Enkidu Loses His Innocence

Part 2 of the Epic of Gilgamesh Series

Jul 10, 2024

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Aruru knew she had no time to waste. She had to create Enkidu immediately, without parents. Waiting for him to grow up was out of the question.

She wet her hands, and in them, she took the clay of creation and shaped it into a ball. She infused the clay with the bravery of Ninurta. Then she hurled the ball into the wilderness, letting it roll a little, so that it would absorb some of the essence of untamed nature. When it was ready, she sculpted it into its final form. Enkidu, beast as well as man, born in silence, took his first breath.

Enkidu had a human shape, but his body was covered with hair. The hair on his head flowed in the wind like that of Nisaba, the goddess of grain and writing. He was naked and ran swiftly, like Sakkan, the god of animals. Having no knowledge of how or why he was created, the beast man believed himself to be an animal. He didn’t know that he could also be a human if he chose. He grazed on grass as the wild animals did. He drank the milk of the wild cows, who accepted him as a calf. He also drank from the same watering hole used by the other beasts, delighting both in the water and in the companionship of his animal brothers and sisters.

One day, a hunter encountered Enkidu near the watering hole. The gazelles the beast man had been running with fled, but Enkidu held his ground, looking suspiciously at the hunter. The hunter trembled to behold a creature outside of the natural order, a being both human and not. He fled rather than try to hunt such unfamiliar prey.

After a while, the hunter managed to calm himself. Enkidu had not followed him. Perhaps all was well. But then the hunter found the traps with which he had hoped to snare animals torn to pieces, the pits into which he had hoped animals would fall filled in. It would take many days’ labor to restore what Enkidu had destroyed. The hunter’s fear rapidly turned to anger, but even so, he dared not hunt such a creature.

“What shall I do?” he asked his father. “For I have seen one who is both man and beast. His strength is like that of a stone fallen from the heavens. No one is mightier than he is. He roams through mountains and valleys at will, protecting the animals from me. I have no hope of earning a livelihood so long as he stands in my way.”

The father looked upon the weary and mournful face of his son and knew that there was only one hope for him.

“Son, in Uruk lives a great king named Gilgamesh. He has never met a foe whom he could not vanquish. Surely, if anyone is strong enough to defeat this beast man, it will be the king.”

The hunter, recognizing the wisdom of his father, gathered supplies and at once made his way to Uruk. However, when he arrived, he hesitated to approach the place where Gilgamesh was hearing requests from the people. After all, Uruk was not the joyful place he had expected to find. It was magnificent in construction, sparkling with newness—a city in which the gods themselves might happily dwell. But the people shuffled around as if they bore a great weight on their backs. Stumbling unsmiling from one errand to the next, they reminded the hunter of the shadowy remnants of people in the realm of the dead, who had only dust to eat.

Why did Gilgamesh do nothing to make his people less miserable?

However, the hunter had no one else to whom he could turn. It was Gilgamesh or no one. He moved with slow and reluctant steps—but he did move.

The guards admitted him without question, and he found himself in a long line of supplicants. Gilgamesh, who stood on the far side of the large room, looked impressive even from that distance. But what struck the hunter more was that he actually seemed to listen to the pleas of those with the courage to appear before him. Perhaps there was hope, after all.

It was late afternoon by the time the hunter’s turn came. His legs were shaky from standing so long and from nervousness.

“Speak,” said Gilgamesh in a commanding voice. “Speak, and you shall be answered.”

Hesitantly at first, then more confidently, the hunter told Gilgamesh about Enkidu. The king listened attentively to every detail.

“This is a problem, indeed, but I am wise enough to solve it,” Gilgamesh said as soon as the hunter finished. “Return to the watering hole where you saw this beast man. Take with you Shamhat, a priestess from the temple of Inanna and one of the most beautiful of mortal women.”

The hunter tried to keep from frowning, but he couldn’t imagine what the priestess could do to help him. However, he knew it would be unwise to question the king, so he held his tongue.

“Once you and she reach the watering hole, wait until Enkidu returns to it. Shamhat will then remove her garment, revealing the full extent of her beauty. Enkidu will remember that he is a man and will lie with her. Once he has done so, the animals will no longer accept him. He will have no choice but to join the rest of humanity.”

The hunter thanked the king and left, but he scratched his head as he walked toward the temple. How could Gilgamesh possibly know such things? It was not until he reached the temple and found Shamhat waiting for him that he realized the truth—Inanna herself had an interest in Enkidu, though he had no idea what that interest might be. It would have surprised him to know that the goddess had no real interest in Enkidu or his doings but was trying to protect Gilgamesh. The ways of the gods can be subtle and puzzling.

It took three days for the hunter and Shamhat to reach the watering hole. It was good the hunter had replenished his supplies, for it took three more days for the animals to reappear, with Enkidu in their midst.

