His tiny arms stretched out toward his mama again, but Tia lowered her head, unable to look into his eyes.
She wasn’t rejecting him out of cruelty—she was doing it out of fear. The dominant female, Rosa, had already bitten her once for disobedience. The threat still lingered in the air like a storm cloud.
As the hours passed, Rock’s sobs grew louder, more desperate. He clung to a thinner branch now, swaying gently in the hot breeze. His stomach rumbled, his mouth was dry, and the warmth he used to feel from nursing was now only a memory.
The sun climbed higher. Still, they remained in that tree. Tia dared not climb down. Any movement, any attempt to sneak food or milk, and Rosa or her allies would be watching.
So they waited—on that tall tree—for hour after hour.
Other babies in the troop were playing, wrestling, and giggling near their mothers, suckling freely and resting in comfort. But Rock, alone and weak, could only watch from above, his heart breaking without understanding why.
At one point, Tia reached her hand out. Her instincts screamed at her to pull her baby in and feed him. But her bruised side reminded her of the cost. Instead, she touched Rock’s head gently, and he crawled into her lap. They sat together in silence—one starving, the other trapped in fear.
As evening began to fall, a familiar human figure appeared near the edge of the jungle. It was Nina, a wildlife researcher who had been documenting the troop for months. She immediately noticed the change. Her notes always showed Tia as a loving, doting mother—but today was different.
She watched as Rock’s cries grew weaker. His head lay limp on Tia’s leg. Nina, heart aching, tossed a few pieces of fruit gently toward the tree base, hoping Tia might descend and take them when no one was looking.
But Tia didn’t move.
She was frozen in the cage of troop hierarchy, watching her baby suffer in silence.
When the troop began to settle down for the night, the skies turned grey and a soft drizzle started. Rain kissed the leaves. The forest dimmed, and still, Tia held Rock tightly, rocking him gently back and forth. He didn’t cry anymore. He had no strength left.
But in that quiet night, her eyes met the stars. Maybe tomorrow she would find the courage. Maybe she would break the rule. Because no mother can watch her child fade away forever.
And deep in the trees, under moonlight and sorrow, a silent promise was born—Tia would fight for Rock, no matter the cost.
