The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  “The Bible!” said Eli, waving the volume. “I believe every word of it, literally. . . . Here, in Genesis 6, when the situation on Earth prior to the Deluge is described, this is what it says:

  ‘And it came to pass,

  When the Earthlings began to increase in number upon the face

  of the Earth and daughters were born unto them,

  That the sons of the gods saw the daughters of Man, that they

  were compatible, and they took unto themselves wives as they chose. . . .

  The Nefilim were upon the Earth in those days and thereafter too,

  When the sons of the gods cohabited with the daughters of Earthlings, and had children by them.

  They were the mighty ones of Eternity, the People of the Shem.’”

  He put the Bible down. “There you have it,” he said. “In the verse that is usually translated ‘the giants were upon the Earth in those days,’ I read the original Hebrew term, Nefilim. It means ‘Those Who Had Come Down, From the Heavens to Earth.’ They were the sons of the gods and married human females. Their offspring were mighty ones, people of eternity—privileged to an Everlife!”

  His right arm jerked awkwardly and he grasped it with his left hand.

  “Is something wrong?” Astra asked.

  “No, no,” he said. “I was just moved by uncontrollable emotions as I read the sacred words that link us to our past, to our roots.”

  “Listen,” Astra said, “perhaps we should continue another time. It’s getting late, and I have to be at my job tomorrow. I think I’d better leave.” She got up.

  “‘No!” Eli said, quite emphatically. “You must stay! We must continue, tonight!”

  “What’s so special about tonight? The Gilgamesh exhibit?”

  “The timing of it,” Eli said. His arm began to jerk again and he grabbed it again. “It’s preordained, I tell you. . . . Please, you must stay!”

  There was mystery in his voice, and impatience too. Astra hesitated.

  “Please sit down,” he said, the jerking of his arm and the tone of his voice becalmed. “Let me show you some slides.”

  She sat down and Eli went to the wall opposite her seat and pulled down a small white screen. He shut off the table lamp, returning the room to its bluish dimness, then went to a corner of the room behind Astra. There he switched on a slide projector. For a moment there was a blinding light in the room as the projector’s beam went on, without a slide to show. But in the next moment a slide was flashed on the screen—a photograph of ancient ruins showing six remaining tall columns.

  “Baalbek!” Astra let out a cry.

  “Yes, Baalbek in the mountains of Lebanon, in the Cedar Forest. Isn’t it where you come from?”

  “Yes! I was born in the town near the ancient ruins. My family has always lived there . . .”

  Eli flashed another slide on the screen.

  “This is an aerial photograph of the site. The ruins now seen are of Roman temples, grander than any built in Rome itself. The temples were built upon the ruins of earlier Greek temples, for Alexander the Great to worship in. And before that, Phoenician temples stood there. King Solomon aggrandized the place in honor of his guest, the Queen of Sheba; there had been temples there even before there were kings in Jerusalem. But as temples replaced temples, one thing remained unchanged: the vast platform on which all these temples were built. Five million square feet of a platform made of immense stones, and in one of its corners, a massive podium, the likes of which there is none in the world!”

  “We were not allowed to go to the ruins,” Astra said softly. “My parents and grandparents said they were sacred. Our Maronite priest said it was the abode of the Fallen Angels. I heard legends that the place was built before the Deluge, by giants.”

  “So you’ve never been to the ruins, never stood upon the vast platform?”

  “Once, only once. It was before I left Lebanon to come to England. There was something inside me that pulled me to them, like an umbilical cord. . . . So I went there, in spite of the admonitions. I went up the mountain and walked upon the platform, then climbed atop the podium. I stood there for a long time. I could see as far as the horizons to the north, the west, the south. The wind was blowing my hair, and it felt as though the wind would carry me aloft and I would fly away, I knew not where. . . . And then I knew, just knew, that I would be safe on all my flights as an airline hostess.”

  “Did you see the Trilithon?” Eli asked as he flashed on the screen a new slide showing three immense stone blocks forming one of the layers at the base of the podium. “They weigh over a thousand tons each!”

