The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  “It’s Huwawa, the siege engine!” Enkidu cried out. “A monster created by the Lord Enlil. Come, let’s run out of its range!”

  He pulled Gilgamesh by his robe, but Gilgamesh did not budge.

  “No, I shall stand and face the terror!” Gilgamesh said. “Let it not be said, ‘Gilgamesh, reaching the gateway, like a frightened rabbit turned back!’’’

  “It’s certain death,” Enkidu said. “Why do you wish to stay and face Huwawa?”

  “Even if I should fall before the monster,” Gilgamesh replied, “I shall have made a name for myself. ‘Against fierce Huwawa, the terror of Enlil, Gilgamesh had risen,’ they will say long after my offspring are born. But if Huwawa I shall vanquish, the path to Everlife I shall attain!” He put his hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “You see then, by standing up to the terror, either I or my name shall forever endure!”

  “I see,” Enkidu said and embraced the king. “Advance then,” he said. “Fear not, for I shall be by your side!”

  The monster heard their voices, for now he was coming directly at them. His head stopped turning and his eyes’ beams were directed at the spot where the comrades were. He raised his left hand, and the burning ray scorched all that lay ahead.

  “Let me go ahead and confuse Huwawa!” Enkidu cried. Looking about him, he picked out a young cedar tree and uprooted it. Dragging the tree behind him, he circled Huwawa. Alerted by the noise, the monster’s head turned on its sockets, his eyes shooting rays in all directions. Finding an opportune moment, Enkidu hit Huwawa’s groin with the tree then jumped back and ran.

  The monster issued a cry of anguish, like that of the white bull slaughtered upon the altar. With his right hand he smashed against the trees around him, felling them to the ground as if they were merely reeds. He raised his left hand, and the round mirror cast scorching rays that devoured the ground around him. His head turned like a spinning wheel, its eyes’ beams searching the forest.

  Standing side by side, the comrades were ready for the uneven battle. Gilgamesh pulled out his dagger. “Huwawa’s heart I shall stab, if he nears us,” he said.

  Enkidu held on to the tree. “And I shall crush his skull!”

  It was then that they saw, through the treetops, two silvery skyships hovering.

  “Look!” Gilgamesh shouted, “The Lord Utu has come to our aid!”

  One of the skyships lowered itself as much as the trees would let it, positioning itself between Huwawa and the embattled comrades. A mighty wind began blowing down from the skyship, stirring up the wet soil into a whirlpool. Sucking up mud and leaves and pebbles, the whirlpool threw the dirt into Huwawa’s eyes.

  “Aahhoo! Aahhoo!” the monster whined in anguish and blindly flailed his hands.

  “Let’s rush the monster!” Gilgamesh shouted to Enkidu.

  Leading the assault, he rushed against the blinded guardian of the forest. Catching up with him, Enkidu reached for the monster and, with the tree trunk, struck its head. The head stopped turning. Now Enkidu directed his second blow at Huwawa’s hand, and its weapon fell to the ground with a shattering noise.

  Gilgamesh plunged his dagger into the monster’s heart. There was a clanking as when metal strikes metal. Huwawa wreathed in convulsions, blindly flailing his hands against his attackers. Again and again the comrades struck until Huwawa fell to the ground. Gilgamesh struck Huwawa’s forehead with his dagger, and all at once the monster’s convulsions stopped.

  Enkidu was about to administer another blow when there was a hissing sound and a reddish vapor arose from the creature.

  “Huwawa is dead!” Gilgamesh shouted, “His soul has turned to vapor!”

  “Let’s make sure,” Enkidu replied. He administered another heavy blow to the monster’s midriff. The blow broke the creature in two, scattering its members like so many pieces of tangled metal.

  “I’ve vanquished Huwawa!” Gilgamesh cried out.

  Enkidu poked at the twisted metal with his foot. “So you have,” he said solemnly. “The handiwork of the Lord Enlil, the siege engine of the Cedar Forest, is in pieces, like a shattered clay jar that has fallen off the roof.”

  “Why are you sad when we should be joyful?” Gilgamesh asked him. “Not only have we made a name for ourselves, but the path to the Landing Place is now wide open!”

