“A serpent?”
“A serpent, that vilest of creatures, sniffed the fragrance of the plant that I had left beside the fountain. . . . It came up from among the rocks and carried off the plant! I saw it slithering away as I was coming out of the pool. I grabbed a rock to crush it, but before I could take aim, it vanished behind the rocks and all my frantic searching was in vain . . .”
“And the plant, the Fruit of Life?” Urnungal cried out.
“Vanished with the serpent. . . . I sat and wept bitterly, my son. Tears ran down my face for hours. I raised my voice to Utu; to the Lord Anu I shouted in anger and anguish. And then I laughed and laughed . . .”
“Laughed?”
“Don’t you see the irony, Urnungal? By plucking out the plant from the well, unthinking of the consequences, death to Ziusudra and his wife I had brought. . . . And the lone fisherman, and the serpent to which he had brought me, were instruments in my quick punishment. . . . Man, I realized, cannot escape his fate. The higher we climb, the harder we fall!”
Urnungal put his hand on his father’s arm. “You have seen unseen places,” he said, “climbed the snowbound mountains, vanquished Huwawa and the Bull of Heaven. . . . Your name shall never be forgotten, your tale shall be forever recited!”
“Of my journeys and deeds, my adventures in the faraway and this day’s return to Erech, I will recite to Dubshar, the royal scribe, that he may inscribe it all on clay tablets. Now, my son, if you do not wish to become king as yet, let me ready myself for the coming rites, and perhaps even catch some needed sleep . . .”
He kissed his son on the forehead as Urnungal was leaving.
* * *
After four days of penitence and apprehension, the fifth day of the New Year festival provided outlets for the people’s bottled emotions to break loose. By noontime the populace had taken to the streets and were engaged in noisemaking—the beating of drums and the blowing of horns. The commotion reached its peak in late afternoon, when the people grouped themselves into a riotous procession that converged on the palace. The priests had done what they could to secure the return of the gods. Only the king was left to intercede on behalf of the people—to atone for them, to accept the humiliations and punishments that the transgressions had called for so that the city and its people could be purified again and be thus worthy of the gods’ return.
On this occasion, the king had to step out of the palace alone, without guards or royal entourage. He was taunted by the people—as well as urged on by them—as he led the procession to the Sacred Precinct.
“It’s this part that I utterly dislike,” Gilgamesh said to the others who stood with him on the ramparts of the main palace gate. “But as king, I’ll do my duty . . .”
He waited until the crowds’ shouts had narrowed to demands for the king to come forth and lead the penitent procession. Then he came down and exited through the gate. The crowd cleared a path for him to their rear so that he could lead them to the Sacred Precinct. And once he began the march, the shouts and drum beating and horn blowing resumed. With all of the jostling, those at the head of the crowd, the city Elders, kept the throng at a certain distance behind the king.
Opening the Sacred Precinct’s gates with pretended reluctance, the priests let the crowd in. Approaching the Table of Sacrifices, the king offered to the disappeared gods not the customary sacrifice of a ewe, but his regal symbols. Aided by the priests, first he gave up his crown and mantle, symbols of his divinely given authority; then the symbol of kingship—the scepter—was taken away; and finally he had to give up the Sacred Mace, the symbol of power and conquest. Thus deprived of all authority, both heavenly and of Earth, he stood on his knees before the High Priest. “I am here to confess my sins and transgressions,” the king said, for it was his Day of Atonement. And in full view of all the people, the High Priest slapped the king on each side of his face and pulled his ears, as a sign of ultimate degradation.
“I am here to confess my sins and transgressions,” the king announced again and again, seven times in all.
And then the High Priest said to him in a loud voice: “Be gone into the shrine, there to pray for forgiveness.”
Following this, the people, in hushed silence, waited for sundown, the beginning of the sixth day.
As darkness fell and the stars in the Heavens became fully visible, the High Priest appeared out of the Eanna and slowly mounted the ziggurat’s steps, uttering hymns and prayers and offering libations at each stage of the ziggurat. Then, as a complete hush fell upon the crowd, it was time to perform the annual reading of When In the Heights—the Epic of Creation, the affirmation of the faith. It was the sacred tale of how the solar system had come into being in primeval days, how the Firmament and the Earth were created, how Nibiru had joined the solar system, how life began, and how the Anunnaki had built on Earth the Gateway of the Gods.
