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gentle scoldin g: " It is not mine, it belongs to God." Devout Bishnois should lay down their own lives to protect other living beings, especially the black buck (considered the embodiment of their guru) and the sacred khejri tree, a key species in the desert ecosystem. The khej ri provides high-protein fodder for grazing animals as well as thatch for houses. In fact, Bishnoi are the original tree huggers: Long before American activists chained themselves to Pacific redwoods to protest logging, the Bishnoi were clinging to khejri. In 1730, a Bishnoi woman named Amrita confronted a group of men that the Maharaja of Jodhpur had sent to the fertile Bishnoi lands to harvest wood for a construction project. She explained her religion's strictu re against cutting trees. When argument failed, she offered her neck in place of the tree trunk. The ruler'S men promptly beheaded her; then, her three young daughters. In all, 363 Bishnoi gave their lives for the trees. When the Maharaja heard of the bloody sacrifice, he banned all logging and hunting on Bishnoi lands. The edict sti ll holds and is fiercely defended. As rece ntly as 2000, a Bishnoi youth was shot while attempting to save a deer from poachers. And, as a result of Bishnoi protests, Bollywood star Salman Khan, the modern equivalent of a maharaja, was tossed in jail for killing an endangered black buck. Today, roughly one million Bishnoi live in northwestern India, the bulk of them concentrated in the desert of Rajasthan, where because of careful use of resources, their villages tend to be better off than other desert sett lements. Their lands have become a sort of oasis-just rich enough for man and beast to eke out an existence, together. Traveling the wide, strai ght road out of Jodhpur, it's easy to tell when you've reached Bishnoi territo ry. The baked landscape becomes surprisingly lush. Trees that elsewhere are wizened, here are green with boughs full of birds, and black bucks, with their spectacular spiraled antlers, barely stir from their grazing at your approach, peaceable as cows. Our open jeep turned down a dirt track and was immediately accosted by three small uniformed schoolch ildren. They wanted pens, and they wanted a ride. When we agreed to supply the latter, the three children miraculously multiplied to nine. Our driver took off, instigating a sudden caterwaul of "Chhotu! Chhotu! " (" Li ttle one! "). So we slowed down for a tiny straggler, half the size of his book bag. The oldest child jumped down, secured Chhotu to his hip, and hobbled back aboard. About a mile down the track the kids jumped off, grinning from ear to ear, and disappeared into a field of green. A few women made their way home through the fields, their flowing crimson skirts and headscarves punctuating the yellow-green landscape like flower petals scattered on a doorstep. Peacocks strutted across the track. In the shrubbery, two young male black bucks butted heads, locking their antlers in a furious tussle. Eventually we pulled up to a low white- walled compound. The man in white came out to greet us. Three small children materialized from inside the house and arrayed themselves along the furth est point of the compound wall, shyer than the wild creatures in the fields. The place had not been beautified for the benefi t of foreign tourists. I was strangely satisfied by the necessity of a blue plastic