  “Those three colossal stone blocks? Yes, I have seen them before, many times, and several others of immense size,” Astra said. “We children used to sneak up the mountainside and view the gigantic stones from a distance. . . . But we did go and climb upon the companion stone block that still lies in the ancient quarry, in the valley.”

  “Ah, yes,” Eli said. “It’s in my next slide.” He flashed on a photograph of a colossal stone block lying on its side, partly buried in the ground. A man sitting on it appeared as a fly resting on an elongated block of ice.

  “Did anyone figure out how these gigantic stone blocks were carried all the way from the quarry in the valley, up the mountain?” Astra asked.

  “No,” Eli said. “Even nowadays there’s no piece of equipment that can lift a thousand tons, or even the five hundred tons that most of the podium’s stones weigh. Yet in antiquity someone, somehow, did the impossible.”

  “The giants of Christian legends?”

  “And of Jewish legends, and of Greek legends . . . the giants that, in the Bible, are literally called ‘Those Who Had Come Down.’ The Sumerians called them Anunnaki. It meant the same thing: ‘Those Who From Heaven to Earth Came.’”

  “Didn’t Gilgamesh attempt to enter a secret tunnel of the Anunnaki?” Astra asked. “Who were they, actually?”

  “The gods,” Eli said. “The gods of the Sumerians and of all the ancient peoples. They had come to Earth, the Sumerians reported, when our species was still apelike. The leader of the first landing party was called Enki, meaning ‘Lord of Earth.’ He was a brilliant scientist. He was followed to Earth by his half-brother Enlil. The name meant ‘lord of the command,’ for he was indeed put in charge of the Earth Mission of the Anunnaki. Then they were joined by a half-sister, Ninharsag, as chief medical officer. Born to different mothers, they had the same father—the ruler on their home planet, which was called Nibiru.”

  “These are only legends,” Astra said. “Mythology . . . like the Greek tales of Zeus and the celestial wars between the gods and the Titans.”

  “No, facts!” Eli quickly asserted. The Bible repeatedly states that the Nefilim were also known as Anakim, which is simply the Hebrew for Anunnaki. It also states that a specific group of Anakim was called Zuzim, namely descendants of Zu. Have you ever read the Sumerian tale of Zu?”

  “No,” Astra said.

  “Zu’s full name was Anzu, meaning ‘He Who Knows the Heavens’—an astronomer, a space scientist. He was sent to Earth when the Anunnaki had already established themselves, six hundred on Earth and three hundred upon orbiting platforms and shuttlecraft. On Enki’s recommendation, Zu was assigned to the headquarters of Enlil’s mission control center. There, in an innermost chamber engulfed in a heavenly glow and a constant hum, Enlil kept the Tablets of Destinies. Akin to our computer memory discs but undoubtedly much more sophisticated, the tablets were essential to what was termed Dur-an-ki, or ‘Link Heaven-Earth,’ for it kept track of all celestial movements and guided the spacecraft between Nibiru and Earth. Then one day, seeking to seize control, Zu stole the Tablets of Destinies and flew away with them to a hiding place. Their removal brought everything to a standstill. . . . In the end, the tablets were retrieved after aerial battles between Zu and Enlil’s foremost son, Ninurta. Zu was brought down with a missile over the Sinai Peninsula.”

  “Quite a tale,
” Astra said. “Space stations, a glowing and humming secret chamber, a mad scientist, aerial battles . . . science fiction from six thousand years ago!”

  “Amazing even if it were science fiction from that long ago,” Eli said. “But all these things did happen!”

  “This is too incredible,” Astra persisted. “In primitive times, Tablets of Destinies that are space-age memory discs . . .”

  “Well now!” Eli said. “What do you say to this?”

  He changed the slides, projecting on the screen the photograph of a circular object, a disc on which there were inscribed various geometrical forms—lines, arrows, triangles, and other shapes accompanied by cuneiform symbols.

  “What is it?” Astra asked.

  “A Tablet of Destinies—rather a replica thereof. The very object whose existence you’ve doubted. An encoded disc, a celestial route map. The key to immortality. Do you recall it, Astra?”