“You may leave us, now,” said Shamhat. Knowing that the priestess spoke by the will of Inanna, the hunter departed as rapidly as he could.

The moment Enkidu looked in Shamhat’s direction, she slipped out of her garments, revealing a body that would have aroused desire in any man. Even Enkidu, wild as he was, had never seen such an alluring sight. He had seen animals mate, but he had never felt drawn to mate with an animal. In that way—and only that way—he had felt separate from his furry siblings.

Now that separation became like a great chasm. Forgetting his animal brothers and sisters, Enkidu approached the priestess. For seven days and seven nights they coupled so lustily that even the beasts of the field would have blushed to see it. Enkidu, fueled by the strength of the wilderness, persisted far beyond the capabilities of any mortal man. By the blessing of Inanna, Shamhat was able to endure his furious attentions until his lust was finally sated.

Enkidu was as joyful as he had ever been—but that joy was short-lived. The animals no longer saw him as pure or as one of them. For the first time, he smelled like a human, and they ran away from him. He tried to follow, but his legs, always reliable before, failed him. He would never be able to rejoin the beasts again.

“Do not mourn the loss of your former companions,” said Shamhat when Enkidu returned to her. “You do not need them anymore. Come with me to the city of Uruk and enjoy there the benefits of the civilization of which you are now a part. Visit the temple where Anu and Inanna dwell. Look upon the king, great Gilgamesh, who is like a wild bull among his people.”

Enkidu listened carefully to her words, for his understanding of human speech had grown amazingly fast. “I will challenge him, for I have the strength of the wilderness. Surely, I am stronger than he is and will be able to temper his ways.”

“Temper your own arrogance,” said Shamhat quickly. “For you are not stronger than Gilgamesh. He is loved by Utu, who shines his rays on him with special brightness. Enlil and Enki have granted him wisdom. Inanna is his special champion.

“Strong you are, but not strong enough to overcome the king of Uruk. Meet with him and befriend him instead.”

Enkidu, who had no desire to offend the priestess, nodded his agreement, but in his heart, he doubted her words. After all, she had recently taught him that it was better not to be wild. So how could Gilgamesh be a wild bull and yet also be a good king? Perhaps that was a question he couldn’t answer until he had met Uruk’s ruler.

That very ruler had dreamed about Enkidu on two consecutive nights, but Gilgamesh could not interpret his dreams. First, he dreamed of a rock fallen from the heavens. It was too heavy for him to lift, but the people stood around and adored it, and eventually, he embraced it as a friend. Then, he dreamed of an axe that had fallen from the heavens. Once again, Gilgamesh couldn’t lift it, and once again, the people adored it. As in the dream of the rock, he embraced the axe as his friend.

Troubled by these dreams, Gilgamesh hastened to visit Ninsun, the wild cow goddess, daughter of Anu and mother to Gilgamesh himself. To her, he related both dreams. Though he could not interpret either, she was able to interpret both.

“My son, both dreams are an omen sent from the gods. You will soon meet a man who will be your best friend and ally. He will be your equal, and well will he serve you. He will save your life many times, and you will love him above all others.”

Gilgamesh was gladdened by her interpretation, though he didn’t entirely trust it. Powerful as he was, why would he need such a friend to be his savior? The gods sometimes behaved in ways difficult for mortals to interpret, but ordaining such a strange thing seemed more peculiar than most of what they did.

While the king pondered his mother’s words, Shamhat took Enkidu to visit some nearby shepherds, who couldn’t conceal their amazement.

“Though different in some ways, he reminds me of Gilgamesh,” said one. “This man is tall as the wall of a fortress. He is strong as a stone that has fallen from the heavens. Surely, he is intended for some special destiny.”

The other shepherds agreed and offered Enkidu their hospitality. They gave him bread, wine, and clothing, and they made merry with him as if their meal were a great feast. The next day, they groomed his hair—no easy task! They also anointed him with oil. For the first time, Enkidu truly looked like the man he had already become in his heart.

Enkidu’s hands itched for a weapon then, and the shepherds provided him with a club. To thank them for their hospitality, Enkidu drove away the lions and wolves that harassed them. In earlier days, the wild creatures had feared no man, but one look at Enkidu, poised for battle, sent them fleeing in all directions.

Shamhat found herself alarmed by Enkidu’s decision to stay with the shepherds and be their watchmen so that they might sleep peacefully each night. But she received no new guidance from the goddess, so for the moment, she merely watched as Enkidu seemed to walk away from his destiny.

Destinies, however, are not so easily walked away from. One day, Enkidu saw a passerby and called him over, for the former beast man had not met anyone new after he joined the shepherds.

