Gilgamesh Immortal

by Brian Godawa

  The two grabbed each other and began to wrestle for advantage. But it was so close, one moment Gilgamesh was on top and then the next moment the tails were turned and Enkidu was in superior position.

  They slammed each other into buildings with the force of two rampaging bulls reducing the town square into a pile of rubble.

  They circled each other for a moment, ready to trample and gore.

  Gilgamesh shouted out, “Where are you from, mighty Enkidu?”

  “I come from the steppe.”

  “I am impressed. I have never seen such strength or bravado,” said Gilgamesh.

  “What is ‘bravado’?” asked Enkidu.

  Gilgamesh smiled. This was some kind of primitive, he thought. Untainted by the petty shame of civilization. Could he be a domesticated Wild Born?

  “Pomposity, bombast, braggadocio,” grinned Gilgamesh. Now he was taunting Enkidu. Answering him with even more intellectual words beyond Enkidu’s comprehension. Enkidu boiled.

  “It means the pride that comes before a fall,” Gilgamesh added and flipped Enkidu with a thud into the dirt. The entire town square shook like an earthquake. No normal man would have remained conscious.

  Enkidu was not a normal man.

  Gilgamesh was still holding onto him. So Enkidu threw him off balance and flipped him over his head right into a stone well. Gilgamesh crashed into the stone structure and smashed it to pieces, knocking him silly.

  “I will forever remember such words in context with King Gilgamesh, the tyrant, despot, and oppressor,” said Enkidu.

  Gilgamesh shook off his stupor and thought, Has Dumuzi taught him this discontent? Gilgamesh said, “Why would you sacrifice your life for such a minor inconvenience as a wife?” He was genuinely surprised at Enkidu’s extremist moral sentiment. He could not understand what drove a man to have such an absolutist mentality when it came to morals. Wives were mere property to him. They could be bought, beaten, divorced.

  Enkidu replied, “A man’s life is sacred. And his wife’s virtue is no minor inconvenience.”

  Enkidu’s integrity was antiquated, but fascinating to Gilgamesh. It was everything Gilgamesh did not have. He found himself drawn to it.

  Gilgamesh complained, “But your wife is a harlot.”

  Gilgamesh said it as a statement of fact, not an insult. Enkidu heard it differently. He raged and tackled Gilgamesh head on with such force that they slammed into the side of a house and brought it down completely upon them.

  They dug their way out of the debris. Enkidu coughed the dust out of his lungs. But as soon as Gilgamesh burst out of the pile of mud bricks, Enkidu unleashed with a fury of rapid face punches that would have taken off the head of any other adversary.

  Instead, it only knocked Gilgamesh unconscious. Enkidu then pulled Gilgamesh out of the rubble and carried him on his back out into the town square before a cheering crowd. He did not care one whit for their attention. He could only think of his beloved Shamhat. He raised Gilgamesh above his head and threw him to the ground with another earth shattering quake.

  Gilgamesh lay crumpled on the ground. Enkidu walked over to a horse hitching post and pulled off the large log from its posts.

  He carried it over to Gilgamesh and raised it high above his head with the intent of smashing his enemy’s skull.

  But before he could do so, Gilgamesh, who had been feigning unconsciousness rolled into Enkidu’s legs and brought him crashing to the ground minus the log.

  Gilgamesh then used a wrestling maneuver he had learned in his physical training many years ago. It was the advantage that civilization gave over the wild. Perfected training through practiced experimentation and rational study would ultimately be superior to brute strength and untrained natural instinct. Gilgamesh pinned Enkidu, then quickly pulled his knife from his belt and held it to Enkidu’s throat.

  Enkidu looked up into Gilgamesh’s eyes and the king could see that he was ready to die. It was as if he knew who he was and why he was here.

  “You have fought well, my adversary,” said Gilgamesh. “I have never met my equal. But you have bettered me in more than one moment today.”

  “It is true what they say of the unique son of Ninsun,” said Enkidu. “You are destined to rule mightily over men.”

  Gilgamesh was amused and impressed. He is complimenting me before I kill him.

  “Promise me something,” said Enkidu.

  Gilgamesh was startled. “Me promise you?” Considering Enkidu’s current situation, he had a lot of gall to demand a promise.

