BOOK II: YEHHI
Ten Year Old Yehhi Travels Across the Desert & Has a Dream
The clear, desert night sky vaulted all around me, and countless stars shone and twinkled. It was ages ago, and I was ten years old. I knew the lights above were the campfires of the ancestors and the gods, and I knew that they were beyond my reach. The soft rounded shapes of the dunes were barely visible in the darkness, and the other donkeys in the train, laden with baggage and other riders, barely registered in my mind. It seemed that I was floating in the mist of the heavens. As the night wore on, the gentle swaying of the donkey I was riding must have lulled me into a trance. I must have been dreaming. I felt as if I was being drawn toward one star which hung low in the sky directly in front of me. If only I could continue on long enough, I would get there and then I would be among the revered ancestors and the gods. Greatly I desired it.
Strangely, I could fly. I was above our tent looking down. I drifted lower toward it and then floated up higher, and higher. How was I going to get back down? I was leaving the earth and now soaring in the blackness of the heavens, among the stars. It was as I had wished. But, the stars were pulling away from me; they seemed more remote than the night before in the desert. Then I could not see them anymore. I was in a vertical shaft of darkness. I was plummeting downward in this narrow blackness and seemed likely to do so forever, since there was nothing below me. There was no rush of air past me as I fell; I was falling in a void. Or was I falling? No, actually I was rising now, rising back up. It seemed I would rise forever since there was nothing above me. Then I was falling again; then rising. Up and down, endlessly in darkness, and the darkness was permeated by a deep pulsing that cut through me. I was not just rising a long way and then falling a long way. No, somehow I was actually falling forever and then rising forever, over and over, faster and faster.
Each time I shot up or down the dark shaft—I could no longer tell which was which—I passed a bright spot, the only light, at the middle. This was the door, the way out. But how to use the exit, when each time it just flashed by in less than an instant? Each time I reached for the door with my hand . . . with my mind. But, in the time it took to reach, to think, the door was gone again. An impossible predicament, but forever is a long time to work at something, so I tried again and again to grasp the door.
As I hurtled through the blackness, I reached out my hand. The light flashed and I had it. My father was shaking my shoulder.
Strangely, I could fly. I was above our tent looking down. I drifted lower toward it and then floated up higher, and higher. How was I going to get back down? I was leaving the earth and now soaring in the blackness of the heavens, among the stars. It was as I had wished. But, the stars were pulling away from me; they seemed more remote than the night before in the desert. Then I could not see them anymore. I was in a vertical shaft of darkness. I was plummeting downward in this narrow blackness and seemed likely to do so forever, since there was nothing below me. There was no rush of air past me as I fell; I was falling in a void. Or was I falling? No, actually I was rising now, rising back up. It seemed I would rise forever since there was nothing above me. Then I was falling again; then rising. Up and down, endlessly in darkness, and the darkness was permeated by a deep pulsing that cut through me. I was not just rising a long way and then falling a long way. No, somehow I was actually falling forever and then rising forever, over and over, faster and faster.
Each time I shot up or down the dark shaft—I could no longer tell which was which—I passed a bright spot, the only light, at the middle. This was the door, the way out. But how to use the exit, when each time it just flashed by in less than an instant? Each time I reached for the door with my hand . . . with my mind. But, in the time it took to reach, to think, the door was gone again. An impossible predicament, but forever is a long time to work at something, so I tried again and again to grasp the door.
As I hurtled through the blackness, I reached out my hand. The light flashed and I had it. My father was shaking my shoulder.
At a desert oasis Yehhi listens to the Epic of Gilgamesh and meets a stranger with a gold tooth
The gods heard Gilgamesh, and taking pity,
Opened a hole in the roof of the underworld,
From whence Enkidu wafted like smoke up from the hot fires below.
The king of Uruk did try in vain to hug and kiss his dead companion.
So in frustration did Gilgamesh ask,
“How goes it with you in the world below?”
Enkidu spoke: “Rats eat my flesh that you once touched in joy.”
At these words Gilgamesh did cry.
When Gilgamesh had recovered himself again he spoke:
“In the world below have you seen the man with no son?”
Enkidu spoke: “Yes I have seen the man with no son.”
Gilgamesh asked once more: “How goes it with the man with no son in the
world below?”
Enkidu replied: “The man with no son sits by the wall in the world below and
weeps.”
“I would like to live forever,” I (Yehhi) said. “The gods have decreed that we must die, but why?”
“Ah . . .” Gold Tooth breathed out slowly before he answered me. “These are things which are beyond the mind of men to understand.”
“What is it like to be dead?” I persisted.
