The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  They walked along the river’s bank. The sun was now quite strong, and Gilgamesh held up his hand to shield his eyes. Birds of prey were circling in the skies, issuing repulsive cries. There was a shaded spot among the sandhills flanking the river, and they stopped there.

  “I’m hungry,” Gilgamesh said.

  “I have a king’s feast ready,” Enkidu replied. He opened the package that he had made of a piece of the torn sail and spread its contents before Gilgamesh. “All I need is water,” Enkidu said. “You eat the food.” He held up the carcass. “Some of the meat is still good.”

  Before he could complete the sentence, one of the birds of prey, a giant eagle perhaps, swooped down toward them and grabbed the carcass.

  Agile beyond belief, Enkidu jumped high into the air, catching the carcass.

  For a moment the huge bird was flying away, holding on to the carcass and carrying Enkidu with it. Then Ekidu let out a terrible scream and the bird let go of its prey. Enkidu, the carcass in his hands, fell to the ground with a loud thump.

  Gilgamesh ran to where Enkidu had fallen. He knew that a man could not survive such a crushing fall. But as he reached the spot, he saw Enkidu sitting, holding up the carcass, and when Enkidu saw the frightened look on the king’s face, he burst out in a roaring laughter.

  And for the first time since the night of the Sacred Marriage, Gilgamesh also burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  “Now you shall have your feast,” Enkidu said. He took wet flour from the pouch and, shaping it into thin round cakes, spread the dough upon a rock. “The sun will be our oven,” he told the king. While the barley cakes were baking, he went down to the river and washed the carcass well. Then he spread the meat, bread, and a waterskin on the torn piece of the sail. “There you are,” he said, pleased with himself.

  “Well now,” Gilgamesh said as he satisfied his hunger. “Shall we swim across the river and join a caravan or find a village for a night’s rest?”

  “We are too close to Borsippa,” Enkidu answered, “and I don’t like the look of things. . . . The Shagaz behaved oddly, and their attack followed the black skyships. That is the color of Marduk’s and Nabu’s skyships.”

  “So it was not Ishtar that was looking for me. What of it?”

  “I smell a connection between the inspection of the boat by the skyships and the odd attack by the Shagaz,” Enkidu said. “As nomads constantly on the go, they do not take prisoners. Yet this time that’s all they were interested in. And you saw how they questioned Adadel and looked for someone still missing. They were after us, I tell you!”

  “You make sense, but there’s no logic to it,” Gilgamesh said. “Why would the Lord Nabu of Borsippa look for us rather than Ishtar or Shamash?”

  “I don’t know. But I think it’s too risky to cross over to the side where Borsippa’s domain is. Let’s continue on this desolate side for a day or two, until we face the domain of Sippar.”

  While Enkidu refilled the waterskins with water, Gilgamesh wrapped the rest of their meager belongings in the sail’s cloth, and the two comrades began their trek northward.

  At Enkidu’s insistence, to be unseen from the river, they walked behind the sand dunes. But given the soft sand they walked in, Gilgamesh found the going tedious, and it was not even a double-hour before his sandals tore. Now the hot sand was burning his feet and he began to fall behind Enkidu. He called to Enkidu that they might rest, but Enkidu said that they should keep going.

  In the afternoon, clouds began to darken the sky. Soon lightnings rent the Heavens and thunders shook the Earth. A rain followed, first light, then heavy. The two comrades sought shelter among some boulders. By the time the autumn storm had passed they were soaking wet and their meager belongings were all soggy. The wet sand became muddy, and as they resumed their trek, their feet sank deep with each step.

  In spite of his concerns, Enkidu agreed that they try to walk along the river’s bank, where the soil was harder and smoother. But even there Gilgamesh could hardly walk.

  “I think my feet are bleeding,” he said.

  They sat down and Enkidu removed the wet sand from his comrade’s feet. They were swollen, red, and bleeding. He helped Gilgamesh to the river and instructed him to soak his feet in the fresh, cooling water.

  “It feels good,” Gilgamesh said. “But I’m tired and sleepy.”

  “Let’s go, then, to the sand dunes and rest there,” Enkidu suggested.