  “Sad I am, indeed,” Enkidu answered, “for as I look at the shattered handiwork of Lord Enlil, I can’t help thinking of myself: the handiwork of Lord Enki. . . . In the fate of Huwawa, I can’t help seeing my own.”

  “Nonsense!” Gilgamesh said. “You’ve seen with your own eyes that the gods are with us!”

  The words reminded them of the skyships. They looked up, but the skyships were gone, nowhere to be seen.

  Collecting small rocks, Gilgamesh piled them up. “The Lord Utu is my rock,” he said. “Let this commemorate my gratitude.” He turned to Enkidu. “Come, let’s find the Landing Place! The gods wish me to attain my goal!”

  “Indeed so,” Enkidu said. “Before the monster came upon us, I had found the secret tunnel of the Anunnaki!”

  “Take me there at once!” Gilgamesh cried out excitedly.

  Showing the way, Enkidu led Gilgamesh to the rock outcropping and pointed to the cavelike opening. Putting his ear to it, Gilgamesh too could hear faint sounds from it.

  “Quick, let’s clear the entrance!” Gilgamesh urged his comrade.

  Feverishly the two worked, uprooting the underbrush that grew over the opening, removing rocks that were piled up against it. The more they cleared the opening the clearer the sounds from within became, sounding like that of a smith’s bellows. When their toil revealed the size and shape of the opening, they could see that it was perfectly round and barred by grillwork.

  “By the great lords!” Gilgamesh exclaimed. “It is the handiwork of the Anunnaki! We’ve found the entrance to the Landing Place!”

  “Let me remove the bars so that we may lower ourselves into the tunnel,” Enkidu told him.

  He grabbed the bars and pulled them with all his strength, but they did not budge. Again and again he heaved and pulled, breathing heavily, exerting every muscle in his body. The effort caused his hands to feel warm.

  “I’ve got a burning sensation in my hands,” Enkidu said. “The grillwork has a bite to it.”

  “Pull harder, harder!” Gilgamesh urged him.

  Once again Enkidu grabbed the bars, clasping his fingers about them like an eagle’s claws. He filled his lungs with the cool fresh air, and letting out a cry, pulled with all his strength. Again the bars did not budge nor bend, but Enkidu would not let go. And then there was a snapping sound and Enkidu fell back, the grillwork in his hands.

  “You’ve done it!” Gilgamesh shouted. “Let’s enter the tunnel!”

  But Enkidu remained lying without moving. Gilgamesh rushed to his side. Enkidu groaned and threw the grillwork away. “My hands!” he said. “They are burnt. I can’t move my fingers!”

  Gilgamesh grabbed his comrade’s hands. They were swollen, and where they had grasped the bars there were crimson stripes, like deep cuts. He helped Enkidu sit up against a tree, not knowing what else to do.

  “There’s a curse upon the entrance,” Enkidu said, “an unseen fire. . . . The tunnel, Gilgamesh, for the gods alone it is meant.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Gilgamesh said. “Right now, shall I rub some soil on your hands or cover them with leaves?”

  “Take me to the stream in the valley below,” Enkidu said, “to wash my hands in the pure water, where I can immerse my whole body. It’s the only way I can think of to have the curse removed from me.”

  Helping his comrade up and supporting him, Gilgamesh slowly led the disabled Enkidu down to the stream in the valley. Putting Enkidu down, he undressed him then undressed himself. Thus naked, with only girdles around their waists from which dangled Enkidu’s pouch and the king’s dagger, the two went into the water. While Enkidu immersed himself completely in it, Gilgamesh bathed hi
s comrade’s body, especially his hands.

  Gradually the redness in Enkidu’s hands waned and the swellings subsided.

  “I feel better,” Enkidu said. “I can move my fingers now.”

  The gazelles that had initially dispersed when the comrades arrived at the stream gradually began to return. Sensing something about Enkidu that attracted them, some of them approached him. He let them lick his hands.

  “My energy is returning to me!” he cried out to Gilgamesh. Grabbing the animals nearest to him by their necks, he raised himself out of the water and then hugged the two gazelles affectionately.

  Gilgamesh watched the scene silently. Are they females? he wondered.

  Now Enkidu was rubbing his head against the head of one of the gazelles. Incredulous, Gilgamesh watched as the gazelle rose on its hind legs and pressed its buttocks against Enkidu.

