The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  “It’s a whirlwind!” Gilgamesh shouted to Enkidu.

  “A whirlwind not of sand but of water!” Enkidu shouted back. “The water is rising!”

  He let go of the mast with one hand and pointed to the sea. Gilgamesh looked in amazement. All around the spinning ship the water was rising!

  “The ship is sinking!” Enkidu shouted. “Jump! Jump off the ship!”

  Lest Gilgamesh did not understand him, Enkidu gestured with his hands. But having let go of his hold, Enkidu was now tossed away and immediately caught in the whirling pile of objects and men. Trying to catch his comrade, Gilgamesh also let go of his hold and was at once caught by the whirlwind. He flailed his hands aimlessly until he felt Enkidu’s strong hand catching him by the arm. They were a few steps away from the ship’s side, and with a mighty shove, Enkidu pushed the mass of tangled people, objects, and debris out of his way, pulling Gilgamesh with him. The water was already at the deck’s level when Enkidu jumped off, still holding on firmly to Gilgamesh.

  “Swim away!” Enkidu shouted, striking the water with his free hand.

  “I can’t!” Gilgamesh shouted back. “The water is pulling me down!”

  For a moment they were both below the surface, but Enkidu’s mighty strokes pulled them up for a gasp of air. Again and again they sank, only to be pulled up by Enkidu. Then, abruptly, the pull of the water stopped, and all was serene.

  They looked about them. The ship was not to be seen. They dived and saw that it had sunk to the bottom. In the clear water they could see its sailors and the heroes entangled in the ropes and debris, floating in grotesque positions, their eyes wide open as though they were still alive. But they were all dead.

  Ascending to the surface of the sea, Enkidu tugged at Gilgamesh and they began to swim toward the shore. It was not as near as it had seemed from the ship’s deck, but they finally reached it.

  They lay on the yellow sand, exhausted and speechless for a while. Then Gilgamesh, feeling stronger, got up to survey the place. The beach stretched endlessly in both directions as far as the eye could see. The sea was calm, the clouds were gone, a breeze was blowing gently. He turned to survey the land. Some distance from the shore sand dunes arose, and somewhat to the left he could see the promontory on which the demon had stood.

  “The Winged One, the demon, is gone,” he said to Enkidu.

  Enkidu did not respond. Gilgamesh came over to him. Unlike Gilgamesh, he still lay exhausted. His lips were moving, but instead of speaking, he was repeatedly spitting.

  “What ails you?” Gilgamesh asked.

  Enkidu spat again and again. “There was salt in the water,” he murmured.

  “Salty and bitter, not at all like the waters of our land,” Gilgamesh said.

  “It’s my undoing, Gilgamesh!” Enkidu groaned. “My creator, the Lord Enki, warned me. ‘Touch not salt to your lips, for it will be your undoing!’ he said!”

  “I’ll look about for some sweet water to wash your lips,” Gilgamesh told his friend.

  He returned to the beach but nothing had washed ashore from the sunken ship. He climbed the sand dunes but all he could see beyond was a wilderness. There were bushes growing atop the dunes, bearing a grape-like fruit, and on tasting it Gilgamesh found it edible and juicy. He ate some and brought some to Enkidu, squeezing the juice into his comrade’s mouth. Swallowing the juice made Enkidu feel somewhat better.

  “Who could have done this evil thing?” Gilgamesh wondered.

  “Whoever pursued us when we sailed up the river,” Enkidu said.

  “Each time you leave Erech, each time you journey in search of Everlife, your ship is attacked! Go back, Gilgamesh, accept that to which man is fated!”

  “Defeat I will not accept,” Gilgamesh said. “To the Place of the Rocketships I shall journey, even if I have to walk there! And you, Enkidu, shall march there with me!”

  Enkidu raised his arm weakly. “Go back,” he said, pointing in the direction they had come. “As for me, my muscles are melting, my innards are burning down, weakness attacks my limbs. . . . This is my end, Gilgamesh.”

  Enkidu nodded his head as he spoke. His body began to shake uncontrollably. Gilgamesh embraced him. There was fear in Enkidu’s eyes.

