You won’t find my name in any scroll, but I was there—clinging to the vines of the riverbank, watching as our king made his final leap toward peace.
I was just a young monkey then, part of a large band of monkeys that lived beside the Ganges River in the dense forests of India. We were led by the greatest monkey king the world has ever known. He was strong—not just in body, but in spirit—and he ruled with the wisdom of a hundred elders. Just like us, he had no name that the world would remember. But we called him King, and in our eyes, he shone like the sun.
Our home was a great mango tree—taller than any other—with fruit sweeter than anything you could imagine. But one day, human footsteps echoed through the forest. Soldiers had come, led by the king of the nearby kingdom, Varanasi. This human king had tasted a mango from our tree, and the flavor had filled him with longing and greed. Believing the fruit was sacred, he ordered his soldiers to capture every last one of us so he could have the tree—and its fruit—all to himself.
The soldiers surrounded the river. Arrows set in place. Death was near.
We monkeys cried. We had no way out. The trees on our side grew too far from the safety of the forest across the river. Then our monkey king stepped forward. His eyes were still and calm—he held fear like a ripple in a pond, letting it pass.
He told us to wait. Then, without a word, he climbed to the highest point of our beloved tree. From there, he scanned the river’s wide stretch, grabbed a thick vine, and leaped. In one mighty motion, he stretched his body across the raging river, tying one end of the vine to a tall tree on the other side. But the vine was just a little too short.
So, he did something only a truly mindful and selfless leader could do.
He stretched—no, sacrificed—his own body to make up the distance. With his legs tied to the tree behind him and the vine caught in his grip, he became the bridge.
One by one, we crossed over him. Tiny paws, trembling steps. He bore our weight, hundreds of us, quietly and without complaint. His back bent. His hands tore. Still, he held fast.
When the last of us crossed, a silence fell. And then, the human king—who had watched this all from the riverbank—fell to his knees.
Moved by compassion he didn’t know he possessed, the human king said, “I came seeking fruit, but I found a king greater than myself.”
He rushed across to our monkey king, who now lay broken and still, the weight of his body and sacrifice having taken its final toll.
The human king cared for him in his last moments, whispering questions: “Why would you do this? Why take the pain of others?”
With his final breath, our monkey king answered, “A true leader does not live for himself but for the peace of others.”
That day, my heart changed. I understood that real power lies not in taking, but in giving. The mangoes, the tree, the land—they were never ours to possess. What we hold too tightly can bring suffering. But with detachment and compassion, we can turn even our smallest choices into acts that ripple through the world.
I still live by that lesson. I never became king. I never needed to. Because peace, mindfulness, and compassion—those are the truest crowns of all.
You won’t find my name in any scroll, but I was there—clinging to the vines of the riverbank, watching as our king made his final leap toward peace.
I was just a young monkey then, part of a large band of monkeys that lived beside the Ganges River in the dense forests of India. We were led by the greatest monkey king the world has ever known. He was strong—not just in body, but in spirit—and he ruled with the wisdom of a hundred elders. Just like us, he had no name that the world would remember. But we called him King, and in our eyes, he shone like the sun.
Our home was a great mango tree—taller than any other—with fruit sweeter than anything you could imagine. But one day, human footsteps echoed through the forest. Soldiers had come, led by the king of the nearby kingdom, Varanasi. This human king had tasted a mango from our tree, and the flavor had filled him with longing and greed. Believing the fruit was sacred, he ordered his soldiers to capture every last one of us so he could have the tree—and its fruit—all to himself.
The soldiers surrounded the river. Arrows set in place. Death was near.
We monkeys cried. We had no way out. The trees on our side grew too far from the safety of the forest across the river. Then our monkey king stepped forward. His eyes were still and calm—he held fear like a ripple in a pond, letting it pass.
He told us to wait. Then, without a word, he climbed to the highest point of our beloved tree. From there, he scanned the river’s wide stretch, grabbed a thick vine, and leaped. In one mighty motion, he stretched his body across the raging river, tying one end of the vine to a tall tree on the other side. But the vine was just a little too short.
So, he did something only a truly mindful and selfless leader could do.
He stretched—no, sacrificed—his own body to make up the distance. With his legs tied to the tree behind him and the vine caught in his grip, he became the bridge.
One by one, we crossed over him. Tiny paws, trembling steps. He bore our weight, hundreds of us, quietly and without complaint. His back bent. His hands tore. Still, he held fast.
When the last of us crossed, a silence fell. And then, the human king—who had watched this all from the riverbank—fell to his knees.
Moved by compassion he didn’t know he possessed, the human king said, “I came seeking fruit, but I found a king greater than myself.”
He rushed across to our monkey king, who now lay broken and still, the weight of his body and sacrifice having taken its final toll.
The human king cared for him in his last moments, whispering questions: “Why would you do this? Why take the pain of others?”
With his final breath, our monkey king answered, “A true leader does not live for himself but for the peace of others.”
That day, my heart changed. I understood that real power lies not in taking, but in giving. The mangoes, the tree, the land—they were never ours to possess. What we hold too tightly can bring suffering. But with detachment and compassion, we can turn even our smallest choices into acts that ripple through the world.
I still live by that lesson. I never became king. I never needed to. Because peace, mindfulness, and compassion—those are the truest crowns of all.
