In a quiet village nestled on the edge of the forest, the hum of power lines overhead blends into the daily sounds of life. Birds chirp, children laugh, and in the distance, monkeys often leap from tree to tree, part of the landscape for as long as anyone can remember. But one day, this harmony was shattered by a sudden scream — sharp, high, and full of pain.
A young monkey, no older than two years, had climbed too close to a low-hanging power line. Drawn by curiosity or a path to food, he reached out and made contact. In a flash, thousands of volts surged through his small body. He convulsed in the air, then dropped like a stone, crashing through branches before hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
The villagers rushed to the spot where the monkey had fallen. He lay there trembling, smoke curling faintly from the fur on his arms. His limbs were rigid, his breath shallow, and burns were already forming on his hands and feet. Some thought he wouldn’t survive. But one man, a local wildlife volunteer named Raj, gently scooped up the monkey, wrapped him in a soft cloth, and called for help.
The monkey’s journey to recovery had begun.
Emergency Care and Fragile Hope
Raj drove for over an hour to reach the nearest wildlife rescue center. The veterinarians there were ready. They had seen similar cases before — wild animals injured by exposed or low-hanging electric lines, a tragic byproduct of human expansion into the natural world.
The monkey was named Tuko — short for “tukda,” meaning “small piece” in Hindi, a nod to his tiny frame and shattered condition.
Tuko’s injuries were severe. The electric shock had burned both his hands and feet, leaving open wounds. One hand was badly damaged — blackened from tissue death. He had internal injuries from the fall, and his body trembled from the trauma. The team administered fluids, pain relief, and antibiotics, then carefully cleaned his wounds and dressed them in sterile bandages.
For days, Tuko lay still in his recovery box, eyes half-closed, breathing weakly. The caregivers took shifts to feed him every few hours with a syringe, offering warm milk and mashed fruit. He barely responded. But they didn’t give up.
Hope was fragile — but it was there.
The Slow Road to Healing
By the second week, Tuko began to show signs of awareness. His eyes followed movement. He twitched at sounds. He slowly began to lift his head. The healing of electrical burns is long and painful. The dead tissue had to be removed gently over time, and new skin encouraged to form. His caregivers used fiber therapy massage on his unaffected limbs to maintain circulation and prevent stiffness.
Tuko’s left hand remained badly damaged. It would never function normally again. But his right hand and both feet were recovering well. He was fitted with soft wraps to protect his wounds while still allowing movement. When he tried to stand, his legs were shaky, but his spirit — slowly — began to rise.
He started chirping softly, reaching for his caregivers when they entered the room. He learned to drink from a bottle on his own. Eventually, he began to groom himself, a vital sign of mental recovery in monkeys.
Rehabilitation and Rediscovery
After a month, Tuko was strong enough to move to a small outdoor rehabilitation enclosure. It was filled with soft ropes, low branches, and enrichment tools to help him regain mobility. At first, he hesitated. His memory of the shock and fall made him wary of heights.
But instinct and gentle encouragement worked wonders.
Each day, Tuko grew more confident. He climbed slowly at first, carefully testing each branch. His right hand took over most gripping tasks, compensating for his injured left. His tail, once limp, now helped balance his cautious swings.
His caregivers worked patiently, hiding bits of fruit to encourage foraging, adding scents and sounds to mimic the forest. Most importantly, they gave Tuko the freedom to try, fail, and try again. He was becoming a monkey again.
A Message of Coexistence
Tuko’s story is not just one of survival — it is a symbol of the growing tension between wildlife and human infrastructure. Across many regions, monkeys, birds, and other animals fall victim to electrocution every year due to unsafe power lines and poles. Their natural movement paths intersect with dangerous human-made structures, and they pay the price.
But awareness is growing.
The rescue center that saved Tuko has started working with local authorities to identify and insulate low-hanging wires in areas where monkeys are frequently seen. Villagers have been educated about safely reporting injured wildlife. Raj, the volunteer who saved Tuko, now leads school talks about protecting animals and keeping human development safer for all species.
Tuko, meanwhile, has moved into a semi-wild enclosure with other monkeys that cannot be released due to injuries. He climbs, plays, and even mentors younger, newly rescued monkeys — a quiet teacher shaped by hardship.
Hope, After the Fall
Tuko may never return fully to the wild, but he has reclaimed his life. From a lifeless body on the ground to a bright-eyed survivor swinging once again, his journey is a testament to what compassion and care can do.
In every scar, there is a story. And in every story like Tuko’s, there is a message: even after the fall, there can be hope — if someone is willing to reach out and help.