The rains came early that year.
Clouds gathered low over the forest, and the air hung heavy with the scent of wet earth. Streams swelled, and paths that had once been easy to walk turned into twisting lines of mud and stone.
Ganesh was now eleven, old enough to be trusted with tasks beyond the hermitage. Maharshi Agnivrat had begun sending him to nearby settlements to carry herbs, messages, and sometimes simply to observe.
"See how people live," his guru had said. "Scripture teaches the mind. Life teaches the heart."
On one such journey, Ganesh walked along the river path toward a small riverside hamlet. His bundle was light, but his thoughts were heavy, still touched by the memory of Keral, the asura boy he had helped days before.
Where is he now? Ganesh wondered. Is he safe?
The river answered only with its endless flow.
As Ganesh neared the hamlet, he sensed tension in the air even before he heard raised voices.
At the edge of the settlement, a group had gathered: villagers with sticks and tools, a pair of young devas whose presence shimmered faintly with light, and—standing apart near the riverbank—three asuras, their forms broad and dark, eyes sharp with wary defiance.
Ganesh slowed, his heart tightening.
He had never before seen devas and asuras face each other in such open hostility.
One of the devas, tall and radiant, spoke with controlled anger.
"This river has been placed under our protection. You asuras have no right to build your camp here."
An asura woman stepped forward, her voice steady but hard.
"Our children drink from this river. We have lived here since before your watch began. Do you claim the water itself belongs to you?"
A murmur ran through the villagers, fear and uncertainty mixing in their faces.
The deva replied, "This water feeds sacred groves downstream. Your presence pollutes it. We guard this place by Vishnu's will."
The asura man clenched his fists.
"And by whose will do our children thirst?"
Ganesh felt the weight of the moment settle upon him.
Both speak of duty, he thought. Both speak of protection.
Neither sounded wholly wrong.
Ganesh stepped forward before he could think better of it.
"Please," he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard. "Let us speak without anger."
All eyes turned to him.
The deva frowned. "This is not a matter for a human child."
Ganesh met his gaze calmly. "Then let it be a matter for one who listens."
There was a pause.
The asura woman studied Ganesh carefully.
"You are from the hermitage of Agnivrat," she said. "I have seen you pass before."
Ganesh nodded. "Yes. I carry herbs there."
The deva hesitated, then said, "Very well. Speak. But know that this river is under our charge."
Ganesh took a slow breath.
"Why do you guard it?" he asked.
"To preserve its purity," the deva replied. "The groves downstream are sacred. If they wither, many will suffer."
Ganesh turned to the asuras. "And why do you stay?"
The asura man answered, "Because our camp lies between hostile lands. This river is our only water. Without it, our children will not survive."
Ganesh closed his eyes briefly.
Two truths. One river.
He looked at the villagers. "And you?"
An elder stepped forward. "We fear being caught between you. If we anger the devas, their wrath may fall on us. If we anger the asuras, they may turn against us. We only want peace."
Ganesh felt a familiar pressure in his chest—the weight of choice.
He was not trained for this.
He was only a boy.
Yet all eyes waited.
Ganesh walked to the river's edge and knelt, touching the flowing water.
"It does not belong to any of us," he said quietly. "It flows because it must."
He stood and faced them.
"If the groves must be protected," he said to the devas, "then let us find a way that does not leave children without water."
Then to the asuras, "If you must stay here, then let your camp keep distance from the sacred groves and the riverbanks, so nothing is harmed."
The deva shook his head. "Compromise weakens duty."
The asura man snapped, "And empty words do not feed children."
Ganesh felt heat rise within him—not anger, but urgency.
"Then hear this," he said, voice firm. "If either of you claims to guard life, yet is willing to let innocents suffer for pride, then that is not dharma. That is only power wearing a mask."
The words surprised even him.
Silence fell.
The devas exchanged glances. The asuras looked uncertain.
Finally, the deva leader spoke again, more quietly.
"What would you have us do, child?"
Ganesh swallowed.
"Share the river," he said. "Let part of it flow freely to your groves. Let another part be taken upstream for the camp. And let both sides watch that neither harms what the other protects."
The asura woman frowned. "And why should we trust devas?"
Ganesh replied, "Because I will walk with you both to mark the places. And because if either side breaks this, I will return to Agnivrat and speak of it openly."
A risky promise.
But he made it anyway.
They argued for a long while.
Voices rose. Doubts were thrown like stones.
Ganesh stood between them, repeating only one thing:
"Let no child suffer today."
At last, weariness softened their anger.
The devas agreed to allow part of the river's flow to be taken upstream, provided the asuras kept their camp away from the sacred groves.
The asuras agreed to move their fires and waste far from the water and accept joint watch.
It was not perfect.
But it was peace—for now.
As they dispersed to set the boundaries, the deva leader paused before Ganesh.
"You speak boldly for one so young," he said. "Do you not fear angering either side?"
Ganesh looked at the river again.
"I fear only walking away when I should not."
The deva studied him, then gave a short nod.
By the time Ganesh returned to the hermitage, night had fallen.
Rain began to fall again, soft and steady.
Agnivrat was waiting by the fire.
"I heard voices carry from the river path today," the sage said. "And I see mud on your robes. Tell me what happened."
Ganesh told him everything.
When he finished, he waited, unsure.
Agnivrat was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "You stepped into a place where even kings hesitate."
Ganesh lowered his eyes. "Was it wrong?"
"No," Agnivrat replied. "But it was dangerous. You cannot always hold two fires apart without being burned."
Ganesh nodded. "I know. But if I had walked away, the fire would have burned the innocent instead."
The sage looked at him with quiet intensity.
"Then understand this, Ganesh: from today, you will never again walk an easy road. Those who choose dharma without bias are trusted by none, yet needed by all."
The words settled heavily upon Ganesh's heart.
That night, sleep came slowly.
When it did, Ganesh dreamed he stood again between two vast forces—one radiant, one dark—both calling to him.
This time, he did not move toward either.
He stood still.
And from behind him came a presence, vast and calm.
"Stand long enough," a voice said,
"and you will learn who you truly are."
Ganesh woke before dawn, heart steady but mind restless.
He did not yet know that standing between two fires was only the beginning.
One day, he would stand alone—
between the world and himself.
Far beyond sight, Shiva watched the boy take his first steps into the hardest form of dharma.
"Let him walk this path," the Lord murmured.
"Only those who burn learn what cannot be burned."