  “Fear not, Enkidu!” Gilgamesh said, “for I will summon the help of the Lord Utu!” He put his hand to his neck to bring out the stone that whispers, but there was nothing hanging from the cord. Frantic, Gilgamesh searched inside his clothes, then threw them off to better search. The Tablet of Destinies, stuck well into an inside pocket, was there—but not the stone that whispers.

  “It must have been torn off during the whirlwind,” Gilgamesh said.

  Enkidu’s eyes followed the frantic searches. “Let me pray to your Lord Utu,” he said, “with or without the stone.” He turned his face heavenward. “Oh great lord, bright Shamash, protector of those who journey. A mother who gives birth I had none, a father did not engender me. In a chamber I had been created artfully by the Lord Enki. . . . If my fate has come to devour me, my end I shall face in peace. But as for Gilgamesh, my comrade, the Lady Ninsun to him gave birth, and you were his godfather! Give him the Everlife to which he is entitled!”

  Gilgamesh felt a squeezing in his heart. “Oh my friend,” he said. “My true and loyal comrade!”

  But Enkidu no longer heard him, for a coma had seized him. His shivering ceased and he lay stiff and still. His eyes were open, bulging, and immobile. Death was devouring him from within.

  “Enkidu!” Gilgamesh cried out. “You have conquered with me the most awesome creatures, you have scaled with me the mountains! Don’t yield to the demon that devours you! Fight, fight back!”

  But Enkidu lay still. Gilgamesh lifted his comrade’s head; it fell limply back. He touched his heart; there was no beat. Enkidu was dead.

  For seven days and seven nights Gilgamesh mourned Enkidu, unwilling to accept this fate. Only when he saw a worm fall out of his comrade’s nostril did he bow to the will of Namtar, the bringer of death. He gathered stones and pebbles and covered Enkidu’s lifeless body with them.

  “Let this be your tomb, a monument to a fallen hero,” he said. Then he sat down and wept bitterly.

  “When I die, shall I be like Enkidu, with a worm in my nostrils?” he cried out, with no one to answer.

  * * *

  Gilgamesh wandered away from the shore that day. At night he lay awake, gazing at the star-filled skies. Not having been trained in the priesthood, he knew little of the ways of the Heavens. Which was the star of Anu and which of Ishtar? He did not know. The Moon, which stood in the Heavens for Sin, the father of Utu, was the only celestial god of the night that he recognized. After a while it occurred to Gilgamesh that this too had a meaning: the House of Sin, whose offspring were Ishtar and her nightly star and Utu and his sun that ruled the day, would accept his prayers and grant him protection.

  He uttered to them a short prayer. “Great lords of Heaven and Earth, let me not perish in the wasteland. Give me the strength to continue on my journey, and show me the way to the Place of the Rocketships that I may meet my ancestor Ziusudra!”

  Having said his prayer, a peaceful fatigue settled over him and he slept through the night. He awakened to see the sun rising, indicating where east was. His prayers, Gilgamesh knew, had been answered. Utu, traveling in the skies westward, had just indicated to him the way to Tilmun.

  He uprooted the largest bush he could find and from its stem he made himself a walking stick. From a shorter branch he made another stick on which, balanced on his shoulders, he hung as many clusters of the grapelike fruit as he could. The experience he had gained on his previous journey in the wilderness with Enkidu was of vital help to him now. He followed the ravines, knowing that he could find subterranean water below their dry beds. He ate berries of all kinds. The wilderness, teeming with life especially at night, supplied rodents that he killed with a blow and ate the raw flesh. He found rest by day in the shadow of boulders, and advan
ced toward his goal by night, constantly seeing in his mind the map his mother had shown him of the land route to Tilmun.

  The terrain, undulating sand dunes near the sea, changed its shapes and colors to reddish rocks as he progressed. He reached and climbed mountains of gray and black formations and found in their midst streams of sweet water from which he drank his fill and in which he bathed, giving relief to his swollen feet and his dried-out skin.

  The life around him was also changing. In addition to rodents and snakes and lizards and scorpions he could now see hares and small mountain goats, and the wolves and jackals that preyed on them. And he also began to see wild deer and antelopes and gazelles, and the wild leopards and panthers that preyed on them—and the lions that mastered them all.

