The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  “I don’t understand,” Kaba answered him. “The king is only taking Enkidu to his destination and returning. Niglugal can be regent temporarily.”

  “Fate is unpredictable and the future is always full of surprises, my loyal Kaba. Can I count on you to guard Urnungal with your life and protect him no matter from where or by whom he is endangered?”

  “On my life,” Kaba said.

  Back at the palace Kaba summoned the troops. Of Enkidu’s journey to the Land of Mines he told them, asking for fifty volunteers. As many stepped forward, he turned some away. “Who has a house that has not been dedicated yet,” he said, “let him go to his house. Who has a mother that is widowed, let him be with his mother. Let him who has married but has no son yet, stay with his wife.”

  Once those individuals had been eliminated, Kaba chose the best men from the remaining volunteers. He presented them to the king, who bestowed on each one of them the epithet “Heroic Son of Erech.” Then the armorers were called. They fitted each of the fifty heroes with a suit of armor made of dried and hardened leather and placed new weapons in their hands.

  When all was ready, the fifty heroes, accompanied by multitudes of townspeople, went off to board the ship. They were followed by a caravan of carts laden with provisions of food, water, various wines, and oil for cooking and for light.

  In the crowd there were many—especially women who were mothers or wives or sweethearts—who were crying as they saw their beloved ones marching off for a long and perilous journey. But the heroes were joyful, looking forward to the adventure, confident of overcoming every peril and foe, and assured of gallantry that scribes would record and schoolchildren would recite in days to come.

  * * *

  It was dusk when Gilgamesh came to speak to Enkidu about the voyage from which he would not return.

  Although he had greatly recovered, he was still under Ninsun’s care in the medical compound. Gilgamesh found him sitting on a wooden bench in the compound’s small garden behind Ninsun’s private abode. Enkidu was facing the setting sun as he heard the approaching footsteps. He looked up and saw Gilgamesh, and smiled.

  “Gilgamesh, my comrade,” he said softly, “I’ve been awaiting you.”

  “Here I am, my friend,” Gilgamesh said. He took Enkidu’s hand, as much to touch it as to check its subsided swellings.

  “Have you come for me? Is it time to go?” Enkidu asked.

  Gilgamesh was taken aback. “What kind of talk is this?”

  Enkidu smiled wryly. “My comrade, let me speak the words that are choked inside your throat. I’ve seen a vision and am no longer terror-stricken. The gods’ emissary has appeared to me in the vision, an image shimmering in the air in front of my very eyes, moving and speaking in broad daylight though no one was really there! I tell you, Gilgamesh, it was as though I was asleep and dreaming, but it wasn’t night and I was wide awake!”

  “I’ve heard of such apparitions. They are deemed a blessing.”

  “Perhaps. . . . My dream of the Winged Ones he explained to me, my fating to toil in the depths of the Earth he disclosed to me. That you would be my companion he assured me. But before I could ask him why you would also go and how we would journey, the apparition vanished and the vision was no more.”

  He stared at Gilgamesh, his sad eyes demanding an answer.

  “The divine revelation cannot be denied,” Gilgamesh said. “But it is not on your journey that I will accompany you, but the other way around.”

  “You speak in riddles,” Enkidu told his friend.

  “Once I bring you to the appointed place, Enkidu, to Erech I shall not return. Instead, the journey I shall continue. To the Place of the Rocketships I aim to go, Enkidu. What we’ve failed to attain at the Landing Place, there in Tilmun I shall attain!”

  Enkidu shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a foolhardy journey. You may risk your life for naught,” he said. He took his comrade’s hand. “My comrade, when the gods created mankind, they did not bestow mankind with unending life. Stay in Erech, and the many days still in your allotment will count as a blessing! Of each remaining day make a feast! Be merry, fill your belly, bathe in sparkling water, wear your royal garments, pay heed to the son that holds your hand! And as to death, pay no heed to it. When it comes, embrace it without fear!”

  The hand of Gilgamesh jerked, and Enkidu stared at his comrade.

  Gilgamesh pulled his hand back, but Enkidu held on to it firmly. “Something is the matter,” he said.