  They were hardly near the sand dunes when Enkidu suddenly grabbed Gilgamesh and threw him to the ground, then frantically began to cover the two of them with sand.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Gilgamesh shouted.

  “There, the black skyships are back!” Enkidu said excitedly, pointing.

  The skyships were clearly reconnoitering along the river, swooping down and back up time after time, progressing up the river as they did so.

  “Have they seen us?” Gilgamesh wondered.

  “If not, they’ll be back, keeping up the search,” Enkidu said. “We must hurry on.”

  “I don’t think I can,” Gilgamesh told him.

  “I’ll carry you,” Enkidu said.

  “Not before I call for help,” Gilgamesh replied. He removed the cord that was around his neck and showed Enkidu the stone that was attached to it. “It’s a Whispering Stone,” he explained, “a gift from my mother. I’m to use it if I really need help.”

  He turned the green-black talisman upside down, then rubbed it between his hands. Holding it close to his mouth, he shouted, “Oh my mother! Our boat was attacked and burnt, our food is gone, we are lost in the wilderness. Help, oh mother, help!”

  Enkidu grabbed the stone and rubbed it between his hands. “It is Enkidu, here with Gilgamesh, the king of Erech,” he shouted. “We are on the desolate side of the river, near Borsippa, marching toward Sippar. The dark-hued skyships are searching for us. We need help, soon, soon!”

  He returned the stone to Gilgamesh. “Now that I’ve spoken to a stone,” he said, “it’s on my own prowess that I must rely.”

  He helped Gilgamesh up and lifted him upon his shoulders.

  “I’ll carry you as long as I can,” he said, “and may the good gods be with us.”

  * * *

  When darkness came that day, the two comrades found some boulders that could provide shelter. Exhausted, Gilgamesh was the first one to fall asleep, his head leaning on his comrade’s shoulder. Soon thereafter, Enkidu too fell asleep.

  It was about midnight when sleep departed Gilgamesh. Awakening with a startle, he tugged at his comrade.

  “Why did you wake me?” he asked Enkidu.

  “How could I awaken you when I myself was asleep, just awakened by you?”

  “If you didn’t arouse me, who did?” Gilgamesh asked. “I’m sure I heard my name being called.”

  “It must have been a dream,” Enkidu said. “Go back to sleep.”

  A double-hour or so later Gilgamesh awoke again. He shook Enkidu to arouse him.

  “What is it this time?” Enkidu asked.

  “Aside from my first dream, a second one I saw,” Gilgamesh told him. “In my second dream a boulder came toppling down. Then as it came to rest, it put out legs. A wind touched my face; my name was called!”

  Listening to his comrade’s tale, Enkidu suddenly clamped his hand over his mouth.

  “Hush!” he whispered to Gilgamesh. “Your vision was not a dream!”

  He pointed to a large shape, barely distinguishable in the dark, resting on its extended legs some distance away near the river’s bank. The reddish glow that flared up periodically from a bulbous appendage between the legs revealed its identity as a skyship, a black-colored skyship.

  Petrified, the two watched as one of the skyship’s eyes suddenly lit up. In a moment, a powerful beam of light began to sweep the ground all around. The two comrades cowered, pressing against the boulder and each other. But the sweeping beam found them. Its glare was overpowering, and the two
raised their hands to cover their eyes, immobilized with fear.

  The beam was dimmed but not extinguished. A hatch opened in the skyship. They could see, silhouetted against the light inside, the shape of a man, wearing tight-fitting garb but no helmet. Looking out toward them he raised his hand and gestured.

  “Gilgamesh!” The king’s name was called out, but they could not be certain whether it came from the man they saw or if the calling had emanated from within the skyship.

  Enkidu pressed his hand against his comrade’s mouth. “Don’t answer!” he said.

  Now they could see a ladder beginning to extend from the open hatch, lowering itself toward the ground. As it touched down, a second figure appeared at the hatch, and the two began to climb down.

  Gilgamesh cluched Enkidu. “My end is near!” he whispered.

