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In the dust, in the dark, Ereshkigal sits,
She, the Queen of the Great Below,
She is the Great Below herself.
Hers the throne, hers the crown
Of shade and silt, ash and mud.
The dead are hers, their shades she cares for;
The gatekeeper opens the grave for them,
The grave swallows them, she swallows them,
In her vastness the dead make their dwelling.
Her hands touch her swollen belly;
Tens of thousands dwell within her.
Anu’s messenger brings a tablet,
A letter from heaven, but not for her.
From the throne beside her, her husband rises,
Gugal-Ana, the Bull of Heaven,
Anu’s inspector of men’s canals.
“Where are you going?” she asks, annoyed.
“Inanna calls,” he says; “I answer.”
“To me you are wed, not her,” she grumbles.
“But fairer far is she, your sister,
And at her side are battle’s glories.”
At that, he leaves, his horns upraised;
His mighty tail lashes behind him.
The seven gates ring with his hoofbeats.
He does not return.
The Great Below is for mortals alone.
Dead gods go elsewhere,
And Ereshkigal weeps in her solitude.
Her belly grows tight, her hips grow wide;
A hundred thousands dwell within her.
Namtar, her vizier, grows anxious.
“How long will this go on, my lady?”
She smiles, sharply. “Forever,” she says.
She is the Lady of Thankless Tasks,
And this is hers, her lonely vigil.
The first knock at the first gate
Shakes the dust of the Great Below.
Namtar hurries to the throne room.
“Inanna has come!” he cries, shaking.
“Why?” Ereshkigal grows pale.
Namtar bows low. “I asked, my queen.
She says she wishes to share your sorrow,
To mourn with you the Bull of Heaven.”
Ereshkigal laughs. “She lies, my sister;
She has come to take the me of my realm.
If she wants the me of the Great Below,
To take as she stole the me of heaven,
Let her claim them! Let her in!
Let it be done to her as to all
Who walk between the seven gates!”
So Ereshkigal decrees.
Namtar leaves, his face still white;
He instructs the gatekeepers in their duties.
Neti bolts the seven gates,
One by one each gate is opened.
Naked, Inanna strides inside
The throne room of the Great Below.
She has been stripped of every honor,
Yet still her head is proud and high.
Ereshkigal, too, raises her chin,
The crown of dust and ash and shade
Perched high on her brow, her rod
Tight in her hand. She, too, is naked,
Swollen and powerful, huge in her throne.
“My sister,” they say, each at the same time,
And Inanna races across the floor.
Her mighty feet make the ceiling tremble.
Namtar, struck dumb by the sisters’ beauty,
Stumbles forward to protect his queen.
Ereshkigal rises from her throne;
She catches Inanna in her cold embrace.
“You steal my husband, send him to battle,
Never to return, slain by men,
And now you want my throne as well?”
She hisses, her words mud-cold and angry.
“I do,” Inanna says, and sits,
Still held in her sister’s grip.
The Great Judges of the Great Below,
The Annunaki, pronounce their judgement.
“None may have the me of this place,
The Great Below, without their price.
Will you pay that price, O Queen of Heaven?”
Inanna’s eyes are fierce. “I will.”
Ereshkigal’s rod, her mighty scepter,
Comes down upon Inanna’s head.
She turns away. “My sister’s corpse -
Hang it on the wall,” she snarls.
Still shaking, Namtar lifts the body,
The cold corpse of Great Inanna,
And hangs it on an empty hook.
To the gatekeepers he cries, “The Queen
of Heaven lies dead in the Great Below!”
Ereshkigal looks on the form of her sister.
It is the form alone she has;
Dead gods go elsewhere.
But something more than the form remains;
The me of Heaven and Earth are there,
On the hook, at the gates, on the dusty floor.
Ereshkigal is brought to her feet from her throne;
Her belly tightens, her back spasms.
Water pours from between her thighs.
Birth hangs dead in the Great Below;
The chasms shake, the halls tremble.
The dead gasp in their feathered shrouds,
Their meals of dust and mud forgotten.
Ereshkigal groans in labor’s pains.
Her belly clenches, her hips shudder;
A thousand thousands dwell within her.
Namtar, ever faithful, trembles.
“How long will this go on, my lady?”
“Forever,” she says, through clenched teeth.
She is the Lady of Thankless Tasks,
And this is hers, her eternal labor.