  “I was going to tell you later,” Gilgamesh said, “but I might as well reveal my secret to you now. Though I’ve been spared a death sentence, my days, Enkidu, are numbered. I’ve touched a divine object, the handiwork of the great Lord Anu, and therefore have become accursed.” His hand jerked again. “There’s death in my bones, Enkidu. Therefore I am undertaking the journey to Tilmun. The great Healer, the Lady Ninharsag, to my mother a secret has revealed. A fruit that from death shields grows in Tilmun. If I can attain it, my days it will prolong.”

  Enkidu eyed his comrade. “Were it not for this secret, I would have insisted that you desist from the foolhardy journey,” he said. “I’ve never heard of this fruit before, but if the great Lady Ninharsag knows of it, it must be true. Where is the place that it grows?”

  “My mother has pointed it out to me on a map,” Gilgamesh said.

  “A secret place of the gods?”

  “It is beyond the place where we will put you ashore.”

  “Well then,” Enkidu said. “Let me thank your mother for healing me, before it’s time to depart.”

  * * *

  An after-sunset darkness prevailed when the two were ushered by the handmaiden into Ninsun’s presence. She was sitting in her favorite armchair, wearing a garment made of fine lamb’s wool. A necklace of lapis lazuli adorned her chest and a tiara-like comb of ivory crowned her hair. Oil lamps cast their reddish golden lights upon her and threw shadows behind her.

  The two bowed to the ground.

  “I have been expecting you,” Ninsun said, and waved them in to sit in front of her.

  “The time has come, divine mother,” Gilgamesh murmured.

  “Great heavenly queen,” Enkidu said, “I’ve come to thank you and bid good-bye.”

  “I have prayed to the great lords for both of you,” she said. “To the great Lord Anu who is in the Heavens, and to the great Lord Enlil who rules Earth, and to the Lord Utu who commands the Eagles. Now Gilgamesh, before you leave, go into the altar room and say your prayers too.”

  Gilgamesh got up and went into the inner room. There was an eerie golden glow hovering like a mist above the altar. He knelt down before it, raised his hands, and spoke slowly and softly. “Oh great Anu, forgive my transgressions. Oh great Enlil, extend your mercy to me. Oh Utu, lord of the Eagles, spread your protecting wings over me. The Place of the Rocketships I wish to enter. Be my ally! Where the rocketships are raised, inscribe my name for life!”

  He got up and returned into Ninsun’s presence. She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. Then she reached out and put her hand on Enkidu’s head.

  “Be blessed, Enkidu,” she said. “Though prayers are not intended for your lips, mine shall not cease to utter your name. Perhaps one day the Lord Enki shall find a way to redeem your sentence.”

  She motioned to them to get up. Gilgamesh grabbed his mother’s hand and kissed it. She embraced him then pushed him away.

  “You have not uttered a prayer to the Lady Ishtar,” she said. “But she has been wronged by you on account of the Tablet of Destinies that for her was intended. After you are gone, I shall make amends to her.”

  “Not the tablet!” Gilgamesh began to say.

  Ninsun raised her hand to hush him. “Go, and may the gods be with you,” she said as she turned toward the inner room.

  They could hear her sobbing. Gilgamesh took a step toward the other room, but Enkidu pulled him back.

  “The die is cast,” he said. “Let’s go.”r />
  * * *

  Compared to the banquets that used to be held in the palace, this last meal of the evening was solemn and austere. It was taking place not in the Great Hall but in the king’s private quarters, and there was no merriment or singing or drinking of wine and beer. Rather, it featured quiet talk and the imbibing of just a little wine for better digestion.

  Nor did palace notables, heroes, emissaries from near and far, and savants of varied knowledge join the king. This last evening before the fateful departure only four persons partook of the meal: Gilgamesh and Enkidu—who only drank water—and Niglugal and the king’s only son, Urnungal. From the conversation and the exchanged glances, it was evident that the center of attention was the teenager among them.

  “My son,” Gilgamesh said when the meal was over and the servants were dismissed, “on a long and dangerous journey I am embarking on the morrow at dawn. This is not a hurried departure but one undertaken with great deliberation and preparation. A task imposed by a divine judgment I must perform. It is to accompany my brotherly comrade, Enkidu, to dwell henceforth in the Land of No Return.”

