O my children, and all you who shall come after me in the generations of the Two Lands, draw near beneath the spreading branches of the sycamore tree where the breeze carries the scent of lotus and the voice of the Nile sings softly.

Let the oil lamps burn low and the beer jars stand ready, for I shall tell you now the full and ancient tale of Bata, the younger brother, exactly as it was passed down from the scribes of old. This is the story as Bata himself would speak it, from the fields of his youth to the throne of Egypt, so that Ma’at may never be forgotten and justice may endure like the eternal stars.

“I am Bata, son of no great house yet beloved of the gods, and these are the deeds of my life which Re-Harakhti himself caused to be written in the Book of Heaven. In the days when the fields beside the great river were rich with emmer wheat and the cattle multiplied under the eye of the sun, I dwelt in the house of my elder brother Anpu as though I were the child he never had. Anpu possessed a wife of fair face, with eyes like dark pools and skin smooth as new papyrus, yet her heart was twisted like the roots of the tamarisk in dry ground. We three lived together in one household, and every dawn I rose while the stars still lingered, yoked the oxen, and drove the herd to the best pastures. The strength of a god was in my arms; I ploughed the black soil until it yielded its bounty, I sowed the seed with care, I harvested the barley and flax, and I carried the heaviest loads upon my shoulders without complaint. The cattle loved me and spoke with human voices, saying, ‘The grass here is sweet and green, O Bata,’ or ‘Beware, the sun grows fierce at midday.’ Each evening I returned to the house laden with fresh milk still warm from the udder, vegetables glistening with dew, and the finest cuts of meat for my brother’s table. I laid everything before Anpu and his wife with a glad and loyal heart, never once coveting what belonged to another.

“Then came the fateful day when the balance of Ma’at was broken. My brother Anpu had gone forth early to sow seed in the distant fields, leaving me alone with his wife. She rose from her seat beside the loom where she wove fine linen, approached me with swaying hips and eyes bright with forbidden fire, and spoke soft words like honey dripping from the comb: ‘Come now, Bata, lie with me for a little while, and I shall give you pleasure such as you have never known.’ My heart recoiled as from the strike of a cobra. I answered her with the voice of truth and honour: ‘How can I commit this great evil against my brother who has raised me as his own son? He has given me shelter, food, and trust—never shall I betray him, not for all the gold of the Two Lands.’ She seized my garment and tried to draw me close, but I thrust her away with all the strength the gods had placed in me and fled to the stable among the cattle. In her rage and terror that her wickedness would be discovered, she tore her own garments until they hung in rags, beat her arms and face until bruises bloomed like lotus petals, and when Anpu returned at twilight she flung herself at his feet, weeping bitterly. ‘Your brother Bata has forced himself upon me!’ she cried. ‘When I refused his advances he struck me and threatened my life. See the marks upon my body!’

“My brother’s face grew dark as the storm clouds over the western desert. Anger burned in his eyes like the red sun of evening. He seized his long spear, sharpened its bronze point until it gleamed, and hid himself behind the door of the house, waiting to slay me when I returned with the herd at dusk. But the cattle who loved me lowed a solemn warning: ‘Bata, your brother stands within with death in his hand—flee, for he believes the lies of his wife.’ My heart grew cold with sorrow, yet I trusted in the gods. I lifted my voice and prayed aloud to Re-Harakhti, the lord of the horizon, the one who sees all things: ‘O great god, judge between me and my brother, for I am innocent!’ At once the god caused the earth to open between us and filled the chasm with a wide lake whose waters swarmed with hungry crocodiles, so that Anpu could not cross to reach me. Standing on the far bank, I called across the sparkling water: ‘Why do you seek my life, O my elder brother? Hear the truth from my own mouth!’ And I told him everything that had happened, leaving out no detail. To prove my innocence beyond any shadow of doubt, I took my sharp knife, severed the flesh that had been falsely accused, and cast it into the lake where the fish devoured it utterly. ‘Behold,’ I cried, ‘I am no longer a man who could commit such a crime as your wife claims. My body itself bears witness to my purity!’

“Anpu’s heart turned at my words. Tears filled his eyes as he understood the depth of his wife’s deceit. He returned to the house in silence, slew the treacherous woman with his own hand, and cast her body to the dogs that they might devour her as she deserved. Yet the shadow of mistrust lingered between us like the evening mist upon the river. I said to him with a heavy heart, ‘I can no longer dwell in this house where suspicion has taken root. I shall journey to the distant Valley of the Acacia and live there alone. When you see the beer foam and overflow in your cup without cause, or when the plants in your garden wither and die though they are well watered, know that I am in great peril. Come then and search for my heart, which I shall place high upon the tallest branch of the greatest acacia tree in the valley, for there my life-force shall reside.’ With these parting words I embraced my brother one last time and set forth into the eastern desert, walking many days until the green fields gave way to golden sand and rocky cliffs.