  “Recall? Why should I recall such an object?”

  Eli came around and stood before her, staring at her. “You must recall the tablet,” he said. “It is most important.”

  Astra shrugged.

  “Enlil, Enki, Ninharsag, . . . nothing rings a bell within you?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Astra replied.

  Without speaking, Eli went to one of the walls lined with bookshelves. Touching an unseen button, he made a panel move sideways. From the hollow he took out a jug, and walking over to the small table where the sherry bottle and glasses were, carefully poured a golden liquid from the jug into two small glasses. He walked over to Astra, handing her one of the glasses.

  “It’s a nectar,” he said, “pressed from certain herbs and flowers, a very old recipe in my family, believed to trace back to Assyrian temple rites. . . . Sip from it . . . sip and sit back . . . relax . . . let your thoughts float freely.”

  She took the glass and looked at him. Unexpectedly, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. His lips were warm, unusually warm, and their touch sent a warm sensation into her brain.

  “Is this some kind of love potion?” she asked.

  He smiled. “My dear Astra,” he said softly, “we have been in love a long time. . . . The nectar will help you remember.”

  He took a sip from the nectar. She stared at him with a puzzled look. “It’s time you told me who you are,” she said.

  “Sip the nectar, and I will,” he told her.

  She took a sip of the nectar. It tasted like a mixture of honey and pomegranates and smelled of jasmine. It had a pleasant, smooth taste, but no sooner had she swallowed it than she could feel a warmth rise within her, like an inner glow. She smiled at Eli.

  “It tastes good,” she said. “Do go on.”

  “I am an Assyrian,” he said. “Not a Syrian from the present-day country adjoining Lebanon, but a descendent of the Assyrians of northern Mesopotamia, of the mighty kings whose stelas you have been admiring and caressing in the museum. . . . The Assyrians proclaimed themselves, with the blessing of their gods, rulers of the Four Regions. In order to legitimize that imperial status, they had to extend their rule to ancient Sumer and to intermarry with the descendants of the kings of Sumer, especially those who, by their lineage, were descended from offspring of the demigods. . . . They married their daughters to descendants of the kings of Erech and Ur, whose divine lineage was ascertained not just from family records but by the one unique and telltale sign, the sixth finger.”

  He raised his hand to show his telltale scar again. “In spite of the passage of millennia, the rise and fall of empires, wars and killings and dispersions, a core of descendants of the ancient Assyrians has remained with unbroken family and genetic links. They were always clustered around the family that carried the divine gene, revealed by the birth of a baby with a sixth finger.”

  “Does it mean that we were related somewhere in the distant past?”

  “Yes,” Eli said. “You and I. . . . Our destinies were intertwined in the past. Fate has brought us together again!”

  He sipped of the nectar and Astra did too. The inner warmth engulfed her again, and perspiration beads appeared on her forehead, although the room was not heated.

  “I feel warm,” she said, and getting up, took off her jacket. Her motions pressed her blouse against her full, well-rounded breasts, and Astra caught the sudden blaze in Eli’s gaze. His right arm jerked and he almost spilled his nectar, and Astra felt a sudden impulse to touch him.

  She came to him and took hold of his twitching arm and caressed it gently until the spasm passed. Neither said a word. She put her scar against his and stared into his eyes.

  “Will you tell me who I really am?” she asked softly.

  He drew her closer to him and her body tightened against his. She closed her eyes. Her lips parted. He kissed her softly on the forehead.

  “You must remember more,” he whispered, “only then . . .” Without finishing the sentence, he led her gently back to her armchair.

  “I promised to let you know more about yourself than you had ever imagined,” he said, “but we must do it gradually . . . we must arrive there together.”

  “Arrive where?” Astra asked.

  He took his glass. “Let’s drink up the nectar,” he said. “To Everlife!”

  She took her glass. “To Everlife!” she repeated, and drank up.

  He went back to the slide projector and flashed the celestial symbol of the Winged Disc onto the screen.

