by Brian Godawa
Like a bunch of flies around excrement, Enkidu thought to himself. They seem to need us as much as we need them.
Enlil continued, “But when I confronted Enki with his defiance of my command, he revealed that he had not told Atrahasis directly, but in a dream, which freed him from the legal punishment of the assembly of gods.”
“But you allowed Noah to live?” asked Gilgamesh.
“Atrahasis,” corrected Enlil emphatically. “I allowed Atrahasis to live. In fact, in my incomparable grace, I approached Atrahasis and his wife and told them that hitherto they should now be like us gods. And I took them afar off to the Land of the Living, at the mouth of the rivers where the sun rises, to reside no more amongst mortal men.”
“You made Noah — I mean Atrahasis — and his wife immortal?” Gilgamesh repeated for clarification.
“Yes,” said Enlil. “The only human beings to have the honor.”
Yet again, Gilgamesh and Enkidu were in perfect harmony with their thoughts. They both mused simultaneously What is Enlil hiding with this fairy tale? It seemed partly true and partly manufactured for propaganda purposes.
Enlil said, “Gilgamesh of Uruk, do you wish to achieve eternal fame and a great and mighty name forever?”
Gilgamesh could not believe what he was hearing. He thought that he and Enkidu were going to be chewed up and spit into Sheol for the sheer impertinence of what they had done. But he did not realize that his killing of the Guardian of the Abode of the gods had inspired Enlil to set into motion their next plan for dominion.
“Y-yes,” stuttered Gilgamesh in shock. “With all my heart and soul.”
Enlil said, “Then we shall covenant together upon a mutually beneficial opportunity.”
Enkidu did not share the excitement he heard in Gilgamesh’s voice. He did not trust these “gods.” They proved capricious, not particularly knowledgeable or powerful as befits deity, and therefore questionable as to their deservedness of such respect and allegiance. On the other hand, their only other option was probably death.
Enlil said, “You shall be given a view into the divine council of the gods that no other man has ever had or ever will have again. In exchange we will require of you certain things to insure that our plan will carry out with power and with finality.”
“Yes, my Lord,” nodded Gilgamesh.
The gods were about to come out of hiding.
Enkidu remained dutifully silent. He considered that his thoughts right now would only cause trouble and might result in the dissolution of this newly forming alliance.
Enlil continued, “Allow me to introduce to you the god who will be our emissary and who will aid you in accomplishing our plan in Mesopotamia.”
One of the gods stepped forward. He was a mass of muscle and heavily armed with bow, mace, sword, and war net. This one was a fighter.
Enlil continued, “Suffice it to say he will be adequate to the task. Gilgamesh, meet Ninurta, son of Enlil, god of vegetation and harvest.”
Enkidu thought to himself, God of vegetation? That is a strange signification for such a powerful looking scrapper. What is he? A ‘mighty gardener’?
Gilgamesh thought the same.
Chapter 25
One of the demands that Enlil put upon Gilgamesh to show his obedience was that he would have to build a huge door of cedar wood ninety nine feet high, thirty three feet wide, and one and a half feet thick. He was to carve it as one piece from the mightiest tree in the Cedar Forest and then cart it four hundred miles back to the Euphrates river on donkey-driven carts built from forest wood as well. He would then ride the door as a raft down the Euphrates all the way to the city Nippur, where they would present it as a gift to the temple of Enlil, an obvious ego stroke for the head of the assembly and his so-called son, Ninurta, who was accompanying them. But Nippur was also the main religious center of the pantheon and this act would affirm their authority. This was only the tip of the ziggurat of the master plan they had conspired with Gilgamesh to accomplish.
Enkidu was not privy to the master plan, and it was the only thing Gilgamesh would keep from his Right Hand because the gods had demanded it as a condition upon pain of death. Ninurta was there to make sure of it.
Therefore, it would be Enkidu’s relentless intent to uncover the skullduggery of these despotic deities in order to protect his lord and friend the mighty Gilgamesh.