Though he had heard the poetic tale recited ever since he was a child, Gilgamesh was overwhelmed each and every time by the scope and majesty of the age-old verses:
When in the heights Heaven had not been named,
And below firm ground—Earth—had not been called;
Naught but primordial Apsu, their begetter,
Mummu, and Tiamat who bore them all,
their waters mingled together.
No reed had yet been formed, no marshland had appeared.
None of the celestials had yet been brought into being—
none bore a name, their Destinies were undetermined.
In the utter silence the High Priest continued to recite the ancient poem.
In vivid language, describing the planets as living creatures born in pairs after the three primordial bodies, the poem described the appearance of Nibiru from outer space, from the Deep in which he, Nibiru, had been created:
Alluring was his figure, sparkling the lift of his eyes;
Lordly was his gait, commanding as of olden times.
Greatly exalted was he above the celestials;
Exceeding them all, he was the loftiest.
Passing by the outer planets, “ fire blazed forth from his lips,” and the other planets “heaped upon him their own awesome flashes.” They pulled pieces of Nibiru off him, forming his sidelings, tugging him toward their midst. Thus they endowed Nibiru with a Destiny, a course in the Heavens that led him to collide with Tiamat.
There were occasional outcries of adoration and awe as the High Priest recited the verses describing the celestial collision and how the sidelings of Nibiru split Tiamat in two, smashing one half to bits and pieces to create the Celestial Bracelet and the Shiny Herd, and fashioning Earth from the other half. Liking what he saw, the celestial god separated the waters and the dry land upon the Earth, and created life in its waters and upon the dry land, and directed the Anunnaki to build upon Earth their Home Away from Home, and fashion Man in their image.
“Thus were Heaven and Earth created,” the High Priest concluded reciting the sixth tablet.
There was a great shout of “hurrah!” from the crowd, and all at once the priests stationed on the ramparts and atop the temples lit their torches, and there was light upon the great courtyard and the thronged people. The High Priest then began to recite, from the seventh tablet, Nibiru’s sixty names, the crowd repeating each name after it was pronounced by the High Priest. And after the last name was recited, there were shouts of joy and the playing of cymbals, for the void and darkness were gone. Earth and its people had been re-created and the people were reassured of the seasons and the rains and abundance.
At the gate of the Sacred Precinct, a retinue was awaiting the king, to accompany him back to the palace. The High Priest, accompanied by his retinue, retired to the main temple. And the dispersing crowd burst into song and dance, for well they knew that the gods were now certain to return.
The seventh day that followed was, as symbolism prescribed, the day of the return of the gods. For just as they had done when the settling of Earth—the seventh pl
anet—all began, so would the gods settle back in Erech on this seventh day.
As was the custom for the occasion, the populace prepared standards bearing the celestial emblems of the gods: the radiating planet, symbol of Nibiru and its ruler Anu; the seven-pointed star that was the emblem of Enlil, Lord of Earth; the crescent, symbol of Enlil’s son Sin, whose celestial counterpart was the moon; and the eight-pointed star, the symbol of Ishtar, whose celestial counterpart was the planet next to Earth in its position from the outer limits of the twelve-member solar system.
The gods, arriving at the Holy Quay in their barges, were met by a jubilant populace and a large contingent of priests. The latter had litters ready to mount for the Twelve Gods, led by Ishtar. Platoons of soldiers held back the crowds that pressed forward to get a closer look at the deities and kept a path open for the sacred procession. When the gods were safely seated upon the thronelike litters, the priests playing cymbals and handheld harps struck up a processional tune. The litters were raised to the shoulders of the carrying-priests, and led by the High Priest, the procession began its ascent toward the Sacred Precinct. Then, as gods and priests left the quay, the soldiers let go and the crowd surged behind the sacred procession.
Stopping at the prescribed seven stations, the priests made the required pronouncements commemorating the passage of the Anunnaki by the several outer planets and their arrival on Earth. And thus, with music and gaiety and cheering, the procession entered the Sacred Precinct through its main gate.