  The paths he trod were unbeaten, the mountains he climbed were unnamed. The days that had passed he stopped counting. Then one day he saw in the distance a caravan of camels, and fearing they were Shagaz people, he hid that they should not see him. But he realized he was nearing human habitations and that the crossing of the wilderness on foot would soon be accomplished.

  He saw in the distance a mountain pass, and set his course toward it. But before he had reached it, he heard the roaring of lions. He hid against a boulder, but the lions had seen him; a male and a female they were. He pulled out his dagger to defend himself as the female strained upon her hind legs to jump on him, but he stumbled and fell backward and the lioness missed him, landing just beside him. With all the strength in him, Gilgamesh stuck his dagger into her heart as she rolled on her side to get up. The animal let out an anguished roar and fell dead.

  Now the male lion was upon Gilgamesh. He was weaponless, for his dagger remained stuck in the lioness. His hand found a rock and he hit the lion between the eyes with it, then wrestled the animal with his bare hands just as Enkidu had taught him to do.

  The animal bit and scratched him, but he locked his hands around its neck and did not let go no matter how much the lion writhed and twisted. Tighter and tighter he pressed his hold around the beast’s neck, until he strangled it.

  He stood up and viewed the two dead beasts, immense in size. Now, I am king of the wilderness, he said to himself. He pulled the dagger out of the dead lioness, then he skinned her and of her majestic skin, he made himself a coat. Ravens and other wild birds began to fill the sky above the place, and he decided to move on.

  At the mountain pass he saw heaped stones supporting a stone column on which the symbol of the crescent was carved, and he realized that he had reached the domain of the Lord Sin. He had crossed the Land of the Shagaz and the dominions of Marduk!

  He made the place his overnight station. As he slept he had a dream: He was in the midst of a celebration—people were singing and dancing, rejoicing in life. When he awoke, he knew that the dream was a good omen. He added a stone to the pile of stones supporting the column, and saying a silent prayer to the Lords Sin and Utu, proceeded through the mountain pass.

  Now he could see from the heights a great plain below. Red-hued mountains contained a greenish body of water. Through the haze rising from the vast lake he could see the image of a walled city, its whiteness shimmering in the distance. Recalling his mother’s map, he knew that he had reached the Sea of Salt, where passes could lead him to Tilmun.

  The descent was hotter and more arduous than he had expected. The mountains sloped steeply toward the inland sea, which seemed to be even lower than it had initially seemed. The birds that had been so conspicuous in the mountains were absent here, and Gilgamesh realized that the place was immersed in an eerie silence, unbroken by the cries of birds or beasts. The haze rising from the waters was now as thick as vapor, and the sun, directly overhead, was beating on his head a deadly heat.

  A great fear seized Gilgamesh, for he felt as though he was descending into the netherworld. The fear made him quicken his steps. He was at the foot of the mountains, at the beginning of the plain. In the heat and vapor he could no longer see the city. But as he advanced, he suddenly saw a house, standing all alone, surrounded by clusters of date palms.

  Exhilarated by the sight, Gilgamesh directed his steps toward the house. As he neared it, he noticed a woman seated on a stool outside. She was eating from a bowl and taking sips from a jug. There were goats and pigs about.

  “Oh woman!” Gilgamesh shouted as his stride turned into a run. “Is there beer in your jug, porridge in your bowl?”

  The woman was startled to hear the shouted words. She looked up and was scared by the sight that she saw: an animal-clad man holding a long staff in his hand, his hair grown wild, his beard long and unkempt, his face dark as clay, and his nails as long and sharp as that of an eagle’s. She uttered a cry of fear and ran into the house, bolting the door behind her.

  “Oh woman!” Gilgamesh shouted, as he came to the door. “Be not afraid! I am a wayfarer from afar. My belly has shrunk. Let me sip of your beer and taste of your porridge and I’ll be on my way!”

  “Go away, beastly man!” the woman shouted from behind the door. “Go back to your wilderness!”

  Only then did Gilgamesh realize how horrible he looked. He threw off the lion’s skin and with his hands straightened out his hair and beard as best as he could. Then he knocked with his staff on the door.

  “Woman!” he said loudly, “I am neither beastly nor a dweller of the wilderness. I am Gilgamesh, king of Erech!”

