The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  The throne acted as a divider, separating the two-thirds of the elongated hall in front of it from the third behind it. The posterior section formed a perfect square, flanked by chambers and cellas. An opening in the farthest wall led to stairs that reached the roof of the temple, to a spot provided for stellar observations. To the right of her, Ninsun could see the Sacred Veil, made of unique material and hanging from the ceiling all the way down to the floor, completely covering the opening to the Holy of Holies. It was a chamber that had no ceiling and was open to the sky, except that it had as a roofing a layer of ram skins that were spread out as a canopy upon long wooden logs.

  Only the High Priest was allowed, once a year, to enter this inner sanctum. There, tradition held, the sole object present was a wood-and-gold chest, which had been placed there at the time of Anu’s visit. It was the Divine Speaker, the source of the enigmatic oracle that was heard by the High Priest on the day of the Fixing of the Destinies. This was the place that the High Priest could enter and come out alive, for he alone could wear the breastplate with the heavenly stones that gave protection. And now Ninsun stood there, separated from the Divine Speaker by a mysterious veil. Should she break the taboo and enter to lay her plea before the Lord of Lords, she asked herself, and face unknown consequences or face what surely would happen to her son if she did not?

  Summoning all her courage Ninsun pushed the veil aside. Her hand trembled. There was utter darkness inside. She took one step, then another, into the inner sanctum. Up ahead a glow appeared. Though faint it was enough to enable her to see the sacred chest, standing on a litter, its ancient carriers long gone.

  Ninsun fell to her knees and bowed three times. Then she approached the chest. Two curving protrusions arose from its sides like winged horns; the wings came together, almost tip to tip but without touching, above the chest. The glow’s source was the space between the wings’ tips. Ninsun knelt down before the chest, waiting for something to happen—for a bolt to strike her down, or to hear Anu’s words—but there was utter silence. She covered her face with her hands, her feelings welling up. She had entered the Holy of Holies and was still alive! And that, she felt, was a sign that her prayer would be accepted.

  She stretched out her hands, and in a firm voice, uttered her prayer:

  “Great Anu, Lord of Heaven and all that is on Earth,

  Hear the prayer of thine offspring,

  A mother in distress!

  It is for my son that I pray unto thee

  About the king, the valiant Gilgamesh,

  Two-thirds of him divine.

  Oh Anu, great lord, master of all!

  Why, having granted me Gilgamesh for a son,

  With a restless heart didst thou endow him?

  Seeking Life, a far journey he had undertaken,

  To Utu, lord of the Eagles, his course he has set;

  to travel an uncertain road, to seek thy lofty gate!

  Guard him on his journey, oh forebear of mine;

  Banish evil from his way, Lord of Lords;

  Grant him Life, and a safe return!”

  Having finished her prayer, Ninsun fell silent; there was total silence all around her. Had her prayer been heard, conveyed over the myriad leagues to Anu’s celestial abode? Would he accept her supplication? Would he respond?

  She remained kneeling for a while, overcome by emotion; there were tears in her eyes. She got up and wiped the tears with the hem of her garment and walked backward while bowing repeatedly. As she reached the veil and passed through it, the glow above the chest seemed to have gone out. She had spoken to Anu and had not been struck down!

  Encouraged, Ninsun was ready to face the storm of Ishtar. She went back into the larger part of the temple and sat down on the throne of Anu. The die was cast! The fates were challenged!

  No sooner had Ninsun seated herself so than Ishtar arrived outside in her skyship. In a graceful swoop, the aircraft came to a landing on the large platform.

  As the skyship hovered downward, the globe’s three legs were extended. The bulbous protrusion began to lose its reddish radiance. As soon as the aircraft touched down, the hatch opened and the stairs arched down. Ishtar, her garb tight on her body and the pilot’s helmet covering her head, rushed down the stairs. She was holding in her hand a short thick stick, the awesome Weapon of Brilliance.

  The podium from where Ninsun had spoken her provoking words was empty. Swiftly Ishtar looked about the platform, but Ninsun was not to be seen. Had she rushed down off the mound, Ishtar wondered, when she saw the skyship coming? Ishtar rushed to the top of the processional stairway and looked down. There were priests gathered at its foot. Ishtar shouted to them, inquiring; they shouted back that they had not seen Ninsun.

