Long ago, in the early days of the New Kingdom of Egypt, there lived two brothers who shared a bond deeper than the Nile's deepest channels. The elder brother was named Anpu, a wise and settled man who oversaw a vast household and fertile lands. The younger was Bata, a god of the fields and of cattle, known for his immense strength and his unique ability to understand the language of the beasts he tended. They lived in harmony within the seventeenth Upper Egyptian Nome, a place where the sun warmed the black soil and the oxen were the pride of the village. Bata served his brother with a devotion that was admired by all, performing the work of many men and bringing the cattle home each evening with a song that only they could truly understand. He would lead them to the finest pastures and listen as they whispered secrets about where the grass was sweetest and where the danger of the desert lions lurked.
One day, during the season of sowing, the brothers were working together in the fields. The earth was moist and ready for the grain, and the rhythm of their labor was steady. However, they realized they had run short of seed. Anpu turned to his younger brother and asked him to run back to the house to fetch more grain. Bata, ever obedient, sprinted across the fields and entered the courtyard of his brother's home. There he found Anpu's wife sitting by herself, dressing her hair. When Bata explained his mission and asked for the grain, she was struck by his youth and the power of his physique. In a moment of misplaced passion, she reached out to him and suggested they spend time together in a way that betrayed the sanctity of her marriage. Bata was horrified by the proposal. He rebuked her with words of fire, declaring that she was like a mother to him and Anpu was like a father. He promised never to speak of this to any soul, hoping the shame would vanish with the wind, and he quickly gathered the seed and returned to the fields.
As the sun began to set, the wife of Anpu became consumed by fear and spite. She worried that Bata would eventually tell his brother of her infidelity, despite his promise. To protect herself, she took fat and grease and applied it to her skin to look as if she had been beaten. When Anpu returned home that evening, he found the house dark and his wife lying on the floor in apparent agony. She told a treacherous lie, claiming that Bata had attacked her when he came for the grain and that she had only escaped by resisting his advances. Rage, cold and sharp, took hold of Anpu. He sharpened his spear and hid behind the door of the stable, waiting for Bata to return with the cattle so he might strike him down in the dark.
When Bata approached the stable, the lead ox stopped at the threshold and spoke to him, warning that his elder brother stood behind the door with a spear to kill him. Bata looked beneath the door and saw the feet of Anpu. In terror and sorrow, he turned and fled into the night. Anpu pursued him with the speed of a hunter. Bata cried out to the sun god, Re-Horakhty, pleading for justice as he had done no wrong. The god heard his plea and caused a great body of water, filled with snapping crocodiles, to spring up between the two brothers. On one bank stood Anpu, shaking with fury, and on the other stood Bata, weeping for the loss of his brother's trust. Across the water, Bata shouted the truth of what had happened. To prove his sincerity and his renunciation of the world of men, he took a reed knife and mutilated himself, casting his member into the water where it was swallowed by a catfish. He told Anpu that he would go to the Valley of the Cedar, and that his life would now be tied to the great cedar tree. He instructed Anpu that if he ever saw his beer foam or his wine turn sour, it would be a sign that Bata had died, and Anpu must come to the valley to find Bata's heart and place it in fresh water to revive him.