That was the intent over which he mused as Enkidu helmed the cedar raft of Enlil’s door on the downstream waters of the mighty river Euphrates.
Gilgamesh came back from the bow where Ninurta stood vigil like a statue of stone watching the river.
“He is not much of a talker, that one,” said Gilgamesh. “It is like pulling teeth to get him to say anything. Or in his case, more like pulling fangs.”
Gilgamesh noticed something was wrong. “What distresses you, Enkidu?” he said.
“I do not trust these gods,” whispered Enkidu under his breath. He did not want Ninurta to hear his voice, though he was upwind. They spoke with hushed voices.
“Neither do I,” said Gilgamesh.
Enkidu whispered, “They are more powerful than us, yes. But they are still finite, limited, ignorant, and petty. They do not seem to me to be what they depict themselves.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gilgamesh.
Enkidu watched Ninurta, who looked back at them before returning to his shepherd dog posture at the front of the raft.
Enkidu stared into the distance with melancholy. He spoke in his hushed tone with a detached longing, “When I was a Wild-Born, I was blissfully unaware of any deities like that which I saw on Mount Hermon. But when I would roam the steppe, sometimes all alone, I would be overwhelmed with a sense of — awe. I did not know what it was, but I would look around me and see the earth that was unmoving beneath my feet, and the magnificent mountains that held up the starry firmament. And I would see the countless stars and the sun and moon in their course. And I would think to myself, surely someone created all this perfection. He would have to be infinite to be capable of managing so vast a cosmos, but also orderly to maintain the constancy of the seasons and of the ways of all things. And an ultimate goodness. A goodness I felt in my bones we did not measure up to.”
Gilgamesh interrupted his musing, “But have you seen this ‘creator god?’”
“No,” replied Enkidu, “yet he was everywhere present. As an artist is present in the sculpture he forms, or the mosaic he creates. Only he has not left an explicit signature. I do not know his name. But I do know that those gods of the assembly are not him. They are part of the mosaic.”
Gilgamesh said, “What kind of a creator does not speak, does not give his name, and does not reveal himself?”
Enkidu responded, “Maybe we are the ones who do not listen or see.”
Gilgamesh countered, “It looks more to me that we are abandoned.”
Enkidu said, “Maybe we are abandoned. But look at this world. What we have become. Maybe we brought it upon ourselves. Maybe we deserve it.”
Gilgamesh said with a touch of his signature sarcasm, “Or maybe you have spent too much time alone in the steppe and maybe you went mad.”
Enkidu smiled. “I think you are right. Life as a Wild-Born is one of much ignorance. But I still do not trust these capricious gods.”
Gilgamesh said, “But you must trust me. I am bound by oath not to reveal their plans.”
“You did not have much choice,” quipped Enkidu. “It was either execution or carry out their wishes.”
Gilgamesh assured him, “I promise you, Enkidu, it will be glorious for me. And you will be by my side.”
“There is always a price to be paid for such glory,” said Enkidu.
“And what else is there?” asked Gilgamesh. “What is life anyway, but striving after the wind? All is vanity. Our life is a vapor that is here for a moment and disappears like a wisp of smoke. But you and I are still alive. And better is a living dog than a dead lion.”
&nbs
p; “I want to get back to my wife and back to my life,” said Enkidu.
“Back to a life of what?” said Gilgamesh. “Physical and emotional experiences? Enkidu, I love you closer than a brother. I know you find the caresses of Shamhat to soothe your soul. But consider this: You too will die, and in the Underworld, where you are going, there are no caresses, no companions, and no memories of either there. It is the land of forgetfulness, from which no man returns.”
Enkidu tried to argue back, “That is why the gods envy us. Because we are doomed, life is more intense. Every moment is full of beauty that will never return. Nothing can be more abundant with meaning. Every day is our last. Every pleasure pure and holy because it will never be again.”
