The Death of Enkidu

Gilgamesh and Enkidu had killed Humbaba, the guardian of the cedar forest, and they had killed the Bull of Heaven that the goddess Ishtar had sent against them. They came back to Uruk in triumph, and the people lined the streets and shouted their names.

But the gods in their council were angered. Anu the sky-father, Enlil the storm-lord, Shamash the sun, and Ea of the deep waters sat together. Anu said: "Because they killed the Bull of Heaven, and because they killed Humbaba who guarded the cedars and whose tree was sacred, one of them must die." Enlil said: "Enkidu shall die. Gilgamesh shall not." Shamash protested. He said, "Did they not kill the Bull and the keeper of the cedars at my own command? Why should the innocent Enkidu die?" Enlil's face darkened. "You speak as if you walked with them daily, as one of them," he said.

That night Enkidu had a dream. He was standing in a great assembly. Anu and Enlil and Shamash spoke together. Anu spoke to Enlil: "Because they killed the Bull of Heaven and Humbaba, one must die. Let it be the one who hewed down the cedar of the mountain." Enlil said: "Enkidu shall die. Gilgamesh shall not."

Enkidu woke and lay still and wept. He told his dream to Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh said: "Brother, why have the gods given you a dream like this and not me? Why should you be marked and not I?"

Enkidu's body began to fail. He had a fever, and a heaviness in his limbs that he could not throw off. He lay on his bed and could not get up.

In his pain he cursed the door of cedar he had carved, the door he had given as an offering to the temple. "I should have cut you for firewood, you treacherous wood. If I had known how this would end, I would have raised an axe and broken you to pieces." Then he cursed the trapper who had first seen him in the wilderness, the man who had brought the temple-woman Shamhat to civilize him. "May the trapper not eat his fill. May game escape his snares. May the wild leap over his pits." And he cursed Shamhat, who had taken him from the gazelles to the city of Uruk: "May you have no house to call your own. May your bed be the wall and the corner of the street. May the drunkard's vomit splash your beautiful clothes."

Shamash heard him from heaven and called down: "Enkidu, why do you curse the woman who fed you bread fit for a god, who gave you wine fit for a king, who clothed you in fine garments and made you the brother of Gilgamesh? Now Gilgamesh, your beloved friend, will lay you on a great bed. He will lay you on a bed of honor, and the people of the city will weep for you. After you are gone, he will let his hair grow long for grief and clothe himself in a lion-skin and wander the wilderness."

Enkidu heard, and his anger lifted. He blessed the temple-woman in the same number of words he had cursed her. "May governors and princes love you. May the rich man take off his necklace for you. The high-walled city of Uruk shall raise you up."

Then Enkidu had a second dream. He told it to Gilgamesh. "I dreamed last night that the heavens groaned and the earth answered. I stood between them. A man came toward me whose face was dark, whose face was like the Anzu-bird's, whose hands were a lion's paws and whose claws were an eagle's claws. He seized me by my hair. I tried to fight him off and he beat me down. He stood on me like a wild bull. He made me into a dove, my arms feathered like a bird's. He took me by the hand and led me down to the house of dust, the house from which no one returns, the road that has no return, the house whose dwellers are stripped of light, where dust is their food and clay is their bread, where they wear feathers like birds and live in darkness, never seeing the sun, sitting on the dust, hearing nothing. There I saw kings of the earth without their crowns, who in their lifetimes had ruled, but now were servants. There I saw priests who had served the great gods. I saw Etana and Sumukan, ancient kings. I saw Ereshkigal, queen of the underworld, and Belet-Seri, the scribe of the dead, who looked up from her tablet and asked, 'Who has brought this one?'"

Enkidu lay weak with fever for twelve days. On the twelfth he called Gilgamesh to him: "Did the gods take pity on me, did they let me die in battle? I am dying in my bed. The man who falls in battle is happy. I die without honor."

He died.

Gilgamesh would not believe it at first. He stood over his friend's body and called his name. He touched his face. He held a feather to his mouth. There was no breath. Then a great cry burst from him, like a lioness whose cubs are taken. He tore his royal clothes and threw them down. He roamed the chamber pulling at his hair.

"Listen to me, elders of Uruk. I weep for Enkidu, my friend. I weep like a hired mourner. He was the axe at my side, the sword in my belt, the shield I carried. He has gone where I cannot follow. He has been taken from me in the prime of his strength.

Hear me, mountains and rivers. Hear me, paths in the wilderness where we walked together. Hear me, all the wild creatures, the wild ass, the gazelle, the leopard. Weep for Enkidu, my friend. Hear me, holy river Ulai, on whose banks we ran. Hear me, river Euphrates, where we drew water. Hear me, young men of Uruk who saw us go out and fight together.

What is this sleep that has fallen on you? Look at me. You will not look. You will not speak."

Gilgamesh would not allow him to be buried. For seven days and seven nights he sat by the body, until a worm dropped from the nostril and fell to the ground. Then he stood up and called the smiths and the carvers, the goldsmiths and the lapidaries. He commanded them to make an image of Enkidu, with a head of lapis lazuli and a body of gold, and he made offerings to the spirits of the dead, to feed his friend in the house of dust.

Then he stripped off his royal robes. He clothed himself in a lion's skin. He let his hair grow tangled. He began to roam the wilderness, weeping. "Enkidu, my friend, has died, who fought lions with me, who killed Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven. Now he has gone the way of all flesh. I too will die. I too will be like him. Death has come into my bones. I am afraid of it." And so Gilgamesh set out to find the secret of life everlasting, to find Utnapishtim who alone among men had not died.