Angkor Watâs ancient forest was unusually quiet that morning. The filtered sunlight danced on the leaves while a few macaques explored the scattered roots around the templeâs edge. Thatâs when we saw herâtiny Bely, the baby monkey who had just started walking on her own.
Bely had always been a brave little soul. Unlike the others in her troop, she wasnât afraid to wander a bit further than the rest, her eyes filled with wonder. Her mother, Sina, usually stayed close, but that day she was distractedâtending to another juvenile and keeping a watchful eye on the forest floor. It only took a second for everything to change.
Bely climbed up a mossy stone ledge, barely a few feet high, but enough to be dangerous for someone so small. She teetered for a moment, her tiny arms outstretched, trying to balance like sheâd seen the older monkeys do. Everyone nearby had stopped to watch. We thought she would make it.
But then⌠she slipped.
Her little body tumbled down the uneven stone, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. The forest echoed with a single, sharp cry that cut through the morning silence. My heart dropped.
Sina rushed in instantly. She grabbed Bely up and cradled her against her chest, rocking and inspecting her in a frenzy of panic. Bely whimpered, weakly trying to cling, her legs trembling. Blood trickled from a tiny scrape on her chin. One of her arms hung awkwardly as if it hurt to move it.
We could see it in Sinaâs eyesâterror, guilt, confusion. She gently touched Belyâs injured arm, then quickly pulled her closer. The others gathered around quietly, unusually solemn. Even the alpha, usually aloof, hovered protectively near them.
I had seen countless moments in this forestâbirths, play fights, silly tumblesâbut this one felt different. This one pierced the heart. Bely wasnât just another monkey baby; she was a spirit of joy in the troop. Always the first to try new things, always curious, always smiling with those bright eyes. And now she looked crushed, physically and emotionally, her confidence shattered with the fall.
Sina carried Bely over to a patch of warm sun, gently laying her down and grooming her as if to comfort and heal her with each stroke. Bely didnât resist. She just lay there, softly crying, eyes glazed with fear and pain.
Some of the older monkeys came closerâtwo young females, likely aunts or siblings. One reached out to touch Belyâs foot. The tenderness among them was humbling. There was no playing now, only quiet observation and care.
For the next hour, Sina didnât move from Belyâs side. Occasionally, sheâd lift her up just to make sure she was still breathing okay. She even nudged her gently to see if she could stand. But Bely winced, and Sina pulled her back to her chest.
Eventually, Bely tried again. With a soft whimper, she pushed against the earth. Her tiny fingers gripped the moss. She lifted her head and then, slowly, shakily, got to her knees. Sina watched without moving, only her eyes trembling.
Step by step, Bely tried. She stood, only to wobble and fall back down. Then tried again. And again. Until finally, she stood. Crooked. Tired. But standing.
Everyone let out a breathâus, the watchers; the troop around her. It wasnât over, but it was hope.
That evening, as the golden light poured over the temple walls, Bely nestled into her mamaâs lap, safe and loved. Her body still looked sore, but her spirit? It was still there. Maybe a little bruised, but unbroken.
And as I turned to leave, I heard a soft squeak. I turned backâBely had managed a single, tiny jump. Just an inch. Just enough.
She was trying again.