The sky had been gray all morning, but no one in the village expected the river to turn against them.
It started as a whisper—soft rain tapping against leaves, gentle ripples sliding across the surface of the water. The forest creatures continued their routines. Birds skimmed low over the river, insects hummed, and high in the trees, a young monkey named Kavi leapt from branch to branch, carefree and fearless.
By noon, the whisper became a roar.
Rain pounded the earth in relentless sheets. The calm river swelled, climbing its muddy banks, swallowing roots and reeds. The ground beneath the trees turned slick and treacherous. Kavi paused, clutching a branch as a cold splash struck his tail.
Water?
He glanced down. The river had stretched far beyond its usual borders, churning with dark fury. Broken branches and debris spun in violent circles. The familiar forest floor—his playground—was disappearing.
A crack split the air.
One of the smaller trees near the bank tilted dangerously before surrendering to the current. Kavi’s heart hammered in his chest. He scrambled higher into the canopy, his tiny fingers gripping bark made slippery by the rain.
The water kept rising.
From his perch, he could see panic spreading through the forest. Deer bounded desperately toward higher ground. Wild boars pushed their young ahead of them. Even the birds seemed unsure, their wings heavy with rain as they searched for safety.
Kavi tried to leap to a neighboring tree, but the branch he aimed for snapped under his weight. He fell hard, crashing through leaves and landing on a half-submerged trunk.
The impact stole his breath.
Before he could recover, a surge of water lifted the trunk like a toy and hurled it forward. Kavi clung desperately as the current dragged him into the river’s heart. The world became a blur of gray sky and brown water.
He tried to climb higher on the log, but another wave smacked him full in the face. Water flooded his mouth and nose.
He was fighting to breathe.
Instinct screamed at him: Hold on. Don’t let go.
The current twisted the log, rolling it. Kavi slipped beneath the surface. The river was colder than he imagined, thick and suffocating. He kicked wildly, but the force of the water pushed him down, spinning him in darkness.
His lungs burned.
Just when his strength began to fade, his hand brushed against something solid—a hanging vine trailing from a tree that leaned over the raging river. With the last of his energy, he grabbed it.
The vine jerked tight.
The current fought to claim him, tugging at his legs, pulling him backward. Kavi wrapped the vine around his wrist and coughed violently as his head broke the surface. Air rushed into his lungs in ragged gasps.
He was still alive.
Slowly, inch by inch, he pulled himself upward. Each movement felt impossible. The rain blinded him, the wind howled in his ears, and below him the river snapped and snarled like a living beast denied its prey.
At last, he reached the tree’s lower branch and hauled himself onto it, collapsing against the trunk.
He lay there trembling, chest heaving, listening to the chaos below.
The forest he knew was gone—transformed into a rushing, dangerous sea. But above the floodline, life clung stubbornly to survival. Other monkeys huddled in the upper branches of nearby trees, wide-eyed but safe. A hornbill perched silently, feathers soaked but unbroken.
Kavi closed his eyes, pressing his wet face against the bark. He had never understood how fragile his world could be. One morning of rain had nearly stolen everything.
Hours later, the storm began to weaken. The rain softened to a drizzle, and the river’s rage slowly dulled to a heavy, exhausted flow. The water would leave scars—uprooted trees, scattered debris, altered paths—but it would recede.
