Enkidu, . . .
your mother is a gazelle,
and . . . your father who created you, a wild
ass.
[You were] raised by creatures with tails,
and by the animals of the wilderness, with all
its breadth.
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Summary
Enkidu’s death shatters Gilgamesh. He rips his clothes
and tears his hair. He circles Enkidu’s body like an eagle. He paces
restlessly like a lioness whose cubs have been killed. In the presence
of the city elders, Gilgamesh proclaims his grief. Gilgamesh’s lamentation overflows
with images of animals and nature. Everyone mourns, including the
creatures of the field and plain, the elders of the city, and the
prostitute who domesticated Enkidu. The pathways to the Cedar Forest,
the rivers Ulaja and Euphrates, and the farmers and shepherds in
their fields all mourn Enkidu’s death. Gilgamesh summons the craftsmen
of Uruk, including the metalworkers, stone carvers, goldsmiths,
and engravers. As he had promised his dying friend, he commands
them to make a statue of Enkidu to honor his deeds and celebrate
his fame.
Gilgamesh stays by his friend’s body until a worm crawls
out of its nose. Then he casts aside his royal garments with disgust,
as if they were filthy, and dons unscraped, hair-covered animal
skins. He pours honey into a carnelian bowl, places some butter
in a bowl of lapis lazuli, and makes an offering to Shamash. Then
Gilgamesh sets off into the wilderness, just as Shamash had told
the dying Enkidu he would. He wanders alone, desolate with sorrow,
wondering if he must die too. At last he decides to seek out Utnapishtim,
who survived the flood that had almost ended life on Earth and subsequently became
the only mortal granted everlasting life by the gods. He hopes Utnapishtim
can tell him how he too might escape death. Utnapishtim lives in
the far-off place where the sun rises, a place where no mortal has
ever ventured.
One night in the mountains before going to sleep, Gilgamesh prays
to the moon god, Sin, to grant him a vision. In the middle of the
night he awakens, surrounded by lions. Drawing his axe from his
belt, he attacks them, reveling in the slaughter. After more journeying,
he arrives at Mashu, the twin-headed mountain. One peak looks west,
toward the setting of the sun, and the other looks east toward its
rising. The summits of Mashu brush against heaven itself, and its
udders reach down into the underworld. Two monsters, a Scorpion-man
and his wife, guard its gates. The male monster tells his wife that
the person who dares to come here must be a god. The wife says that
two-thirds of him is god, but the rest of him is human.
The male monster asks Gilgamesh who he is and why he’s
journeyed through fearful wilderness and braved terrible dangers
to come to the mountain that no mortal has ever before visited.
When Gilgamesh tells the monsters about his quest, the
Scorpion-man informs him that Utnapishtim lives on the other side
of the mountain. To get there, Gilgamesh can use a tunnel that runs through
the mountain. Shamash uses it every night when he travels back to
the place where he rises in the morning. It would take Gilgamesh
twelve double hours to journey through the passage, and the way
is completely dark. (The Babylonian hour was sixty minutes, and
the day was divided into twelve “double hours.”) No mortal could
survive such darkness, and the monsters cannot permit him to try.
After they listen to Gilgamesh’s pleas, they relent and tell him
to be careful.
Gilgamesh walks through the mountain. He can’t see in
front of him or behind him in the total darkness. He walks the first,
second, and third double hour in total blackness and struggles for
breath in the hot darkness. He walks four, five, and six double
hours with the north wind blowing in his face. As the eleventh double
hour approaches, the darkness begins to fade. At the end of the
twelfth double hour, Gilgamesh emerges from the tunnel into the
sweet morning air and the sunlight. He steps into a beautiful garden
filled with fruit and foliage the colors of carnelian, rubies, and
other jewels. Beyond the garden glitters the sea.