“Do not be a fool,” said Gilgamesh. “The truth is the exact opposite. Every pleasure you experience, every human connection you make, wife, friend, or offspring, is a lie, a cruel joke of meaninglessness that you delude yourself into believing has value. What is your infinitesimal moment of ‘beauty’ or pleasure in an eternity of despair? It is nothing. It is worse than nothing. It is a mockery that makes the pain far worse because there is something to be compared to. Do you not see? Hope is the very thing that secures one’s eternal misery in the face of death if there is no transcendent truth within which it is rooted.”
“Then what do you conclude?” asked Enkidu. “You just made the case for nothingness and meaninglessness and you criticize me for folly? Why not just kill ourselves now and get it over with if there is nothing that awaits us but despair?”
Gilgamesh’s intensity lightened. His scrunched face relaxed and he thought for a moment. “That is a good point,” he said.
But then he smiled deviously and added, “And that is why I want to become a god. I want eternal life, Enkidu. I want to live forever.”
Enkidu stared at him. “You are already two thirds god. Is that not good enough?”
“Nope. I will still die,” said Gilgamesh.
“You know,” added Enkidu, “I have been meaning to ask you anyway, how could you be two thirds divine and one third human? If your father was a human and your mother was a goddess, that would make you half divine and half human.”
Gilgamesh said, “To be honest, I have often wondered that myself. I never contested it because two thirds divinity makes me more feared in the eyes of the populace than a mere half, so I would not want to waste that opportunity. But the nearest I can come to figuring it out is that my human father, holy Lugalbanda became a god, so maybe that explains it.”
Enkidu replied skeptically, “But that was a ceremonial declaration after his death, long after you were born and already a prince.”
Gilgamesh paused. Enkidu was right. But the truth would certainly not be of advantage in this case, so Gilgamesh turned wisdom sage on Enkidu and said, “And that proves my point, Enkidu. In much wisdom is much vexation. And he who increases knowledge increases sorrow.”
Enkidu gave him a frowned look. Gilgamesh was avoiding the issue, and Enkidu did not mind letting Gilgamesh see that he was not buying it.
Gilgamesh reacted, “Do not give me that look. It does not matter what percentage god I am. I am still also a man. And so I will die because all men die. The wise man and the fool alike. The king and the commoner, the rich and the poor. No man escapes Sheol. And in the long run, the dead are all forgotten.”
He paused for dramatic effect, then concluded, “But a god lives forever.”
“It reminds me of a proverb,” said Enkidu.
Gilgamesh saw it coming. He sighed and asked Enkidu with a touch of sarcasm, “And what proverb is that?”
“Better is a poor and wise youth,” said Enkidu, “than an old and foolish king who no longer knows how to take advice.” But then he added, “Not that I am insinuating anything.”
“Of course not,” remarked Gilgamesh. He was getting a little peeved. “And that reminds me of a proverb as well.”
Enkidu refused to ask, because he knew he was going to get it anyway.
“A Wild Born once civilized forgets his careless freedom and learns to become a worry wart.”
Enkidu’s eyes thinned. He said, “You just made that up to get back at me.”
Gilgamesh refused to look at Enkidu. His eyes stayed focused on the river ahead of them with a captain-like intensity. Then a smirk spread on his face and he pronounced, “Well, I am king, so I get to make up my own proverbs.”
Enkidu bowed and said, “This is undeniable. I bow in submission to thy divinely arbitrary authority.”
Gilgamesh and Enkidu both laughed heartily and embraced one another with a bond of love that irked a disdainful Ninurta at the front of the raft. He shook his head and turned back to navigating their craft toward Nippur.
Ninurta thought to himself, A king with a trusted confidante is not proper material for a tyrant. I shall have to do something about that.
Chapter 26
Gilgamesh commanded the raft down the Euphrates to Nippur where he barely tolerated the pomp and ritual of a formal dedication to the temple of Enlil. It was all so dreadfully boring he could not wait to leave. From there, they hired a boat to take them the rest of the way to Uruk.
And it was Uruk, the mighty city with its mighty walls that towered over Gilgamesh and Enkidu as they docked their boat in the river wharf. Ninurta was to shadow Gilgamesh as his newly appointed personal guard. They would hide his identity as a god underneath a hooded cloak until the appropriate time. This would prove to be rather difficult, since he was about eight feet tall and built like an upturned ziggurat. But his presence was so intimidating that even this was helpful.
