One sunny morning, Kimo climbed up the highest tree near the village and spotted something new — a bright metallic box connected to cables that stretched across the road. Curiosity took over his better judgment. Ignoring the cautious warning calls of the elder monkeys, he leaped onto the nearby power pole and began to investigate.
At first, everything seemed harmless. Kimo balanced on the cable with practiced ease. He tapped at the shiny box with his tiny hand, watching it bounce back slightly. But then, in a split second of misstep and terrible luck, Kimo’s hand touched an exposed wire.
The shock was immediate and violent.
A bright flash lit up the pole. Kimo screamed as the electric current surged through his small body. He fell, limp and twitching, onto the platform below the pole. For a moment, the world went silent — the jungle seemed to hold its breath.
Back in the trees, Kimo’s mother, Lala, shrieked in horror. She raced down from the canopy and dashed toward the village edge. The troop followed, their worried cries echoing through the trees. But none dared to approach the power lines where Kimo lay still.
Luckily, a few villagers had witnessed the incident. A man named Dara, a kind-hearted farmer who had always left fruit at the forest edge for the monkeys, rushed forward. Carefully, he used a stick to check if the power line was still active and called out to his neighbors for help. “He’s still breathing!” Dara shouted.
The villagers quickly contacted the local electricity authority and shut down the power in that section. Dara, with the help of his son, gently picked up Kimo using a blanket. The little monkey was barely conscious, his fur scorched and body trembling.
They carried him to the village vet, who had never treated a wild animal before but didn’t hesitate. “We have to act fast,” he said, examining Kimo’s burns and shallow breathing. The villagers stood by, many concerned, as the vet cleaned the wounds, administered fluids, and wrapped Kimo in soft gauze.
Meanwhile, Lala and the troop waited anxiously from a nearby tree, watching every move. Though they couldn’t understand everything the humans were doing, they sensed Kimo was being helped.
For days, Kimo remained under care. Dara brought him bananas and water, while his children stayed by the little monkey’s side, reading stories and whispering comfort. Slowly, Kimo began to recover. His eyes opened, he tried to sit up, and even managed a faint squeak that sounded like gratitude.
On the seventh day, the vet declared Kimo stable enough to return to the wild.
That afternoon, Dara and his children brought Kimo back to the jungle edge. Lala and the other monkeys were already there, waiting. As Dara placed the young monkey on the ground, Lala rushed forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her baby. The troop let out joyful cries that echoed through the forest canopy.
Kimo, though still healing, looked back at Dara and his family one last time, as if to say thank you. Then, slowly but surely, he climbed up into the trees where he belonged.
From that day on, something changed in the village and the forest. The villagers installed safety covers on all power poles and kept the jungle edge cleaner and safer. The monkeys, too, seemed to keep their distance from electrical wires, almost as if Kimo’s story had become a lesson passed down through generations.
And Kimo? He grew stronger with time and wiser than before. He still explored, still climbed high, but never again near wires. Instead, he would watch the human world from afar — still curious, but cautious, having survived a shocking lesson that nearly cost him his life.