  There was silence behind the door, and Gilgamesh knocked more forcefully on it. “Open up, or I’ll smash your door!” he shouted.

  “Of Gilgamesh and his exploits in the Cedar Forest many tales are told,” the woman answered from behind the locked door. “If Gilgamesh you are, tell me the name of the forest’s watchman, the nature of the slain beast!”

  “I am he who vanquished Huwawa, the forest’s guardian, and slew the Bull of Heaven. I am Gilgamesh!”

  “Why then are your cheeks wasted and your face sunken? Why are you here?”

  “Open up and save me from starvation,” Gilgamesh told her, “if you want to know my tale.”

  Carefully the woman opened the door. She looked him over again, then she let him in. She poured water on his hands so that he could wash his face, then gave him goat milk to drink. She served him porridge and he satisfied his hunger. Then she brought out a jug of ale, and sipping it with a straw, he quenched his thirst.

  “I am Siduri,” she said, “the ale woman. I have lived here by myself ever since I was widowed. Now tell me your story.”

  “I am Gilgamesh, king of Erech, a great city in the Edin. In my city, Man dies. ‘Man, the tallest, cannot reach the Heavens, and Life the gods have kept for themselves,’ so the saying goes. But I, Gilgamesh, am two-thirds divine. The offspring of the Lord Utu I am, the son of divine Ninsun . . .”

  He fell silent, sinking into unspoken memories.

  “Go on,” Siduri said. “You promised me the whole story.”

  “The gods sent me a comrade, a valiant companion. Enkidu he was called, for the Lord Enki had artfully created him. But even he met mankind’s fate! Since his passing, I’ve found no rest. I’ve roamed the steppe and crossed the wilderness.” He paused again. “Now that you’ve heard my story, ale woman, my appearance you can understand.”

  “Your appearance but not your roaming,” Siduri replied, staring at him. “How long is it since you bathed your body, washed your head, worn clean garments . . . felt warmth in your bed?”

  For the first time since his ship had sunk, Gilgamesh chuckled. “I will share your bed, Siduri, but not for long. There’s a purpose to my roaming. In search of a forefather, Ziusudra he’s called, I’ve come this way. I wish to speak to him about Everlife.”

  “Where is this man whom you call Ziusudra, and how will you reach him?”

  “In Tilmun,” Gilgamesh said. “I was to reach that land by ship, but she sunk. I’ve since made my way on foot. . . . I’ve seen a city in the distance. Its merchants must have caravans?”

  “That city is c
alled Moon-City. To the Lord Sin it was dedicated, but its people have been converted to the worship of Marduk. To those who remained faithful to the House of Sin, a choice was given: leave or die! My husband and I built this house, for seeds grow here that turn the juice of the dates into ale. Even after he died, I went on living here, an outcast. And yet the townspeople come here for my ale, giving me my necessities in exchange.”

  “If the people have converted to the worship of Marduk,” Gilgamesh said, “they are anathema to me. I must find another way to cross the sea and reach the land beyond it.”

  “Never was there a mortal who could achieve that,” Siduri told him. She opened the door and pointed to the shimmering waters. “It is a Sea of Death; nothing can stay alive in it. And the mountains surrounding it are barren too, like an oven by day and a freezing death by night. The wilderness that you crossed is like a teeming garden in comparison.” She turned to face him. “Why don’t you stay here, Gilgamesh? Be my spouse, and let me delight in a little one!”

  Gilgamesh had his gaze fixed upon the silent sea. “There must be a way to cross it,” he murmured. “A raft . . .”

  Siduri took his hand in hers. “Stay here for a while, and a secret I’ll tell you.”

  “Woman!” Gilgamesh cried out. “I will stay with you a sevenful if you show me a way to cross the sea!”

  She took his hand and pressed it on her bosom. “A child, a little one to hold my hand. . . . You’ll stay long enough for me to conceive?”

  Touching her bosom aroused in Gilgamesh a warmth as he had not known for many months.

  He put his hands around her waist. “Tell me the secret and I will grant your wish.”

  “The waters are indeed waters of death,” she said, “and no one has ever arrived from across the sea . . . except for Urshanabi.”

  “Urshanabi?”