  The two from the skyship, their hands extended as though they held weapons, began to walk toward the comrades’ hiding place. Enkidu pushed Gilgamesh behind him, placing himself in front, and braced himself for the inevitable encounter. Suddenly there materialized, as if out of nowhere, another skyship over the river. Its shape was not globe-like, like that of the other one. It was much larger and flatter, more like a dining plate, and it had neither sound nor lights. Only the moon’s rays emerging from behind the clouds revealed its presence. Then, all at once, many hued eyes lit up around the skyship’s circumference. As they began to rotate, a glaring beam shot out. It searched the ground until it came to rest upon the two crewmen of the black-hued skyship. The moment it touched them, the two stopped in their stride and stood motionless, like two lifeless statues.

  Another beam, this time blue in color, now emanated from the large skyship. A voice that shook the ground boomed from the craft. “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, arise and step forward!”

  Mesmerized by the sight, the two did not move. The booming voice called out again, thunderlike, earthshaking. A small boulder in the sand dune above them, loosened by the vibrations, toppled down in a slide of sand, half-burying the two comrades.

  “Just as in my dream!” Gilgamesh whispered, shivering.

  The blue beam moved closer to them and from it, in front of their incredulous eyes, a man materialized. He was wearing headgear similar to what Ishtar wore on her flights. His body was completely covered with a shiny silvery material. He took off his helmet as he neared them, and they could see that he had fair, golden-hued hair. He extended his hand to them.

  “Come,” he said. “We are here to rescue you.”

  “Who are you?” Enkidu dared ask, “and how do you know our names?”

  “Fear not,” the Fair One answered. “The great Lord Utu, our commander, heard your cry for help. Come forward; step with me into the blue beam.”

  He put his helmet back on and took hold of the two comrades, linking his arms with theirs. Thus held together, the three stepped into the beam. In an instant, Gilgamesh and Enkidu felt as though a giant hand was pulling them by the hair of their scalps. Up and up they were raised, into the source of the blue beam, sucked into the bowels of the great skyship.

  They came to rest abruptly. The blue light was gone. Instead, a reddish light filled the chamber in which they had ended up. A door opened soundlessly in front of them and the Fair One, still holding them by the arms, led them through it to a corridor and then into a larger chamber, which was also bathed in a reddish light.

  Another fair-haired man, older than the one who accompanied them, was sitting in a thronelike chair. It was neither of wood nor of stone or metal. To their great surprise, they saw that the throne could swivel, like a doorpost in its socket.

  He raised his right hand to greet them.

  “Welcome aboard, Gilgamesh, king of Erech, and Enkidu the valiant,” he said. “We are glad we came to your rescue in time. I am Abgal, the commander.”

  “In the very nick of time,” Enkidu said. “We are most grateful.” He nudged Gilgamesh to speak up.

  “Is this a Boat of Heaven?” Gilgamesh asked, looking about him.

  “Indeed so,” the commander replied.

  “Praised be the Lord of Heaven!” Gilgamesh cried out, falling to his knees. “The omen has come true! I have been taken aloft, like Etana of Kish, like Adapa of Eridu!”

  Abgal looked at them, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

  “The omen is being fulfilled!” Gilgamesh said, almost shouting. “Anu has sent his Boat of Heaven to take me to Nibiru! May the Lord of Lords be praised!”

  “Gilgamesh,” Abgal said, “this Boat of Heaven, as you have called it, is one that roams Earth’s skies only. It is not a Gir that can soar beyond this planet. And it is not to the High Heavens that the Lord Utu, our commander, has ordered us to take you, but to your destination, the Cedar Forest.”

  “But is not the Landing Place there?” Gilgamesh said.

  “That is not for me to inform you,” Abgal said. “You shall be healed and fed before we set you down in the Cedar Forest.” He looked at the barefoot Gilgamesh. “And given new sandals,” he added.

  “Show us the boat’s wonders!” Enkidu said.

  “None but the Eagles that are assigned to it can see its workings,” Abgal replied. He raised his right hand. “May the great lords be with you!”

  The Fair One who had accompanied them took them again by the arms to lead them out.

  “Is the Lord Utu aboard, that I may thank him?” Gilgamesh asked.

  Abgal smiled. “I have indeed been told that you are of an inquiring and undaunted spirit, Gilgamesh. Your gratitude to the Lord Utu shall be conveyed.”