“Dear boy,” he told me. “I do not know what it is like to be dead. No one knows, and I doubt anyone living ever will know. In all the long ages of the world from the Creation until now, no one has ever come back to tell the living. Not one!”
Opened a hole in the roof of the underworld,
From whence Enkidu wafted like smoke up from the hot fires below.
The king of Uruk did try in vain to hug and kiss his dead companion.
So in frustration did Gilgamesh ask,
“How goes it with you in the world below?”
Enkidu spoke: “Rats eat my flesh that you once touched in joy.”
At these words Gilgamesh did cry.
When Gilgamesh had recovered himself again he spoke:
“In the world below have you seen the man with no son?”
Enkidu spoke: “Yes I have seen the man with no son.”
Gilgamesh asked once more: “How goes it with the man with no son in the
world below?”
Enkidu replied: “The man with no son sits by the wall in the world below and
weeps.”
“I would like to live forever,” I (Yehhi) said. “The gods have decreed that we must die, but why?”
“Ah . . .” Gold Tooth breathed out slowly before he answered me. “These are things which are beyond the mind of men to understand.”
“What is it like to be dead?” I persisted.
“Dear boy,” he told me. “I do not know what it is like to be dead. No one knows, and I doubt anyone living ever will know. In all the long ages of the world from the Creation until now, no one has ever come back to tell the living. Not one!”
On Recommendation from “Gold Tooth” Yehhi enters the scribe school at the moon temple in Ur
That is how I came into the service of the Temple of Nanna (Moon). Really it was just two accidents: an accidental meeting with a strange traveler at a desert oasis and an equally accidental encounter with a young scribe buying frankincense. At first, things were very hard for me at the Temple because I was very much an outsider. Most novice scribes came from noble families of the city and began their education at the Temple school by the age of seven or eight. My humble origins, and the fact that I was already ten, meant that I was often singled out for ridicule by teachers and fellow students alike. The other boys called me god meat, or sometimes just meat for short, and to their delight I was beaten often.
I was given the job of fetching choicest olive oil from the Temple storehouses, for the anointing of the idol of Nanna. The idol was anointed nightly at the first sighting of the moon from the Temple parapet. I needed to make sure that a vessel of oil was on hand at the door of the outer sanctuary well in advance of the required time so that the priestesses could perform their purification rituals upon it prior to entering the Holy of Holies.
When I was assigned this chore, one of the senior temple administrators warned me of the dire consequences of failing in my duty. He told me about a boy who had performed the same job some years before and had once been late with the oil. Nanna then had shown his displeasure that very night by sending lumps of a cold, white rock pelting down from the sky. Strangely, by morning these heavenly projectiles had disappeared, but they left devastation in the fields and in the orchards all around Ur.
“That careless boy wound up as god meat,” the administrator said with a chill in his voice.
Of course I had heard that term many times, but never from an adult, a teacher or a temple official.
“Excuse me sir,” I said in a halting voice. “I have heard this god meat from the other boys, but I don’t know what it means.”
“Every year at the Akitu festival a very important and very special sacrifice is made. One young man is given the honor of being consumed by Nanna, and therefore going to join the god in the sky.”
“Consumed by?” I stammered.
“Yes, devoured! Meat for the god! It is a great honor to be chosen, or at least it was in my day. Shamefully, these days the well connected families of some of the temple boys intercede to exclude their sons from consideration. In fact, what was once an honor, and still is an honor on the face of it, has changed over time to actually be a penalty. Do a bad job in your work for the Temple, break the rules, perform at the bottom of your class, and you might end up as god meat at the next festival, unless, of course, you’re from a good family. But, you are not.
I was given the job of fetching choicest olive oil from the Temple storehouses, for the anointing of the idol of Nanna. The idol was anointed nightly at the first sighting of the moon from the Temple parapet. I needed to make sure that a vessel of oil was on hand at the door of the outer sanctuary well in advance of the required time so that the priestesses could perform their purification rituals upon it prior to entering the Holy of Holies.
When I was assigned this chore, one of the senior temple administrators warned me of the dire consequences of failing in my duty. He told me about a boy who had performed the same job some years before and had once been late with the oil. Nanna then had shown his displeasure that very night by sending lumps of a cold, white rock pelting down from the sky. Strangely, by morning these heavenly projectiles had disappeared, but they left devastation in the fields and in the orchards all around Ur.
“That careless boy wound up as god meat,” the administrator said with a chill in his voice.
Of course I had heard that term many times, but never from an adult, a teacher or a temple official.
“Excuse me sir,” I said in a halting voice. “I have heard this god meat from the other boys, but I don’t know what it means.”