  Ishtar then remembered that the mound had a narrow back stairway, existing from a time before the monumental stairway was built. She rushed there. A lone priest, oblivious to what was going on, was coming up the stairs.

  “Have you seen the Lady Ninsun?” Ishtar shouted to him.

  Confused by the sudden encounter with the great goddess, he did not answer. Instead, he turned and started to run down the stairs.

  Furious, Ishtar pointed her weapon at him. There was a bright flash and in an instant the priest was gone, vaporized without a trace.

  Did Ninsun go into the temple? Ishtar wondered. Holding up her weapon, Ishtar rushed to the temple’s entrance. She was almost running when she entered, but stopped short once inside, awed by the starkness of the place, the silence, the darkness all around except where the sun’s rays cut bright swaths through the high apertures.

  Ninsun saw Ishtar silhouetted against the entrance’s brightness. She also saw that Ishtar held her weapon ominously in her right hand. Now Ishtar stepped in, taking cautious steps forward, casting looks around. She advanced slowly until she had reached a sunlit spot. It was then that Ninsun spoke up.

  “I have been waiting for you, great lady, Mistress of Erech!” she said. Her words, spoken calmly, reverberated in the empty temple.

  The suddenness with which the words were spoken startled Ishtar. She froze her stride, and her armed hand jerked forward. Her eyes, not yet used to the dimness inside the temple, could not discern the whereabouts of the speaker. Then, just as suddenly, she realized that it was Ninsun who had spoken and that she was right there, seated on the sacred throne.

  For a moment Ishtar was speechless. Then, her fury returned. She pointed the weapon at Ninsun and shouted, “You have defiled the sacred seat of Anu! For this you shall die!”

  Ninsun stood up. “I am under the wing of Anu, our great father,” she announced. “Do me harm, and surely it shall be you who shall be buried alive!”

  “No, it is you who shall be hung from a stake, for your treason!” Ishtar shouted back. “I am wise to your schemes, daughter of Ninharsag! To replace me as Mistress of Erech is your aim!”

  “The accusation is as baseless as it is curious,” Ninsun retorted. “I am one of the Healers, with no desire to lord over a city.”

  “Is that so? Have I forgotten how it was when the new city was to be granted to a grandchild of the Olden Gods? Enki claimed it for his grandson Nabu, Enlil designated me, and your mother—ah, so peace-loving, so clever—said, ‘For the sake of peace, let my daughter Ninsun have it’!”

  “The decision was made and Erech was granted to the House of Enlil,” Ninsun said.

  “Yet there are those who still uphold the claim for Marduk’s firstborn, Nabu!” Ishtar told her.

  “Marduk is anathema to all of us who are of Enlil’s house,” Ninsun shot back.

  “Yes, yes,” Ishtar said, sarcasm in her voice. “But are you, daughter of Ninharsag, of the House of Enlil? Or did the old fox Enki father you? The tales of your mother’s wooing by the competing brothers are no secret!”

  “These are evil words spread by wagging tongues!” Ninsun shouted. “Seeking a legal heir by their half-sister, the two brothers had indeed vied for her love . . . but whichever way you
twist it, a granddaughter of the Lord of Lords, Anu, am I!”

  “And Marduk is his grandson . . . your half-brother, if the gossip is right!”

  “I will not betray my mother’s secret to please you,” Ninsun said. “But you can harm neither me nor my son.”

  “Yes, by your ancestry from my weapon you are protected,” Ishtar replied, lowering her weapon. “But the Seven Who Judge can order your punishment . . . and the charge will be treason!”

  “The charge, I repeat, is baseless,” Ninsun answered back, and she stepped down toward Ishtar. “My mother has no vengeance in her heart toward you, for like the other olden ones, she awaits her turn to go back home. As for me, healing is my avocation. As Mistress of Erech, I acknowledge you, great lady.”