Eternal labor lasts three days.
The first knock at the first gate
Is barely heard over her groaning.
The second knock, too, is quiet.
At the third knock, Neti comes running.
“My queen, two beings are at the gate,
Two spirits I’ve never seen before.
No clothes do they wear, no staff in their hands;
They carry baskets, gifts fit for queens.
Men they are not, nor women, neither,
But yet they are beautiful of face.”
The Annunaki, judges great,
Turn each to each and shrug, palms up.
“The Laws of the Great Below are clear,
But they speak of men and women only.
Those who are neither - the laws are silent.
We cannot bar their entry here.”
“Let them in,” Ereshkigal gasps
From her place, squatting before the throne.
“Messengers they may be, from Sin,
Our father, asking for his favored,
Or from Anu, Lord of the Heavens.
Even though I’ll tell them ‘no,’
It would be rude to send them back
Without hearing their simple plea.”
Her hands clench, her thighs strain.
“You are in no shape for guests,”
Namtar says, but she turns upon him
The eye of the Great Below in pain;
He bows and goes to do her bidding.
Galatura and Kurjara
Pass the dusty threshold, bowing.
Their faces fair, their eyes downcast,
They show Ereshkigal due honor.
Their feet are light, like flies they flit
To where she crouches before her throne.
“Ah, my back,” she wails, convulsing;
“Oh, your back,” they answer together.
Their hands find her ribs, her sides, her tailbone.
The servants of Enki massage her body.
“Ah, my heart,” she cries, weeping;
“Oh, your heart,” they answer together.
Their eyes fill with tears, their throats tighten.
The servants of Enki weep with her.
“Ah, my belly,” she gasps, pushing;
“Oh, your belly,” they answer together,
“The dwelling-place of the blessed dead.”
The servants of Enki caress her stomach.
She opens her eyes. “Who are you two?
No one has shown me such kindness before.
Not men, not women, not gods. Who are you?”
Galatura and Kujara
Introduce themselves to her.
“From Enki we come, with gifts for you,
The long-suffering daughter of Sin.
We come with kindness, we come with compassion.
We wish the best for you, O queen.”
In her pain, Ereshkigal stands up;
She struggles slowly to her feet.
“If this is so, servants of Enki,
Galatura and Kujara,
Swear an oath, by Heaven and Earth
And by my realm, the Great Below!”
Their hands they raise. “And so we swear,
By Anu’s Heaven, by Ki’s Earth,
By your own realm, the Great Below,
And by Enki’s Apsu, we swear!”
Ereshkigal grits her teeth to smile.
“Then I shall give you gifts in turn.
Shall I give you a river’s water,
The cool, clear draught that runs in darkness,
Emerging from my realm above
In waterfalls down mountainsides?”
“No, my lady,” they reply,
“What would we do with a river?
We are no fishermen, no boaters we.”
“A field, then, ripe with grain,” she answers,
“Stretching from dusk to dawn, golden,
Waving with barley heavy in the ear.”
“No, my lady,” they reply,
“What would we do with a grain-field?
We are no farmers, no bakers we.”
She sighs, her belly heavy. “Then what?
What reward that I can give
Will gladden both your hearts in joy?”
“One thing and one thing only,” they answer.
“The corpse that hangs on the hook behind you.”
“That is the Queen of Heaven,” she says,
“Who came here to add my throne to hers.
None may have the me of this place,
The Great Below, without their price.
She chose to pay, and this is her payment.
To own the me of the dead, one must die,
As mortals do, and never return above.”
“We care nothing for the me.
It is Inanna alone we wish for,
Whether she is a Queen in Heaven,
Or a king, or a servant - that’s what we ask.”
So say the servants of wily Enki.
Ereshkigal waves. “Give it to them.”
Namtar’s hands reach for the hook;
The Annunaki lower the corpse.
The servants of Enki open their baskets;
Bread and water, herbs and incense
They remove. They tie the herbs
Together and asperge the corpse
With clear water, the water of life.
They tip Inanna’s mouth open
And place the bread within her lips,
The bread of life on her cold tongue.
Her eyes open with a great cry,
“The work is not yet done!” she shouts.
Ereshkigal drops to her knees in her pain.
“The work is never over,” she gasps.
The servants of Enki rush to her side.
Their eyes meet, they nod as one.