It was when the gods alighted from their litters that Ishtar stopped and summoned the High Priest.
“Dinenlil,” she said, “has a decision been reached at the palace while I was gone? Will the boy be my consort, or did Niglugal gather the courage to declare himself successor?”
“Neither,” Dinenlil said as he bowed to the ground. “Gilgamesh has returned.”
“Gilgamesh is back in Erech?”
“Indeed so, Queen of Heaven,” the High Priest said.
“I will summon you later. Be ready with all the details,” Ishtar told him.
Back at her sacred abode, as the accompanying priests stayed behind and her faithful handmaiden, Ninsubur, met her, Ishtar was visibly agitated.
“Is something the matter, my lady?” Ninsubur asked as Ishtar threw her regalia angrily to the floor.
“Gilgamesh is back!” Ishtar shouted. “Would you believe that?”
“Shouldn’t that please you, my lady?” Ninsubur said. “You’ve said to me, have you not, that of all the men that you’ve had since Dumuzi’s death, Gilgamesh was your most beloved?”
“That’s why I am so annoyed, Ninsubur,” Ishtar said. “For I’ve put a curse on him, and thereby on his mother. To seek life forever and never find it, that was my curse. If he is not to live, why has he returned, to stir up my emotions for naught?”
“Perhaps the curse had no effect. What if he will find Everlife?”
Ishtar smiled. “You are wise, Ninsubur. You always find words to becalm me. . . . Now, help me get ready to see the High Priest and to learn more of what he knows.”
“Would you like me to summon Niglugal through the side entrance?” Ninsubur asked, “so that you may retain a choice of him or Urnungal?”
Ishtar hesitated. “No. If fate has brought Gilgamesh back at this time to Erech, let fate play out its hand.”
* * *
For the following two days Gilgamesh secluded himself in his royal chambers, feverishly dictating to Dubshar, the royal scribe, the tale of his life and adventures and his search for escape from a mortal’s fate. The only one he wished to see was his mother, Ninsun, but she was restricted to the Sacred Precinct until the New Year festival was over, and Gilgamesh was not allowed in.
When the tenth day began at evetime, he asked that his son join him for the evening meal. They ate silently, for Urnungal waited for his father to speak first and Gilgamesh was absorbed in thought. Only when they had finished eating and the servants were dismissed, did Gilgamesh speak up.
“My son,” he said, “to Niglugal and Kaba I have spoken. They told me of the happenings in Erech during my absence. You said that my mother told you the urgent reason for my second journey, to seek the Plant of Life. . . . The cause of the deaths in the Sacred Precinct and that of my malady is one and the same. It is the touching of the Tablet of Destinies, the one that I had pulled out of the handiwork of Anu and that my mother retained for safekeeping.”
“I’ve surmised as much,” Urnungal replied.
Gilgamesh nodded his head in approval. “The question is, did Ishtar surmise as much? I know not what explanation my mother has given her regarding the tablet. Therefore, I know not what faces me tomorrow, when I go to her abode for the Sacred Marriage rites. The tablet, after all, was a message from the Lord Anu intended for her.”
“On the other hand, she might be pleased by your return, Father,” Urnungal said, “and maybe she will even invoke some cure for the divine affliction that’s in you.”
“Wise words, my son, but alas an unreal hope. Even my mother, the Healer, has no cure for my affliction, and her mother, who heads all Healers, could only suggest the Plant of Life as a remedy. No, my son, whichever way we think, at the same ending we arrive. The only unknown is the timing.”
He stood up and went to a chest and brought out of it a round tablet. “Throughout my travails,” Gilgamesh said, “I held on to these two objects. One is a faithful replica of the Tablet of Destinies, made by the divine craftsman of the Lady Ninharsag so that its writing might be legible. The guardians of the forbidden zone tested it with their beams, but all they did was scorch it slightly . . .” He showed Urnungal the scorched edge. “It is not the handiwork of Anu, but it is of a divine nature all the same. There is none like it upon the Earth, and it served me well to convince both the guardians and Ziusudra of the divine blood in my veins. Take it and keep it in your possession!”