  With these words, Ninsun came closer to Ishtar. She bowed her head, then held out her hand to touch Ishtar’s shoulder. Ishtar stepped back to avoid the contact.

  “Soothing words, but only words,” Ishtar said. “For, do tell me, where is your noble son and what are his evil schemes?” She waved her weapon menacingly. “Be warned, if an offender he is, by my own hand he shall die!”

  “Becalm yourself,” Ninsun said, watching the Weapon of Brilliance that Ishtar was waving. “My son Gilgamesh, king of Erech by your grace, is neither schemer nor offender. In search of Everlife he has gone, for you ignored his pleas, even held back his due blessing!”

  Ishtar lowered her weapon. “True,” she said. “While he was pleading for life, the joy of lovemaking only was I seeking. But life I myself have been seeking, requesting of Anu to take me aloft ahead of my turn. The curse of Earth is upon me, making me age faster than the others. . . .” Her voice trailed off and there was momentary silence.

  “I share the same fate,” Ninsun said softly, “having also been born on this planet.”

  “But to parents who had come from Nibiru!” Ishtar retorted, her anger resumed. “Mine, themselves children of this Earth are. My aging is twice removed from the longevity of Nibiru!”

  “Your brother Utu, your twin though he is, and commander of the Eagles, has declared that to Earth and its people he shall remain loyal, to their welfare will he dedicate his life,” Ninsun said.

  “What has my brother got to do with the affairs of Erech?”

  “It was to Utu, to seek his blessing, that I urged Gilgamesh to go.”

  “In search of Everlife . . . of immortality?”

  “Indeed. That Utu might direct him to the Cedar Mountain, to the Landing Place. That is the journey Gilgamesh has undertaken.”

  “The fool!” Ishtar cried out. “The place is guarded by fearsome Huwawa, the siege engine that Enlil installed. No mortal can enter the Cedar Forest and live! I will send word to Utu to suppress this misadventure!”

  “No!” Ninsun said. “The die is cast, from fate there is no return!”

  “You have sent Gilgamesh on a journey of no return,” Ishtar said. “Instead of life, death he shall encounter!”

  Ninsun looked at Ishtar inquisitively. “You love him after all,” she murmured.

  “But not if he had conspired against me!”

  Ninsun put her hand on Ishtar’s shoulder, and Ishtar did not reject the gesture.

  “Gilgamesh has espoused you by the Sacred Marriage,” Ninsun said. “The investiture has taken place. The kingship must be his to keep for this one year! Let no one else ascend his throne until the year is ended, or his limp body to Erech shall be returned.” She pulled back her hand and bowed her head.

  “So be it,” Ishtar said. “To that which he is fated, let Gilgamesh journey. . . . I shall neither stop him or urge him on. But from the heights, from my skyship, his trail I shall find and his happenings I shall observe.”

  The goddesses clasped their arms to seal their compact. Then Ishtar turned and left the way she had come in, silhouetted against the daylight outside. Ninsun followed her in time to see Ishtar take off in her silvery skyship.

  * * *

  In the priestly wing of the Great Temple, the priestly hierarchy was gathered, awaiting the return of the High Priest from his unscheduled audience with Ishtar.

  This very morning they had been in a jubilant mood, brought on by the celestial omen, the disappearance of the king, and Ishtar’s announced intention to choose Enkullab as the king’s successor, thereby reuniting again the priesthood with the kingship. Now their mood was somber, for after her encounter with Ninsun at the White Temple, Ishtar had informed the visiting gods that they need not stay. She then summoned the High Priest to an urgent audience.

  The eleven chief priests, each the head of a division of the priestly establishment responsible for certain duties in the Sacred Precinct, were still speculating about the meaning of the latest developments when the High Priest walked into the assembly hall. His fallen face bespoke ill. He took his seat at the head of the group and surveyed the gathered hierarchy.

  “The goddess has changed her mind,” he finally said. “The kingship shall remain vested in Gilgamesh for the duration of the year . . . unless he is found dead earlier.”

  The stunned silence that followed was broken by a babble of angry comments. Enkullab raised his hand for silence. “One at a time,” he told them, “and please speak to the point.”