  “He will never return?” Urnungal asked. “That’s absurd!”

  “That is the judgment of the gods, on account of the slaying of the Bull of Heaven,” Gilgamesh said.

  “I shall always think of you, Urnungal,” Enkidu said, extending his arms toward him, “and you can always keep me beside you in your mind’s eye. Recall our wrestling, the talks of the steppe and its creatures, the tales of godly magic. . . . Will you remember all that, Urnungal?”

  The boy got up and approached Enkidu. He wore a simple, short robe—only its colored fringes indicated his noble standing. His black hair was as thick as a lion’s mane and his stature and broad shoulders were nearing those of his father. He held out his arm to Enkidu and the two locked arms in the manner of heroes.

  “Enkidu,” the boy said, “of you I’ll tell tales till the end of my days!”

  “That’s good enough for me!” Enkidu said and embraced Urnungal.

  “And you, Father, when will you return?” Urnungal asked, turning to his father.

  “It’s hard to predict,” Gilgamesh said, “for the journey is long and dangerous. . . .” His hand jerked as he spoke.

  Urnungal took his father’s spasmed hand. “You’ve had this demon in your hand since the end of the New Year festival,” he observed. “Are you well, my father?”

  “Of course!” Gilgamesh said, eying the others. “Just overexertion. Now, my son, some serious talk.” He motioned to his son, and the boy put his hands in his father’s hands. “Though you are not two-thirds divine as I am, the blood of gods flows in your veins, Urnungal. To kingship you were destined from the day you were born!”

  “Urnungal is the Crown Prince!” Niglugal exclaimed.

  “More than that,” Gilgamesh said without looking at Niglugal, instead focusing his gaze on Urnungal. “My son, from the moment I leave, you shall be not just the Crown Prince, but the Heir Apparent. Though young in years, a man you must be! Listen to the advice of Niglugal, consult my mother, Ninsun, then do what your heart tells you to do.”

  “Wise words,” Niglugal said. “If only the boy were somewhat older . . .”

  “Kingship is in his blood,” Gilgamesh replied, his eyes searching Niglugal’s.

  Niglugal extended his arm and clasped it with Urnungal’s. “I will serve you as faithfully as I’ve been serving your father,” he told him.

  There were tears in Urnungal’s eyes. Gilgamesh passed his fingers through his son’s thick black, curly hair.

  “Just like your mother’s, black as a raven’s,” he said softly. Then he turned Urnungal around to face him. “My son, I wish you to hear this before I depart. Ever since your mother died I have been restless. Because of her absence beside me, the laps of many women I’ve shared. But there were always many, never one. None replaced her on the seat of royalty, nor in my heart. No one else as a spouse have I ever taken!”

  “Thank you for telling me that,” Urnungal said, kissing his father on the cheek.

  “Now go to your chambers and sleep as late as you wish,” Gilgamesh said.

  Reluctant but obeying, Urnungal left, their eyes following him as he departed. Niglugal was the first to break the silence that followed.

  “A sad farewell, as though the parting will be long. . . . You’ve said nothing of a regent, nor how long we should await your return, my king.”

  Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow. “The next New Year festival, that’s the allotted time agreed with Ishtar. If by then I have not returned, Urnungal shall join the goddess in her bed and become king of Erech.”

  Niglugal’s head jerked backward. “The boy would not be eighteen,” he said.

  “He is the Heir Apparent!” Gilgamesh retorted. “Besides, you’re underestimating Ishtar’s abilities . . .”

  Enkidu burst in laughter. Niglugal smiled. “Never too early?” he asked.

  “On this merry note, let’s retire for the night,” Gilgamesh said. “I’m going to my bedchamber, Enkidu. You can sleep wherever you wish. We leave in the morning.”

  As the king and Niglugal left the chamber, Enkidu remained seated, a blank look in his eyes. “I see an eagle with spread wings, immobile in the sky, all the way on the horizon,” he whispered.