  Knowing his comrade only too well, Gilgamesh feared what Enkidu might do next.

  “Enkidu, don’t!” he cried out.

  “Go away!” Enkidu retorted. “The call of the wild is in me!”

  “No, no!” Gilgamesh shouted. “Think of Salgigti, her warm loins, her firm breasts! With knowledge of the gods you are now blessed, Enkidu. Don’t cast it all away to the winds!”

  “I am not a mortal man,” Enkidu said. “Your laws are not my laws.”

  “Think of Erech,” Gilgamesh said. “Think of the pleasure lasses, of our friendship!”

  For a few moments the comrades stood facing each other. Unsure of himself, Enkidu lessened his embrace of the animals. One wiggled out of his grasp. He was still holding on to the other when he and Gilgamesh were startled by a roar of laughter. They looked up and saw a goddess, in pilot’s garb, standing beside a skyship. Absorbed in their confrontation, the two had not noticed its arrival and landing near the stream.

  “What a scene, what a sight!” the goddess said. “The king of Erech naked as his comrade, and the comrade about to plow a beast!”

  Gilgamesh recognized the voice. “Ishtar!” he cried out. “The Queen of Heaven!”

  He fell to the ground and bowed, and after a slight hesitation, Enkidu did likewise.

  “Praise be the lords,” Gilgamesh said, “for helping us vanquish Huwawa.”

  “Thank the Lord Shamash,” Ishtar said. “The two of us watched the battle from above, but it was he who blew the wind in the guardian’s face. He expected Huwawa to turn and leave you unmolested. Instead, you attacked the handiwork of Enlil and destroyed it! By that, the wrath of the great lord you have brought upon yourselves!”

  Gilgamesh arose to better address the goddess.

  “Great Mistress of Erech,” he said, “whatever my destiny is, that is what I’ve set out to attain. If being two-thirds divine entitles me to Everlife, then that shall be my fate—no matter what I do.”

  Ishtar cast her gaze upon Gilgamesh. She had never seen him fully naked in daylight before.

  “Come here,” she said. “Approach me.”

  His body was dripping water as he approached her. Ishtar raised an eye at his beauty.

  “Come, Gilgamesh, be my lover!” she said sultrily. “Come, grant me your essence!” And, having thus spoken, with quick movements she took off her own clothes and held up her breasts in her hands as invitation.

  Gilgamesh, lover of many women, was stunned by her beauty. He too had never seen her thus naked in daylight.

  “Oh Ishtar, holy Irnina,” he said as he went down to his knees, grabbing her extended hand. “How I’ve craved you, desired your warm loins, dreamt of your luscious lips!” He kissed her hand fervently.

  “Come then,” she said, “be my lover now and attain your dream!” She bent down, lowering her breasts toward his lips.

  He was about to kiss the offered nipples when he held back. “It’s not the wedding night,” he said. “If I make love to you now, death will be my verdict.”

  “Fear not, Gilgamesh,” she replied. “Be my lover now, and forever you shall be my husband! Grant me of your fruit now, and I shall become your wife!”

  Gilgamesh was perplexed. “What do I have to offer you, that you speak of marriage?”

  “Hush, eye-filling Gilgamesh,” Ishtar said. “It is I who will give you glorious things . . . a chariot of lapis and gold, the yield of hills and plains, brought to you in tribute!” She extended her hand to him. “Come, my beloved, let us make the forest our bed, the cedars our fragrance!”

  Gilgamesh cast an eye at the silent Enkidu who was standing by the stream. His friend said nothing, only shook his head.

  “You’re like a brazier that goes out in the cold,” Gilgamesh said to Ishtar, refusing her hand. “This moment you are burning with love, next you shall discard me as a shoe that pinches its owner. Which of your lovers, save for Dumuzi for whom you have ordained yearly wailing, did you love forever? Having loved the son of Silili, you cursed him and turned him into a wolf. You loved Ishullanu, your father’s gardener. To him you also said, ‘Oh my Ishullanu, let me taste your vigor! Put forth your hand, touch my modesty,’ then you smote him too. No, if I should love you now—a day not destined for the Sacred Marriage—death, not eternal life, I shall find this day!”

