Inanna's Descent into the Underworld Ch. 04

Her mistress, beloved Inanna, was the one who had to triumph, if all was not to be lost. Heroic Inanna, clothed in pleasure and love - she had to win!

Then Ningal stirred in Ninshubur's arms, and the maiden cried out with gladness.

Ningal lifted a voluptuous arm and caressed Ninshubur's cheek, smiling weakly. Inanna represented motherhood as well, but Ningal was the quintessence of it - she, after all, had birthed Inanna. She had always approved, too, of Ninshubur's loyalty, wits and courage, and the junior goddess felt a great love for Ningal.

But now her eyes held a tinge of sadness. "Good Daughter Ninshubur," she murmured, "good seed of the land, soother of the maiden heart, tutelary of the girl acolyte... I am sorry most of all for you. You should be set in the sky of the East, like a star. Instead, your radiance will dim and fade - you will share in our fate, for you are one of us."

Ninshubur shook her head violently in negation. "Mother Ningal, do not speak so," she protested, "for even now Inanna is within your sanctum, battling for our sakes! She is within your sanctum, striving with her dark foe! Her strength will triumph - I believe it!"

Ningal only shook her head wearily. "It is good that you do not see what I see, that you do not know what I know," she said softly. "Inanna cannot stop what is to come. Our time here is over, Ninshubur. We are about to meet our fate. The path of destiny has been laid, and the walker of the path has commenced her steps. Can you not feel it, even now? Can you not feel it?"

Ninshubur's bewilderment turned to shock and horror as, suddenly, Ningal's form turned translucent and weightless in her arms. Then, in the space of a few breaths, the Great Lady was gone - swept away by the flowing waters of the river, disappearing like the mists of the morning.

She screamed - she could sense Ningal's presence not at all, and that had never happened before. Gods did not die like mortals - when Inanna had been overcome and vanquished her essence had not dispersed this way.

Then she began to feel it, in her very flesh and bones. Something was diminishing within her - something inside was fading away.

Ningal had already been near death - the fire of her life energy had burnt low. This mysterious destruction that was coming upon them had claimed her, first.

She turned and ran back into the Temple - pausing only to look in horror at the empty suit of Ninurta's armor, for he too had disappeared - and arrived in the sanctum, to witness the ongoing duel between the two goddesses.

The veins were standing out all over both their bodies. Sweat covered every part of their bodies. The struggle wore on, neither goddess giving an inch.

And as Ninshubur looked on, filled with worry and anxiety, the world crystallized.

Or so it seemed, to the three of them. For them, thought and movement had frozen.

For them, time itself had ended.

***

In the bowels of Uruk, Geshtinanna had completed her fateful task - even now she ran out out of the temple grounds, pursued by the few remaining guards, shouting over her shoulder for them to flee, flee the city, flee the land, flee Sumer itself.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw in the the chamber of the Well. Gilgamesh had explained as much as he could, but nothing he told her could have taught her to comprehend what she saw inside. But driven by purpose, she had done as instructed. And from the consequences of her actions, from the inexplicable things that had happened inside the chamber when she had finished what she had been told to do, she knew Gilgamesh had spoken truly.

The twilight of the gods, and perhaps of men as well, was truly at hand.

She fled through the streets of the abandoned city of Uruk - some had stayed, too stubborn or too weak or too despairing, despite Gilgamesh's warnings. Most had fled, many burdened with worldly possessions, though Gilgamesh had urged them to consider speed of the foremost essence.

Geshtinanna was to survive and live on for many years, but after the Great Calamity, humankind lived much shorter lives. She died at the age of only six score years - and future generations would consider that long-lived.

She carried her secret to her grave - that she had been the one to bring the Calamity about.

As a poem would later relate:

On the land of Sumer fell a calamity, one unknown to man,

One that had never been seen before,

One that could not be understood.

A great storm from heaven arose,

A land-annihilating storm arose.

An evil wind, like a rushing torrent,

A battling storm, joined by a scorching heat.

By day it deprived the land of the bright sun,

By night the stars did not shine.

The people, terrified, could not breathe;

The evil wind clutched at them, and did not let them live.

Mouths were drenched with blood,

Heads wallowed in blood.

The face was made pale by the Evil Wind.

Cities, houses, stalls - all were made desolate.

The sheepfolds were emptied.

Sumer's rivers flowed with water that was bitter.

Its cultivated fields grew weeds, its pastures grew withering plants.

The gods, like flying birds, left their harmed cities.

Father Enki stood outside his - for its fate he wept bitter tears.

And then he disappeared into the breeze, like a dream.

This poem, written in cuneiform on clay tablet, would later be discovered by a certain Dr. Tina Guest, Professor of Archaeology and Anthropology at Magdalen College, Oxford University, specializing in ancient cultures, with an inexplicable lifelong fascination for ancient Sumeria in particular.

***

Many gods "died" that day - their essence decoupled from material existence, they faded back into the fabric of the cosmos, no matter how far some attempted to flee.

But within the sanctums of the Temples, due to some mystery in their construction, the effects were felt differently.

The Temple of Ningal became sealed off from the mortal realm, and could no longer be reached, not even by the chariots of the gods. But it remained within the fabric of all that was, the tapestry of the universe, and could not be extracted from it.

Time no longer flowed within the Temple. And within the sanctum, which had become a metaphysical nexus, all was frozen in eternity, as a divine pattern that began to replicate itself throughout the world, again and again:

Two women, dissimilar in countenance and temperament but alike in strength and determination, locked in physical struggle, entwined in a contest of strength for supremacy; and, looking on in suspense, a third woman, a loyal companion to one of the combatants, the eternal watcher and observer, heart filled with hope and fear in equal measure: hope for the victory of her beloved, fear of the opposite outcome. She is waiting with the fervent wish to raise the arm of her desired victor and shout:

"Sweet is her praise!"