  * * *

  The departure of Gilgamesh and Enkidu was a subdued affair. Niglugal sent several runners along with the ship; they returned to Erech in succession to report the ship’s progress southward. On the seventh day the last runner returned, reporting that the ship had left Eridu and had sailed off into the Lower Sea. From thence on the ship and its passengers and crew were on their own, with no further word about its progress and fortunes expected until its return to the Edin.

  In the palace the mood remained subdued. Urnungal, skipping weapons lessons, wandered about the palace aimlessly.

  Niglugal summoned Kaba to his chamber. “The king Gilgamesh upon a hazardous journey has embarked,” he said, “leaving behind a restive population and a scheming High Priest.”

  “I am aware of that,” Kaba said. “That’s why the king is counting on our loyalty.”

  “Well-spoken, Kaba,” Niglugal said. “But what if the High Priest makes a move to depose the king in his absence?”

  “Only the Lady Ishtar can do that,” Kaba said.

  “The High Priest is not to be underestimated, Kaba. He could spread rumors, influence the goddess . . .”

  “Deposing Gilgamesh will only put his son on the throne. Why should Enkullab do that?”

  “Urnungal is just a boy,” Niglugal replied. “Maturity and experience may have to be called upon . . .”

  Kaba stood up. “The king is barely gone.”

  “I’m only thinking of precautions, Kaba. Just trying to be ready if others make a move. We do not need riots, upheavals, or disorder, do we?”

  Kaba nodded in agreement.

  “You understand that as chamberlain it is my duty and prerogative to conduct the royal affairs . . .” Niglugal paused. “However, if an emergency arises, it will be my intention to constitute myself, the boy, and you as a council of regency. Agreed?”

  Kaba shifted uneasily. “Agreed,” he finally replied.

  “Good,” Niglugal said. “Now let your spies in the city and the temple sharpen their eyes and ears so that we face no surprises . . . And that includes Ninsun’s House of Resuscitation.”

  “We removed the surveillance there yesterday. After news of the ship’s passage beyond Eridu was received, the goddess moved to her abode in the Sacred Precinct.”

  “I see,” Niglugal said. “Let your men keep an eye on her there, then.”

  * * *

  It was on the following day that a young priest rushed into Ninsun’s quarters with a request from the High Priest that she come quickly to succor a priest of high standing.

  It was a most unusual request, and Ninsun suggested that the sick priest be taken to the House o
f Resuscitation, where she would examine him when she treated the other patients. But the young priest was persistent.

  “It’s a malady most peculiar that has seized him,” he said. “An uncommon plague. . . . No one will touch him, great lady, no one will enter his lodgings. Come quickly, before the plague spreads!”

  Impressed by the young priest’s genuine fear and excitement, Ninsun put on a shawl and followed him. Priests fell to their knees and bowed as she passed by their quarters. In a small hall she was met by the High Priest; instead of enmity, there was fear in his eyes. He bowed to the ground and kissed the hem of Ninsun’s garment.

  “A plague, a most unusual plague, has struck!” he said, his voice quaking. “The wrath of the great gods Anu and Enlil is upon this place! Save us, save us all!”

  “Where is the maladied priest?” she asked curtly, looking at Enkullab with obvious disdain.

  “He is Anubani, in there, through the doorway . . .”

  She entered the semi-darkened room, its only light coming through lattices at the top of a wall near the ceiling. Anubani was lying on his back upon a wooden bed, half-naked. He was motionless, but his eyes followed Ninsun as she looked him over. There were large red spots all over his body; his hands were swollen and as red as fresh blood.

  She touched his forehead, but surprisingly there was no fever. She touched his hand with her fingernail and the hand jerked. She turned his hands over to examine the palms; they were scarred as though burnt and the flesh was raw. She looked into Anubani’s eyes but could see only extreme fear.

  “Anubani,” she said, “can you hear me?” He blinked his eyes.

  “I can help you only if I am told the truth. . . . You were struck down after you carried an object in your hands?”

  He blinked his eyes.

  “A divine object?”

  His lips twisted in an unspoken effort. Then he blinked again.

  “What was it?”

  He lay motionless, unresponding.

  “Where is it? You will die unless I’m told!” Ninsun shouted.