  “Our story,” he said, “begins in the distant Heavens. Eons ago, when our solar system was still young, there appeared a large celestial globe from outer space, a refugee from another star system that had exploded. As a result of the havoc and collisions that it caused, our own planet, Earth, and the asteroid belt and the comets, came into being. The invader itself was caught into orbit around our Sun, becoming a twelfth member of our solar system. Its vast orbit takes it far out into space, then brings it back to our vicinity once every 3,600 years.”

  “Nibiru?”

  “Yes, the planet of the Anunnaki. Once every 3,600 years they could come and go between their planet and Earth. Some 450,000 years ago they landed here in search of gold. On their own planet the atmosphere was eroding. Their scientists discovered that by suspending gold particles in their stratosphere, they could preserve life, and themselves, on their majestic planet.”

  Astra stirred in her seat. “Enki . . . Enlil . . .” she whispered.

  “Yes, they were the leaders who had come from Nibiru,” Eli said. “Do the names ring a bell?”

  “I’m not sure,” Astra said. “Something stirs within me . . .”

  He went to the small table and refilled their glasses with the nectar. “Here, sip some more,” he said as he gave Astra her glass, taking a sip from his own.

  “Don’t stop . . . tell me more,” Astra said and took a sip. “I feel like I am being lifted up—floating . . .”

  He bent over her and kissed her again on the forehead. “Relax . . . relax . . . remember!” he murmured.

  He kept silent for a few moments, but when Astra remained silent, resumed his tale. “The orbit of Nibiru is a vital aspect of our odyssey, Astra. One orbit of Nibiru around its sun is but a year for those who live there. That same year on Nibiru equates to 3,600 Earth years. . . . Yet nothing is immortal in the universe, Astra—even the stars themselves are born and die. That holds true for the Anunnaki, the gods of antiquity. To the humans who worshipped them, the Anunnaki—with their long lifecycles stemming from Nibiru’s extended orbit—seemed to be immortal. No matter how many human generations passed, the Anunnaki were ever present, hardly aging. But they did age, Astra, and they did eventually die.”

  “How sad,” Astra said, “that gods should die.”

  “If an Earthling, a mortal man, could attain just one single year of the Anunnaki, he would indeed live forever in human terms—3,600 years. Ten years of the Anunnaki would mean 36,000 years of life on Earth. . . . Imagine that!”

  �
��That’s what Gilgamesh was after,” Astra said.

  “Yes,” Eli answered. “Keep sipping the nectar.”

  They both took sips, and Eli flashed a picture on the screen of a female wearing a helmet like a pilot’s, her breasts and belly bare.

  Astra’s hand holding the glass shook. “Ishtar,” she said. “The beautiful, enchanting Ishtar. . . . She roamed the skies in her celestial sphere.”

  “Can you recall?” Eli asked, but Astra remained silent.

  “Her name in Sumerian was Irnina, meaning ‘She Who Gives Joy.’ Her twin brother was Shamash, known in Sumerian times as Utu, ‘The Bright One.’ They were the grandchildren of the great Enlil. Their father, Nannar, was the first Anunnakian born on Earth. When the twins were born, there was great joy, but then the awful truth became apparent. For a while those who had come from Nibiru continued to enjoy Nibiru’s life cycle, Nannar—who was born on Earth—matured faster, and his own children grew older at an even faster rate. It was clear that Earth’s orbital period and life cycle was counteracting their genetic heritage of Nibiru’s life cycle.”

  “Utu liked to fly,” Astra said suddenly. “He became chief of the Eagles.”

  Eli came around to look at her. Her eyes were closed and she was grinning.

  He bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Float back, back in time,” he told her. “Remember more!”

  She opened her eyes. “Go on, don’t stop,” she said. “It’s a fascinating story.”

  Eli went back to the slide projector and flashed on the screen a wall relief depicting a young god equipped with two pairs of wings and two pairs of horns on his helmet. He was shown wearing a circular object on his right wrist, the way one wears a watch nowadays, and holding a rolled-up measuring cord in his left hand.

  “The Anunnaki who manned the space facilities were indeed nicknamed ‘the Eagles,’ for their dress uniform was outfitted with wings. In time, Utu became their commander.”