  Ishtar let out an angry cry. “Do not defy me, Gilgamesh!” she said. “Your kingship, your life, are in my hands!”

  Seeing his comrade waver, Enkidu stepped forward. “The moment for momentous decisions is not opportune,” he said. “Judge not Gilgamesh on his answer, for he is about to attain Everlife.” He bowed before the goddess.

  “Indeed,” Gilgamesh spoke up. “We’ve found the entrance to the secret tunnel of the Anunnaki.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ishtar asked him.

  “Up there, in the rocks beyond the gateway to the Cedar Forest,” Gilgamesh said, pointing. “The tunnel’s entrance was blocked with mighty grillwork, but Enkidu pulled it open.”

  “Fools!” Ishtar shouted. “It’s not a tunnel of the Anunnaki but the cave of the Bull of Heaven!”

  “The Bull of Heaven?”

  “You don’t know much, King of Erech?” Ishtar said, mockery in her voice. “The Bull of Heaven is the oldest beast alive on Earth. From Nibiru by the great Lord Anu it was brought on his visit, a gift to his son the Lord Enlil, to be a symbol of the starry station of Earth in the zodiac. It is unlike the bulls of Earth, not only in its longevity. Unlike the earthly ones, this one has wings to fly!”

  “I’ve seen an image of a winged bull in Nippur,” Enkidu said, “guarding the entrance to Enlil’s temple.”

  “Indeed so,” Ishtar said. “An image had to be made, for the sacred animal in the flesh became too unwieldy, bereft of females of its kind. Lest it cause havoc in its wrath, an underground pasture for it within the Cedar Mountain was created. The grillwork that you’ve removed protected one of the air shafts!”

  “We’ve done a foolish thing, Enkidu,” Gilgamesh said gloomily.

  “Foolish and defiant,” Ishtar confirmed. “You have crushed Huwawa, the handiwork of the Lord Enlil. Against me, defiance you’ve spoken. Now, the cave of the Bull of Heaven you’ve broken open. The wrath of the gods you’ve surely provoked, Gilgamesh. Now be gone and be damned!”

  She put on her clothes and walked back to her skyship. Gilgamesh and Enkidu too began to dress. It was then that they all heard a terrifying snorting and a breathing like a thousand smiths’ bellows. They looked up the mountain. At the gateway there stood a giant white beast, kicking the ground. Its head was lowered as in a challenge, and they could see its big eyes and long beard. From its head there protruded not just the two horns of a bull, but another, more hooked long horn in the midst. Its tail was raised in anger, and from its elongated body there were spread two immense wings.

  “It’s the Bull of Heaven!” Ishtar shouted as she mounted her sky-ship. “It is out of its cave. Earth’s calamity you have unleashed!”

  “Great lady!” Gilgamesh cried out, but his cry was no longer heard, for now the skyship was above the treet
ops.

  “Quick, put on the magic boots!” Enkidu shouted.

  They did so with trembling hands, certain that the Bull of Heaven had seen them, for it began to rush down the mountain toward them. As it gathered speed, it spread its wings and soared into the air in their direction. The two cowered in fear, grabbing each other.

  The Bull of Heaven landed near them with a mighty thump that shook the ground, causing all the animals to flee. Snorting, its hot breath rising in the cool airlike steam, it readied itself to charge.

  Enkidu and Gilgamesh stood immobilized with awe for a few moments as the monster eyed them.

  “Run, run for your life!” Enkidu finally shouted, and the two of them took off, their magic boots making them soar and land a great distance away.

  They landed hard, unused to wearing the boots again. They were barely upon their feet when the Bull of Heaven, flying above them like a vast cloud that covers the day with darkness, was upon them. It landed with a mighty thud where the comrades had stood, for they had jumped aside just in time. Now the Bull of Heaven snorted even more mightily than before, and each snorting opened in the ground pits large enough to hold two hundred men.

  The bull circled the two beleaguered comrades, and the comrades circled the bull, looking for a spot from which to jump.

  “Ouhoo!” Enkidu suddenly shouted as he slipped and fell into one of the pits.

  Hearing the shout, the Bull of Heaven turned, lowering its head toward the pit. At that moment, with all the courage still in him, Gilgamesh jumped up and landed on the bull’s back, thrusting his dagger into its neck.