Gilgamesh wondered what had transpired during his absence of nearly two weeks, with half of that time being spent coming home. He noticed the city walls were complete. And they were divinely grand. Beautiful towering cliffs of kiln-burned brick that surrounded the city like a huge protective serpent of power. Well done, Dumuzi, he thought. A reward for your industriousness is certainly due.
They passed through the sevenfold gate and a trumpet announced the arrival of the king. As they approached the palace, he looked over at the temple district and could see a huge tree growing within the Eanna temple area that spanned a thousand feet into the heavens. It was astonishing and he wondered how on earth it had gotten there and grown so tall within so short a time. That would be one of his immediate inquiries to Dumuzi and Ninsun.
But then he noticed that the entire Eanna complex was being remodeled by a large contingent of workers. Brick layers, carpenters, and hundreds of workers swarmed the complex in the process of enhancing and extending the entire structure.
Gilgamesh was starting to get angry. He is gone for two weeks and the man he leaves in charge begins to act like he owns the place?
“What in the world?” began Gilgamesh. But he did not finish his exclamation.
Enkidu drew his attention down to the clay pit sector of the city, fully one third of the acreage of Uruk. It was now a lake! Gilgamesh’s eyes went wide with shock, then narrowed with anger.
“Heads will roll,” barked Gilgamesh, as he tramped his way into the palace and in toward his throne room.
When they arrived in the throne room, Gilgamesh immediately saw his mother Ninsun on her queenly throne. But seated on Gilgamesh’s throne was someone else. And it was not Dumuzi.
Before he could explode with wrath, he noticed the throne stealer was an eight foot tall being dressed in a robe of vulture’s feathers and wearing the horned hat of deity. She was a goddess.
Gilgamesh stopped. Enkidu stopped. Ninurta stepped back at the entrance way to stay unnoticed.
The being spoke like a queen herself. “You must be the mighty Gilgamesh, Scion of Uruk, Wild Bull on the Rampage, one third mortal and two thirds divine!”
She looked at Ninsun who sat fearfully quiet. “Is that how you say it, Lady Cow?” She looked back at Gilgamesh with a smile and open arms. Looked him up and down with lustful eyes.
“I must say you are
everything and more that your mother said you were,” she purred, licking her lips.
“Oh, forgive me. I am taking up your throne.” She stood up and gestured for him to sit on it. It was a bit mocking, as the goddess knew full well she could do what she wanted.
But Gilgamesh remained motionless. He stared at her.
She took a step further away from the throne and said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the goddess of sex and war. You may have known me in the past as Inanna, but I am reborn from Sheol as Ishtar.”
Out of sight at the back of the room, Ninurta’s eyes went wide with shock beneath his hood. It was true. Shamash had not been lying. Inanna was back somehow, but with a new name. Though looking at her garments under the robe, apparently her new name involved the same bizarre identity she had exploited before the Deluge.
“Where is Dumuzi?” asked Gilgamesh.
Ninsun could not look at her son. She averted her eyes.
“Dumuzi? Or Tammuz, as I called him,” Ishtar began.
Called him? Thought Gilgamesh. As in past tense?
She continued, “Well, let us just say that he has performed an invaluable service for me, his ex-lover, that will keep him detained in Sheol for — Well, he is not coming back anytime soon.”
Gilgamesh was dumbfounded. He could not believe the arrogance of this tramp goddess. But he was also not particularly scared either. After all he had gone through, there was not much that could frighten him.
And Ishtar could see it.
“My, you are a brave one,” she said. “We will have some exciting times together, you and I.”
But with that potential threat, Ninurta stepped forward. He did not take off his hood, but he was clearly being protective of his ward.
Ishtar looked at him. Her playful tone turned suddenly serious. “Stop hiding, son of Enlil. I smelled you when you walked in, you imbecile.”