In the depths of the forest, silence fell heavily over a once-lively troop. Among the scattered leaves, a mother monkey named Rina clutched the limp body of her newborn. She had given birth just hours earlier. At first, everything seemed perfect — the baby cried, latched, and nestled into her chest. But as night came, something changed. The baby stopped moving. Stopped breathing.
Rina didn’t understand. And how could she? Monkeys don’t have words, but they feel pain. And this pain was unbearable.
Her hands trembled as she brought the tiny lifeless body closer. She sniffed, gently groomed, and nudged. Then, in a desperate, confused instinct, she began pulling at her baby’s mouth. Not out of aggression — but in desperate search for a cause. Was something stuck? Did the baby choke? Could she do anything to bring it back?
Her eyes darted around, pleading, lost.
Her actions shocked the troop. Several younger females stared in silence. Some moved closer, but none dared intervene. Grief has no boundaries — and what Rina did was an expression of a mother’s ultimate torment.
She tried for hours. Grooming, licking, tapping gently, even wrapping the baby in her arms and rocking. But nothing changed.
Eventually, she placed the baby down on a rock in front of her and just stared. Her body still. Her mind seemingly frozen.
We often humanize these stories, but the truth is — grief is universal. And when a mother loses her baby, whether human or animal, the sorrow can destroy the spirit. Rina’s behavior, tragic and unusual, was the heartbreaking symbol of a desperate mother trying to make sense of a senseless loss.
This rare moment was witnessed by researchers observing the troop. They, too, had tears in their eyes. They’d seen maternal loss before — but never such emotional confusion and raw grief.
We share Rina’s story not to shock, but to connect. To remind ourselves how deep maternal love runs — and how similar our emotions truly are to those we often consider “lesser.”
