On most days, the river gurgled, danced over the rocks in her way, here and there forming swirls close to the banks; deceptively playful, as she gave no indication of the strong

currents in her depths. Today, she thundered, as though aware of the two men who stood on her banks and their deliberations. 'A mother feeds all her children,' one of the two remarked. His people—a small village of cowherds, potters, smiths and the like—called him 'Chief', but he thought of himself as nothing more than a farmer and a father.

The other—also a chief to his people—replied, 'She is not your mother. We have been here as long as tree and wood, stone and hill. She is our mother, not yours.'

'Brother Kaliya . . .'

'Brother? No, Nanda. You and your lot are nothing more than bastards. You have no right to lay claim to the Yamuna River. We are the true sons of the earth and her waters. Do not call me "brother" simply because you wish to stake a claim on what is mine.'

Nanda raised his plough-calloused hands. 'I admit, our claim is the lesser one by antiquity. But have you no benevolence? No sense of fairness? All we ask is that you do not dam the waters as you do, that you let the river run her natural course, blessing us both with her bounty.'

Kaliya Naga sighed. He looked back at those gathered behind him—hunters and foragers turned soldiers for the occassion—and said, 'In your world, Nanda, there is no room for us both. We dam the tributary rivulets of the Yamuna to fish, but you say you need the water to run because the main river is too far for your herds. Let us say we pay heed to your request. If we do not fish, we must then hunt. But when you hack and burn the forests to extend your grasslands, when you kill off the animals at one go to make safe pasture for your cows, then what are we to hunt, where are we to forage? Your prosperity comes at the cost of our survival. Those who worship different gods cannot share blessings.'

'That's not true!' a voice rang out from amidst a huddle of young cowherds—the gwalas—who grazed and tended to the cattle of the village, the vraja.

'Vathu! Be quiet!' Nanda commanded.

But the voice did not obey; it continued, 'Those who do not offer blessings and benevolence are not gods . . . Uncle.'

Kaliya laughed, the sound taken up by the lines of armed tribespeople behind him. He said, 'If you think calling me "uncle" is going to change my mind, gwala boy, then you're as mistaken as your chief. Our terms are not unfair. Let our dams on the rivulets be. Take your cows to the main stream to drink. And if that is not acceptable to you, then we will let nature serve justice in her own way—by death. Your death, that is.'

The response to that came from Nanda: 'That's my son you just threatened, Kaliya. And that was a mistake.'

'Then let's finish this here and now.'

Kaliya Naga thumped his spear against the ground before turning his back on Nanda and walking away to join his forces. Nanda knew the action was as much a signal to the rest of the Nagas as it was a challenge to those of the vraja. Sighing at the unfruitful outcome of the meeting, he rejoined his fellow villagers.

The potter of the village, Nimai, gave voice to the near- unanimous thought of those gathered, 'We are better off retreating to build a settlement elsewhere. These hunters are ruthless. Why we even bothered with negotiation, I don't know.'

'Because we can't graze cows mindlessly while the future of our people hangs in the balance. That, and the fact that it was the only way to make Kaliya's troops gather their strength in one place, during the light of day, instead of attacking us by surprise every time we went down to the river or ambushing us in the dead of the night near the forests. No more strike-and-run tactics. It's us or them.'

Nimai turned to look at the cluster of young men, the oldest of them barely two decades old and many not yet half that age. 'Spoken with the arrogance of a chieftain's son. Now, dare you lead like one?' he said.

In response, a tall, dark-skinned boy stepped forward from the group, weaponless but brimming with resolution. He smiled and asked, 'Dare you follow?'

Before Nimai could comment on the insolence, Nanda addressed his son, 'I really hope you know what you're doing. Otherwise . . .'

The boy smiled. 'Don't worry, Father. As I told you earlier, I have a plan.'