  “Come with me,” the Fair One said, leading them to the exit.

  “The box!” Abgal said suddenly.

  Gilgamesh turned his head. “A parting gift?”

  A crew member approached them. He held up a small box. Out of it shone a beam that was directed into the comrades’ eyes. “Every recollection of what you have just seen is now erased,” he told them.

  9

  It was always a thrill to see the Landing Place from the skies above. This time too Utu absorbed the grand view with a sense of pride and satisfaction; for here, nature and the Anunnaki had combined to create one of the most colorful sights on Earth.

  On all sides, except ahead of them, the Earth was a yellow-brown. But then there always was the moment when the command ship, arriving from the east, could sight the two parallel mountain ranges rising skyward as a wall of green. And then, moments later, the Upper Sea could be seen beyond—a vast expanse of blue, touching the horizon. The sun’s rays, somewhat reddish at this time of early morning, enhanced the colors that nature gave the wilderness, its cedar trees and the seawaters.

  As the airship made a graceful arc to the south to begin the descent, a huge white field came into view amidst the green expanse. It was the Landing Place—the immense platform built of great paving stones that had withstood not only time but even the havoc of the Deluge!

  “What a sight, what a place!” Utu said to the airship’s commander.

  “Indeed,” Abgal agreed.

  The airship now aligned itself on the south-north landing path between the two mountain ranges. The platform had been built on the inner slope of the eastern mountain range, its rectangular section stretching myriad paces from south to north. As the airship lowered itself for the touchdown, it passed on the right the podium that stood astride the landing field. It was a massive smaller platform resting on gigantic stone blocks set in rows in perfect fit with each other. A rocketship stood erect on it, supported by a crossbeamed structure, ready to be launched.

  The airship glided past the podium toward the northern part of the landing platform. There it hovered in the air until it positioned itself precisely above a circular marker. Then, extending its four legs, it landed.

  There was obvious joy among the Eagles who had come up to the platform to greet their commander. The senior ones clasped arms with him, and he smiled broadly as he stepped with them into the shaft that took them down to the
underground operations center and quarters.

  “Any messages?” Utu asked, taking off his helmet.

  “Two,” one of the senior officers said. “One from the Lady Ishtar. ‘Come I will, but to seek me you will,’ it said.”

  “She hasn’t changed—always teasing, challenging,” Utu said. “And the other?”

  “More ominous, from the Lord Nabu.”

  “From the Lord Nabu himself? I want to hear it,” Utu told him.

  They led him to the Dirga, the innermost communications center from which constant contact was maintained with the airborne skyships and with the spaceport and the mission control center. The vaulted chamber—bathed in a dim reddish light mixed with the amber glow emitted by the diverse equipment and filled with the hum of the whirring discs—always reminded Utu of the time that he, together with his twin sister, Ishtar, had been taken aloft to visit Anu’s spaceship.

  As Utu entered the Dirga, the officer on duty called the Eagles who were manning the equipment to attention.

  “Hail Lord Utu!” the Anunnaki, clad in body-hugging, silver-hued overalls, shouted in unison.

  “At ease, at ease!” Utu said impatiently. “Let me hear the Lord Nabu’s message.”

  In a moment, the glow from a whirring disc changed color, and the voice of Nabu broke the silence.

  “To the great Lord Utu, illustrious son of the great Lord Sin, commander of the Eagles, greetings from the Lord Nabu, firstborn of the great Lord Marduk and lord of Borsippa! A skyship of yours has interfered with my patrols without provocation. There was trespass into my father’s territory. Explain these actions or the Great Council shall be summoned to be your judge.”

  The words came to an abrupt end and there was silence.

  “What do you make of it, Uranshan?” Utu asked the base commander.

  “We know what we have done, but the Lord Nabu doesn’t know why we have done it. He knows why they tried to capture Gilgamesh and Enkidu, but we don’t. He wants us to offer explanations, to extract from us what we know. That is what I make of it, my lord.”

  “Well-spoken,” Utu said. “What we know so far is from intercepting the Lady Ninsun’s prayer unto the great Lord Anu and then Gilgamesh’s call for help. What the whole matter is about and why the Mardukites have intervened, we are yet to find out.”