  “After you take my life, honor your words of respect for my skill by protecting the virtue of my wife.”

  Gilgamesh could still not believe his ears. “So this is love,” he said. He looked into Enkidu’s eyes and could see no guile.

  It was bizarre to Gilgamesh. This Gibbor was entirely beyond his comprehension, yet strangely resonating with some sense of moral truth deep down in his soul.

  He changed his mind.

  “I will protect your wife’s virtue,” said Gilgamesh. “And I will not take your life.”

  He released the knife from Enkidu’s throat. Enkidu was shocked at the turnaround.

  He offered his hand to help Enkidu up from the ground.

  Enkidu took his hand warily, wondering if he was just throwing Enkidu off to give him a merciful surprise death. Something he would not see coming, so he would barely realize he was dead until he opened his eyes in the underworld.

  But Gilgamesh did not surprise Enkidu with a bushwhack. He helped him up and brushed off Enkidu’s wedding clothes from the dirt that was on them. Which was silly because both of their clothes had been ripped to shreds.

  “I will make you my Right Hand,” said Gilgamesh.

  “I do not understand,” said Enkidu. “Are you not obligated to kill me for my defiance?”

  “I am king,” said Gilgamesh. “I am obligated to nothing. I can do whatever I want.” He smiled deviously. “And I have never met a man as strong and honest and true as Enkidu of the steppe. Why would I want to kill such a man?”

  Enkidu was as stunned as being thrown into a brick wall.

  “Enkidu, would you be my Right Hand?”

  Now, it was a genuine and heartfelt request rather than a kingly command.

  Enkidu looked long and hard at Gilgamesh. Then he offered him his forearm and they grasped each other. They kissed as was the custom of the land. Not a kiss of lovers as Enkidu and Shamhat, but a kiss of male friendship as Enkidu and Gilgamesh.

  Gilgamesh thought to himself, There is much to teach this primitive man. I pray his moral rectitude does not impede his education.

  Enkidu thought to himself, There is much to teach this educated fool. It will be a most difficult task to civilize him.

  Gilgamesh suddenly spoke up, “All this fighting has made me famished. Come, my Right Hand, let us feast!”

  Enkidu looked at Gilgamesh with incredulity. “As your trusted ally, do you desire me to maintain my strength, honesty, and truthfulness?”

  “Of course,” said Gilgamesh. “I require it, even to my detriment.”

  Enkidu said, “Well, then, my lord, it would do you well to remember that I have just been interrupted from consummating my wedding night.”

  Gilgamesh grinned and slapped Enkidu on the back. “Forgive me, Enkidu. Go and have your fill of love until morn. But if what Dumuzi tells me is true, you may be busily employed for the next seven days with your amazing stamina.”

  Enkidu looked blankly at Gilgamesh, who winked and walked away, throwing out another playful jab, “See me in the feast hall when you are limp and can think clearly again.”

  Enkidu shook his head and walked toward the waiting figure of Shamhat in the threshold of their banquet.

  She smiled with pride. Why the gods had been so kind to her with so good a man was incomprehensible.

  Chapter 10

  Gilgamesh sat deep in thought on his throne, his brow disturbingly wrinkled. He gazed off into the d
istance, a small opening from a window above casting a beam of light upon his back in the otherwise shadowed hall.

  Sinleqiunninni (“Sin-leekee-oo-nee-nee”) stood beside Gilgamesh’s throne. He was the ummanu, or king’s scholar. The ummanu was the head scribe of the palace. He was principal of the scribal school and was responsible for the court archives as well as the maintenance of the written stories of the culture. He wrote letters for the king and oversaw the engraving of monumental inscriptions. The ummanu had taken the place of the apkallu before the Deluge. While the apkallu had been primarily a mystical sage of wisdom for kings, the ummanu was more of an intellectual scholar of knowledge reference.

  The world was becoming less magical and more rational with the growth and accumulation of human knowledge and observation growing in libraries of cuneiform tablets in the cities. The ability to manage all that written knowledge required a person more inclined toward tablets than people, and toward rational intellect than human nature. This also explained Sinleqiunninni’s pudgy and flabby body shape, as he was prone to spend most of his time sitting and reading.

