I still remember the silence that morning in the Angkor Wat forest. The ancient trees stood tall, their roots gripping the earth like they had for centuries, but beneath them, something felt painfully wrong.
A newborn monkey lay curled against his motherâs chest. He was impossibly smallâthin arms clinging weakly, his face pressed into fur that offered warmth but no milk. I watched from a short distance, hoping, praying, that the moment would change. It never did.
The mother monkey was alive. Alert. Protective. Yet she refused to breastfeed.
At first, I told myself she would come around. In nature, mothers sometimes hesitate. Sometimes stress, hunger, or fear interferes. But as hours turned into days, the truth became unbearable. The baby rooted desperately, searching for nourishment that never came. His cries were soft at firstâtiny sounds lost among cicadas and birdsâbut soon they became sharp, exhausted pleas.
The Angkor forest is not kind to weakness. Tourists come here for beauty and wonder, but hidden behind the temples is a harsh reality where survival is never guaranteed.
The mother never abandoned him. That made it harder to understand. She carried him everywhereâacross stones warmed by the sun, through damp leaves, and up low branches. She groomed him. She guarded him fiercely from other monkeys. But when he reached for milk, she pulled away.
I witnessed his body grow thinner. His movements slowed. Each breath seemed to take more effort than the last.
By the third day, he barely cried anymore.
I felt helpless. As a human, every instinct screamed to interveneâto feed him, to save himâbut the rules of the wild are unforgiving. Interference could have endangered the entire troop. All I could do was watch and carry the weight of witnessing something tragic and real.
On the final morning, the mother sat quietly near the temple ruins. The baby lay still against her stomach. No cries. No movement. Just silence.
She touched him gently, nudging him as if asking him to wake up. When he didnât respond, she stayed there for a long time, holding him close. There was no dramatic reactionâjust a stillness that felt heavier than grief itself.
This is the part of nature most people never see.
Not every mother can save her child. Not every baby survives. And sometimes, love alone is not enough.
That baby monkey never knew crueltyâonly hunger, warmth, and the comfort of being held. His life was short, but it mattered. I carry his story because someone should remember him.
Even in a place as magical as Angkor Wat, heartbreak exists quietly beneath the trees.