“Every year at the Akitu festival a very important and very special sacrifice is made. One young man is given the honor of being consumed by Nanna, and therefore going to join the god in the sky.”
“Consumed by?” I stammered.
“Yes, devoured! Meat for the god! It is a great honor to be chosen, or at least it was in my day. Shamefully, these days the well connected families of some of the temple boys intercede to exclude their sons from consideration. In fact, what was once an honor, and still is an honor on the face of it, has changed over time to actually be a penalty. Do a bad job in your work for the Temple, break the rules, perform at the bottom of your class, and you might end up as god meat at the next festival, unless, of course, you’re from a good family. But, you are not.
Yehhi goes to Harran, makes a fortune in logging, and advances in the temple, before returning to Ur
After seven years as a Temple novice, I graduated to the level of junior scribe. My lack of direction must have been apparent to my teachers because they decided to assign me to accompany a logging expedition up the River to Harran. I think they believed that some time away from the Temple might help me find my calling.
One morning, I arose before the others and walked off up the mountain. I passed the cleared area of cut trees and plunged into the deepening forest beyond. I found myself standing in the middle of a circle of about ten huge evergreens. What was visible of the massive trunks, obscured by low hanging branches, ground mist, and the low light of early morning, suggested strength and permanence. Each trunk, at the base, could have completely filled the round center of my boyhood village back in the marshes. Golden beams of morning light angled softly down through the branches and the haze, while the trunks shot straight up toward the heavens. For trees to grow to this size would take lifetimes beyond counting.
Due to the family connections I acquired through marriage and to the allure of the timber wealth I brought to the Harran Temple community, I rose quickly in the Temple hierarchy. By the age of thirty I was the second highest ranking administrator in the Harran Temple.
My father-in-law and I were sitting out front of his home one hot summer evening drinking beer and discussing the goings on at the Harran Temple.
“What are your thoughts on the Dual Nature of the Divinity?” he asked me. “Of the two factions, the Disk followers or the Idol Worshipers, which one do we support, and which one do we exterminate? We are the leaders Yehhi, so our support will be decisive. I am asking you, which side will win the Harran Temple?”
“A cult that just gazes blissfully at the Moon would have no need for sacrifices,” I said. “It would have no need for the animals, oil and grain. It would not need scribes or administrators, or lumber. It would not even need a Temple. They could all just go out and stand in a field and look up.”
My father-in-law grunted his agreement, and the Disk followers fates were sealed.
That is how I came to be called back from Harran to the mother Temple in Ur. Apparently word of my decisive action to squelch the Disk heresy in Harran reached Kepdu’s ears. He probably was pleased by the thought that his advice so long ago on the deck of our log raft had taken hold, and turned me into a proper tough minded administrator, able to make the hard decisions for the benefit of the organization.
One morning, I arose before the others and walked off up the mountain. I passed the cleared area of cut trees and plunged into the deepening forest beyond. I found myself standing in the middle of a circle of about ten huge evergreens. What was visible of the massive trunks, obscured by low hanging branches, ground mist, and the low light of early morning, suggested strength and permanence. Each trunk, at the base, could have completely filled the round center of my boyhood village back in the marshes. Golden beams of morning light angled softly down through the branches and the haze, while the trunks shot straight up toward the heavens. For trees to grow to this size would take lifetimes beyond counting.
Due to the family connections I acquired through marriage and to the allure of the timber wealth I brought to the Harran Temple community, I rose quickly in the Temple hierarchy. By the age of thirty I was the second highest ranking administrator in the Harran Temple.
My father-in-law and I were sitting out front of his home one hot summer evening drinking beer and discussing the goings on at the Harran Temple.
“What are your thoughts on the Dual Nature of the Divinity?” he asked me. “Of the two factions, the Disk followers or the Idol Worshipers, which one do we support, and which one do we exterminate? We are the leaders Yehhi, so our support will be decisive. I am asking you, which side will win the Harran Temple?”
“A cult that just gazes blissfully at the Moon would have no need for sacrifices,” I said. “It would have no need for the animals, oil and grain. It would not need scribes or administrators, or lumber. It would not even need a Temple. They could all just go out and stand in a field and look up.”
My father-in-law grunted his agreement, and the Disk followers fates were sealed.
That is how I came to be called back from Harran to the mother Temple in Ur. Apparently word of my decisive action to squelch the Disk heresy in Harran reached Kepdu’s ears. He probably was pleased by the thought that his advice so long ago on the deck of our log raft had taken hold, and turned me into a proper tough minded administrator, able to make the hard decisions for the benefit of the organization.