“At last I reached the hidden Valley of the Acacia, a place of solitude known only to the gods, where tall acacia trees bloomed with golden flowers and the wind whispered secrets. There I built myself a simple house and lived in peace, tending my own small garden and speaking with the beasts of the desert. The gods, seeing my loneliness and the purity of my heart, took pity upon me. Re-Harakhti and the potter-god Khnum fashioned for me a wife more beautiful than any daughter of men—her skin glowed like polished electrum, her hair fell in waves black as the night sky, and her eyes shone like twin stars of lapis lazuli. They breathed life into her and placed her gently in my house. I warned her with all seriousness: ‘Never leave the safety of this valley, my beloved, and never allow the sea to touch your feet, for if its waves reach you, great evil will befall me and my heart upon the acacia will be endangered.’ For a time we lived together in joy, the acacia tree blooming above our roof and the gods smiling upon our union.

“But the restless sea, ever curious and hungry, lapped at the edge of the valley and carried the sweet scent of my wife upon its waves all the way to the royal palace. Pharaoh heard tales of a woman of surpassing beauty dwelling in the distant valley and sent his swiftest messengers with chariots and gifts of gold. They found her and carried her away to the great city, despite her cries. In the halls of the palace, adorned with lapis and gold, she was presented to Pharaoh, who made her his queen. There, in her new position of power, her heart turned once more to wickedness. She betrayed me to Pharaoh, revealing the secret I had entrusted to her alone: ‘The life of Bata rests in a single heart placed high upon the tallest acacia tree in the Valley of the Acacia. Cut down the tree and he will die instantly.’ Pharaoh, desiring to remove any rival, sent his strongest men with sharp bronze axes into the valley. They felled the great acacia with mighty blows, and when the tree crashed to the ground, my heart fell with it. At that moment darkness covered my eyes, my breath left me, and I died where I stood, my body collapsing lifeless upon the desert sand.

“Yet the gods had not abandoned me. Far away in our old home, my brother Anpu saw the signs I had foretold: the beer in his drinking cup suddenly foamed and overflowed though no one had touched it, and the plants in his garden withered and turned brown though they had been watered that very morning. Knowing I was in peril, he took up his staff and journeyed across the burning desert and the wide river until he reached the Valley of the Acacia. There he searched among the fallen branches and scattered leaves until, after many hours, he discovered my heart—small as a tiny seed yet still faintly beating. He placed it carefully in a vessel filled with cool, fresh water. At once my limbs stirred, my eyes opened, and life returned to me. We embraced as brothers, weeping with joy, and together we began to plan the restoration of justice.

“From that day I took many forms by the power of the gods. First I became a magnificent bull, white as milk with horns curved like the crescent moon and a hide that gleamed in the sunlight. I was led in procession to Pharaoh’s court, where my false wife, now queen, saw me and grew afraid. She demanded my slaughter for a royal feast, but as the knife was raised I spoke with a human voice before the entire court, revealing all the truth of her betrayal and the lies she had told. The people marveled and Pharaoh was astonished. Next I caused myself to become a tall persea tree growing in the palace garden. Again the queen ordered it cut down, fearing my presence, and once more I died when the axe fell. Yet again my brother Anpu, guided by the gods, found my heart and revived me. Finally, by the will of the divine ones, I stood before Pharaoh in my true form—radiant as the rising sun, strong and just. The court acclaimed me with one voice. The treacherous queen was driven from the palace in disgrace, and I, Bata, was crowned King of Upper and Lower Egypt, wearing the double crown and wielding the crook and flail. I ruled with wisdom and justice for thirty long years, bringing prosperity to the Two Lands. When my time came to join the gods in the West, I named my faithful brother Anpu as my heir and crown prince, so that loyalty and ma’at would continue upon the throne.

“Thus, O my children, did I, Bata, walk the long path from faithful servant to betrayed exile, from death to life renewed, and at last to kingship. I was the one who labored without complaint, the one who proved innocence with his own flesh, the one whose heart rested in the acacia, the one who died many times yet rose again, and the one who restored order to the land. Let this tale be remembered and retold beneath every sycamore and by every hearth until the end of time. For truth may be hidden for a season, but it cannot be destroyed forever; the gods see all things; and he who walks in ma’at, though he suffer greatly, shall rise like the sun at dawn, even from the dust of death. So it was told in the days of the ancestors, and so may it be for you and for all generations yet to come.”

Hear and remember, you who listen beneath the eternal stars. The Tale of Two Brothers is now fully told, with every wonder and every sorrow included. May its wisdom guide your hearts as the Nile guides the fields.