  Unfortunately for Sinleqiunninni, Gilgamesh did not care for his personality in the least. The scholar was intelligent and knowledgeable without doubt. He could cite from memory things written down in tablets stored deep in the library. But he did not have much wisdom, or practical ability to apply his knowledge. That, and his social and verbal skills were dreadful. The only reason his monotonous voice did not put Gilgamesh to sleep was because it annoyed him so much. But Sinleqiunninni was the only one in the kingdom who knew the library by heart, so Gilgamesh needed him, if only to recount such petty details that would be necessary for particular discussions or decisions.

  Enkidu’s voice snapped Gilgamesh back into this world. “Ho, hurrah, my king!” proclaimed Enkidu. Gilgamesh looked up and saw Enkidu and Shamhat being led in by the Guard.

  “Why does Gilgamesh the Gibbor appear so glum?”

  Gilgamesh smiled broadly. “Contemplating the mysteries of the cosmos.”

  Gilgamesh gazed upon the beautiful form of Shamhat. It was as if Enkidu’s love had transformed this hierodule, this harlot into a vision of womanly grace and honor. A splash of jealousy washed over him. He shook it off.

  “Welcome, my turtledoves,” teased Gilgamesh. “It has been a mere five days since your wedding. Are you already losing your passionate prowess, mighty Enkidu?”

  Enkidu and Shamhat smiled. “Self-control is a character trait of which I intend to instruct the king,” Enkidu teased back.

  Shamhat joined in, “Would my Lord prefer us to demonstrate Enkidu’s continuing prowess on the throne for his majesty?”

  Gilgamesh laughed heartily, “No, no, dear Shamhat. I shall trust your expert opinion and pray that I may someday find such a desirable and goodly wife as you. Thank you for civilizing this manly brute.” It was the way of men to insult one another as an ironic act of showing affection and respect.

  “The honor is mine, good king,” said Shamhat.

  “No,” said Gilgamesh.

  Enkidu and Shamhat did not respond. They did not know what he meant, and were not sure they wanted to.

  “No, I am not a good king,” he continued. “Please accept my humblest apology for interrupting your wedding night with my scandalous unacceptable behavior. I vow to never treat you with such disrespect again. You are the wife of my Right Hand.”

  Shamhat and Enkidu were stunned speechless. Shamhat started to tear up with gratitude.

  She finally spoke up, “My lord the king is sovereign. He does as he pleases.”

  “Indeed I do,” Gilgamesh replied. “But that is why the gods have given me your husband, as a standard to show me the consequences of my actions. Already he has me re-evaluating my policy of jus prima noctis, thanks to his desirous wife for whom I understand now why he would die.”

  “My lord,” she said simply with embarrassment and honor of such self-disclosure of a king to so lowly a subject.

  Sinleqiunninni cleared his throat like a teacher and spoke softly with a false humility, “Excuse me, my lord, but technically, jus prima noctis was never absolute obligation on your part. You need not abolish it to avoid universal administration. You merely apply it selectively.”

  “Thank you for the technical clarification,” mouthed Gilgamesh with a touch of contempt. He looked back at Enkidu, “As you may have figured out, this is Sinleqiunninni, the king’s scholar, or technical clarifier.”

  “Ummanu, to be most accurate terminologically,” added Sinleqiunninni.

  Gilgamesh spouted, “Well, we would not want to be terminologically inaccurate, now, would we?”

  Sinleqiunninni said, “Actually, if I may…”

  “No, you may not, Sinleqi,” said Gilgamesh, shortening the name as an example of his shortened patience. And the scholar shut up.

  Gilgamesh looked back at Enkidu and said, “I have much to discuss with you Enkidu. But first, if the lady permits, we shall, you and I, pay a visit to the Queen Mother, goddess Ninsun.”

  Gilgamesh walked Enkidu through Egalmah, the Great Palace temple of Ninsun, his Queen Mother, in the temple district at the center of the city. Though she was a high priestess of Shamash the sun god, she was also a goddess herself and so his altar was on the roof of her own temple for convenience.