  “Where is Gilgamesh?” one of the chief priests asked.

  “Of that I was not informed,” Enkullab answered. “All I was told was that Ishtar had given her word to the Lady Ninsun to consider the absent Gilgamesh king for the year’s duration unless his death is established earlier.”

  “That sounds as though the goddesses themselves know not his whereabouts,” another chief priest said.

  “Whatever it might mean, it is most humiliating,” Enkullab said. “I was led to believe I would be crowned king on the morrow. The gods were told to stay. I even sent urgent word to the Elders, to be ready . . . and now, I stand empty-handed, looking foolish, disgraced!”

  “We have all been disgraced,” one of the others said.

  “We are talking like young lads whose advances have been rejected,” another one said, “instead of concentrating on the problem. We must know what happened to Gilgamesh. Has Niglugal told the truth? Perhaps the king is hiding in the palace, ill in body or confused in mind because he touched Anu’s handiwork?”

  “My masters, I have an answer,” said a younger priest who had just walked in.

  They stared at him. “Speak,” Enkullab told him.

  “I am Meshga, of the priests that perform the rites of penance. There came, just a while ago, a young woman unto me in the courtyard of altars, seeking forgiveness, for she could offer only a pigeon as sacrifice when an ewe was required to atone for a serious sin. When I questioned her what the great sin was, she mumbled words about having been sworn, against her will, to keep an evil secret concerning the king.”

  “Go on,” the High Priest said.

  “I told her no forgiveness was possible unless she spoke out the whole truth of the matter. So she told me that she was one of the joy girls in a brothel that Enkidu, the king’s comrade, and sometimes the king himself, have been frequenting. That last night, as she was asleep with Enkidu, the king appeared and, awaking Enkidu, huddled with him. Then the two discarded their clothing and put on shabby clothes and took provisions with them. And they were directed by her mistress to the boat of a merchant named Adadel, who was readying to sail after sunrise. After the two men, the king and Enkidu, had left, the mistress swore her and another of the harlots to keep the whole affair a secret.”

  “That is all she said?” Enkullab asked.

  “No, great master,” the priest continued. “Later on, in mid-morning, the king’s soldiers came. And they took with them the mistress of the house, Salgigti by name, and threatened all the young women to be silent about it. And the girl knew that some evil was being committed, that her oath was a sin. So she rushed to the temple to seek penance.”

  “And did she know where the boat was sailing to?”

  “To
Mari. That is what its owner, Adadel by name, was telling the harlots when he had their company.”

  “If the king’s men had come to the House of Joy seeking answers of its mistress, it means that Gilgamesh is not in the palace,” one of the chief priests said. “He must have done what he and Enkidu had schemed, sailed away on Adadel’s boat.”

  “Why would he go to Mari, and so suddenly?” another chief priest wondered.

  “Chief of the guard-priests,” Enkullab said turning to him. “That is your task, to find out.”

  “So we will,” the chief of the guard-priests said. “But if that is what happened, then Gilgamesh is alive and well and will not be replaced on the throne!”

  Enkullab stared at him. “I hear more than disappointment in your words,” he said. “If Gilgamesh has sailed off,” Enkullab continued, “he is no longer within reach of our spears. Go, find out what you can, and we shall meet again to discuss the matter of our humiliation.”

  * * *

  It was later that afternoon, after it had been established that Adadel’s boat had sailed off in the morning with two strangers aboard, and the two regular sailors had been found unconscious on the quay, that Enkullab had an unexpected visitor in his private quarters.

  He was alone in his bedchamber, distraught and angry, when he noticed movement behind the curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the chamber.

  “Who is it? Reveal yourself!” the High Priest cried out, alarmed.

  A man in priestly garb stepped forward. “I am Anubani, in charge of the grainhouse,” he said.

  Enkullab recognized him. Not of the top hierarchy yet of some importance, this priest had in the past tried to bring himself to the High Priest’s attention by uttering a word here and there that got Enkullab’s attention. When Enkullab had inquired, he was told that Anubani was especially adept in dealing with the merchants who kept Erech and its temples in ample supplies of victuals.