“What for?” Urnungal asked.
“Because I know not what awaits me in the Sacred Precinct, that’s why. You see, Urnungal, though I am the king, I am without kingship. My scepter, my crown, all the attributes of kingship, were taken away from me as custom prescribes. Only if I survive the Sacred Marriage rites will I be reinvested with them. Only then will I be able to proclaim my choice of a successor. . . . Until then, I am powerless to speak up, and the throne is legally vacant during these few days.” He ran his hand through his son’s curly hair. “If I should not survive the encounter with Ishtar, this will be your proof that the succession was entrusted to you.”
“Why are you so uncertain of tomorrow’s rites? Is it the malady, or Ishtar’s wrath?”
Gilgamesh smiled wryly. “Tomorrow, my son, I shall fast from sunrise to sundown. At the temple, priests will cleanse me inside and out, scrub my skin and comb my hair and anoint my genitals. . . . When I am finally admitted to the Gigunu, Ishtar’s Place of Nighttime Joy, we will eat seven kinds of fruits and drink a divine nectar. In an adjoining chamber, musicians and singers will offer sweet melodies of love, and Ishtar will pluck the lyre and sing too. Then the Queen of Heaven will lead me to her canopied bed. First I will raise her on a floating bed of ropes, and rocking her to and fro, shall penetrate her fifty times, to arouse her ecstasy and to prove my virility. As her ecstasy mounts she will call on me to join her in the canopied bed, to come unto her as her beloved Dumuzi had done. But should I fail the fifty times, or enter her bed too soon, the light of day I shall not see . . .”
There was a look of disbelief on Urnungal’s face. “A risky affair, it seems,” he finally concluded.
“And utterly divine,” Gilgamesh said, and winked. Then he drew his son closer, embraced him, and kissed him on the forehead. “Now let me be, for I need rest for tomorrow’s strenuous rites.”
* * *
Although he was not to come into the presence of the goddess before sundown, the king was awakened soon after sunrise and without much ado was led to the Sacred Precinct. He neither ate
nor drank on this tenth day, for the rites of the Sacred Marriage required him to be cleansed and purified, ridding himself of all that was profane and unsanctified.
At the Sacred Precinct’s gate, priests took over from the small group of palace functionaries that had accompanied Gilgamesh. They led him to a special part of the Great Temple for a series of cleansing procedures: scrubbings and ritual baths that assured that his body would be at its purest. His nails were cut; his hair was trimmed and washed and brushed, then rolled into a nape at the back of his head and held in place by a band of spun wool. Then, his body anointed from head to toe with aromatic oils, with special emphasis on his genitals, he was enwrapped in a simple white linen robe and permitted to lie down and relax.
A double-hour before sundown, the final preparations began. The king’s body was rubbed with aromatic oils once more, and the attending priests dressed him in the bridegroom’s clothes—first a gauzelike white gown, then a blue robe with white fringes. The robe was carefully folded to bare his right shoulder. A multicolored girdle, the traditional gift of the bride, held the robe’s folds in place.
As sundown neared, the wedding procession was readied—first the musicians and singers, then the priests holding the golden trays on which the seven kinds of fruits—a gift of the king to the goddess—were carried. Next came the king, flanked by two senior priests, and behind them came the twelve selected Elders who were to serve as the official witnesses that the king had indeed entered the Gipar, Ishtar’s House of Comforts.
The priestesses attending the goddess also completed her final preparations. Having been bathed and anointed with scented oils and coiffed, Ishtar was now being dressed, first in the see-through white gown, then in her divine fringed woolen garment. As a final touch, her handmaiden Ninsubar placed around her neck Ishtar’s favorite many-layered necklace of lapiz lazuli beads, then handed her the divine horned helmet, which Ishtar preferred to put on herself.
When all was done, Ninsubar stepped back to view her mistress. With the last rays of the sun gone, the chamber was now bathed in a bluish light, its source unseen. In the sky-colored light that was reflected off the goddess’s body and adornments, she looked like the celestial body that she represented on Earth.
The King Who Refused to Die Page 26