  Enkidu could not get all the temples straight, there were so many of them. A pantheon of gods was a tiresome notion to him. It seemed more sensible to him to worship one god, whoever created them, but he could not make heads or tails of those either. Was it Aruru, the goddess who supposedly created Enkidu? Was it Mami or Nintu who mixed clay with his flesh and blood? Was it Enki or Nudimmud who made mankind from the spilt blood of the god Qingu? He thought he might consult with the king’s scholar for clarification, but then thought better after his previous encounter with him.

  Nevertheless, there were so many different contradicting versions of creation, that he could not get them straight. And that very diversity was a symbol to him of the confused state that humanity seemed to be in. It was as if the Creator god had pulled away from them and this was the result of such abandonment. But who could that Creator god be?

  They came to Shamash’s Gateway, where Ninsun would pray to the sun god. It was a modest room in an otherwise ostentatious temple palace. Gilgamesh had wanted his mother to meet his new Right Hand, and he wanted it to be a surprise. So he had Enkidu hide behind a pillar for Gilgamesh to introduce him.

  Gilgamesh saw his mother kneeling and praying in the gateway. He approached silently so as not to startle her. When he was within hearing range, he heard her prayer of complaint to Shamash.

  “He is just a domesticated Wild Born bastard. Born in the wilderness without father or mother, raised by animals. His hair is ratty and unpleasant. What shall I say to my son if he appoints him to power in the kingdom?”

  “You could say, ‘Well done my wise and noble son,’” Gilgamesh’s voice interrupted.

  She turned to see him standing behind her with a frown.

  Gilgamesh continued, “Since you are already privy to the intelligence of the fight, Mother, you will apparently be unimpressed to hear that I have appointed Enkidu to the position of my Right Hand. I am sorry to disappoint you.”

  He was not sorry. He just enjoyed making sarcastic barbs. He loved his mother, but he was not ruled or manipulated by her. He listened to her counsel, as he did all others, but he did what he thought was right. He was lord and king of Uruk.

  “My son,” she protested, “do you fault me for my concern? He has no lineage. He is not royalty. I only seek to protect your throne above all else.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “And so you will no doubt appreciate knowing that I have never in my entire life met a man I could trust. Until this day. Mother, I have gazed into the Abyss. I know the nature of man. And I tell you, there is no guile in Enkidu of the steppe.”

  She was as deeply moved by his sentiment as Gilgamesh was in saying it
. He continued, “He is appointed my Right Hand and I expect you to grant him all observance and authority of his position.”

  She listened without a word.

  He said, “I came here to tell you something.”

  He turned and walked to the back of the room.

  He was going to get Enkidu, but when he arrived at the pillar where he left him, Enkidu was gone. He sighed deeply, turned back to Ninsun and said, “Come to dinner tonight and we will talk.”

  “Yes, my son,” she said with heavy sadness.

  Gilgamesh left her to her thoughts.

  Gilgamesh found Enkidu in the royal stable. He had entertained the notion that having heard Ninsun’s derogatory complaints, Enkidu would return to where he felt more comfortable – with animals. He found him brooding with the mighty horses of the king’s chariot.

  But this escape was not weakness to Gilgamesh for he understood his new companion maybe better than he understood himself.

  Gilgamesh said, “Enkidu, the animal world is not the only place where hierarchy is dictated by rules. But in human society the strong do not rule. Aristocracy is family born.”

  Enkidu replied through deep sadness, “I have no family. I am not human.”

  Gilgamesh stepped up to him to emphasize his intent. “You are more a man than anyone I have ever known in my entire family.”

  “But I am not your family,” said Enkidu. “I should return to the steppe. That is where I was born to live and die.”

  “Nonsense,” said Gilgamesh. “You have been reborn as my Right Hand. And there is a way for you to be my family.”

  Enkidu looked up at Gilgamesh stupefied. “How, my lord?”

  Gilgamesh gave him a serpentine grin, “It begins with you joining me in a feast.”

  Enkidu asked, “Will Lady Wild Cow be there?”

  Gilgamesh smiled. It was a religious name for Ninsun, but in the lips of this ex-Wild-Born, it carried irony. “Yes, she will. But so will the city elders, because I have a proposition that will affect both your destiny and mine, and I require the approval of the assembly.”