“I am on my way to a wedding feast in Uruk,” said the stranger after Enkidu asked where he was going. “After the feast is done, King Gilgamesh will sleep with the bride before her husband does.”

Enkidu was relatively new to civilization, but even to him, such a custom seemed wrong.

“Surely, you have misunderstood,” said Enkidu. “No just king would allow such a tradition to develop.”

The stranger looked at Enkidu as if he were an idiot. “Traditions are always governed by those whom the gods make strongest. Gilgamesh’s actions have been divinely ordained. Who has the right to question them?”

Enkidu ended the conversation as quickly as possible and brooded over what the stranger had said, his rage growing hotter with each passing minute. A king should protect his people, not exploit them. Enkidu would do what he had first intended and challenge Gilgamesh. If rules were made by the strong, it was only fitting that the strength of Gilgamesh should be tested. Who could do that better than Enkidu?

Shamhat fretted over Enkidu’s decision to go to Uruk angry. But again, Inanna declined to give her any guidance. She took that as a sign not to interfere and went quietly after Enkidu, walking behind him like a protecting spirit as he travelled toward Uruk.

As soon as Enkidu entered Uruk, his appearance was enough to raise the people’s spirits.

“He is so like Gilgamesh,” some of them whispered. “He is shorter but seems to have greater fortitude. He is like a stone that has fallen from the heavens.”

The people were so desperate that they might have reacted almost as well if Enkidu had appeared among them as a beast man. Now, with him looking more fit to rival a king, their enthusiasm spread like a flood that would wash away the cruelty of Gilgamesh’s rule. If Enkidu would lead, they would follow.

Shamhat feared what would come of such talk. Even now, the people in the streets had said enough to justify Gilgamesh executing Enkidu, even though the former beast man moved through the crowd without comment. But still, the priestess remained silent, fearful to interfere with the plans of gods.

Enkidu’s keen hearing led him toward the wedding celebration. Already, the feast was near an end, the appropriate sacrifices to the gods had been made, and Gilgamesh approached the house where the bride, unable to refuse him, dreaded his visit.

The former beast man got there first, positioned himself in such a way that he blocked the gate, and ordered Gilgamesh to halt.

The king, unaccustomed to such disobedience, charged at Enkidu, and they grappled like champion wrestlers.

Either one of them could have defeated any other warrior. But neither could at first defeat the other. They fought like wild bulls, each refusing to yield. Their battle echoed in the streets, drawing a larger and larger crowd. Fortunately, the people stayed at a safe distance. Otherwise, the battle was so intense that it would have painted the road and the surrounding buildings with their blood.

Shamhat stood as near as she dared, wringing her hands and praying to Inanna to save Enkidu. Ninsun, keeping herself invisible to mortal eyes, also drew near, for she sensed that Gilgamesh’s dreams were about to come true.

So fierce was the battle that stone buildings trembled as if struck by an earthquake. Gates fell. Doorposts shattered. How much longer could Uruk withstand such combat?

Enkidu was as unyielding as the mountains near his birthplace—but even a mountain can be worn down over time. After several hours, Gilgamesh managed to throw Enkidu to the ground, shaking all the nearby buildings one last time. The king knelt, using his knee to hold down the fallen wild man.

Shamhat held her breath. Gilgamesh would have every right to kill Enkidu. No one would be able to object.

But Gilgamesh’s features softened as he remembered how his mother had interpreted his dreams. Could this warrior, so close to equality with Gilgamesh, be the stone that had fallen from heaven, the axe that had fallen from heaven?

“I yield to you,” said Enkidu hoarsely. “For your mother is a goddess, and Enlil has bestowed upon you the strength to be a true ruler. No mortal can ever hope to defeat you.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Gilgamesh removed his knee, rose, and pulled Enkidu to his feet. “Never have I faced a worthier opponent. Henceforth, we shall be friends—and brothers.”

The people, most of whom had been quietly rooting for Enkidu, didn’t know at first how to react. Their applause for Gilgamesh’s victory was at most polite. But it became more enthusiastic as they began to realize that Gilgamesh no longer seemed inclined to lie with the bride.

Ninsun appeared at Gilgamesh’s side. In those days, appearances by deities were far more frequent, so the crowd was only mildly unsettled by her unexpected presence.

“My son, you have acted wisely,” she said. “It is fitting that Enkidu, who has neither father, nor mother, nor any other kin, should be your brother. He is the fulfillment of the signs the gods have sent to you.”

At the thought of how alone he had been, Enkidu wept bitter tears. Gilgamesh held him more tightly.

“Be not sad, my brother, for you and I will be inseparable. Together, we will go on epic quests to rid the world of evils.”

That got an even more enthusiastic response from the crowd. A king off adventuring would be a king who didn’t bother them.

Shamhat allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

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