“This work must conclude at once.”
They turn to the Annunaki, the judges.
Galatura and Kujara
Sprinkle the water of life once more,
On the me of the Great Below themselves.
The Annunaki are astounded;
In shock they raise their hands. “Great ladies!
The laws of the Great Below are clear,
But by the powers above and below,
One of them has changed! Before,
It said that none may enter here
And return to the land above. But now,
It says that for each one that leaves,
One must come below. Great ladies,
What does it mean?” They cry out, amazed.
Inanna rubs her eyes. “It means
That everything has changed,” she says.
“My sister, I am sorry. I had thought
That I could add your realm to mine.
Now I see that they were never
Separated to begin with.
I will go.” Naked still,
She draws her dignity around her.
Ereshkigal reaches out. “My sister,
You have one last gift to give me.
When you leave, the gates are opened.
No longer will the dead dwell here
In my house forever. In return,
Your place must be filled by one
In stature great enough to count
As your replacement.” Inanna laughs.
“Is there such a one? I doubt it.”
Her hands touch her sister’s back
And guide Ereshkigal’s legs to crouch.
“Your time is upon you, sister. This
Is my gift to you, and to the dead.”
“Then go, my sister! Let the gate
Be opened. My gallu, go with her,
Bring back another to take her place!”
Ereshkigal’s voice falls silent as she strains,
The birth-pangs come upon her at last.
Inanna leaves without a word.
Galatura and Kujara
Stand at Ereshkigal’s flanks, hands ready.
The cry comes from Neti, the gatekeeper,
“Death’s door is open once again!”
Inanna walks upon the world,
Men and women once more laugh
And lie together, loins dancing.
Ereshkigal roars a mighty roar,
And death gives birth, the wheel turning.
The gallu return, a god in their grip.
“We bring you Dumuzi, Inanna’s fool,
Who claimed her throne as she claimed yours.”
Ereshkigal laughs, though she is weary.
“A husband for a husband? Yes,
My sister has a sense of humor.”
Dumuzi merely glares. “I know
That you and she are of the same mother,
But she is lovely, and you are not.
I will not lie with you,” he sneers.
“Nor will I ask you to,” she answers.
“My throne is not yours. If a husband I take
Again, after the Bull of Heaven, it will
Be one of my own choosing, not
My sister’s, nor Sin’s, nor Anu’s - mine alone.”
Dumuzi sits on the floor and weeps
For what he has left in the world above.
Ereshkigal’s servants, once Enki’s, console him.
“Don’t worry,” they say, “Your turn will come
To be reborn, all in good time.”
Six months pass, swiftly.
Neti bows at the throne room door:
“My queen, there is one at the gates, a woman;
She knows the rule of a life for a life.
She offers herself for Dumuzi’s sake,
That she and he should each spend half
A year with you, half with Inanna;
Geshtinanna is her name.”
At this, Dumuzi rises from the floor.
“My sister! She has come for me!”
He cries, and Ereshkigal nods. “I know
The feeling of a sister for a sibling.
What use are you to me? Go, then,
I accept the exchange.” Dumuzi runs
For the door, naked, crownless, unshod.
Namtar opens the door for him.
The one who enters bows low,
Her head touches the ground in reverence.
“Mighty Ereshkigal, I have come
In exchange for my brother, that he might return
To the lap of Inanna. I bid you greetings
From your sister, praise be to you both.”
Ereshkigal smiles. “You, too, are the older,
Are you not?” Geshtinanna nods, “I am.”
“Then you,” the Queen Below continues,
“Are also a doer of thankless deeds.
You are welcome here. Namtar, my servant,
Has long done more than his share of duties.
Come, be my scribe, and do me honor.
Sit at my feet and record my decrees,
The words of the Queen of the Great Below.”
And so it is: Geshtinanna sits
On a stool at the feet of the Queen of the Dead,
On either side of the throne stand
The beings who are neither men nor women,
Galatura and Kujara,
Who have compassion for the ever-laboring.
Namtar the faithful serves his mistress,
Neti stands guard at the underworld’s gates,
And Ereshkigal, Lady of Thankless Tasks,
Is no longer alone, in the dust, in the dark.
All praise to the Queen of the Great Below,
Ereshkigal, Merciful Queen of the Dead,
And to her sister, Mighty Inanna.
The scribe is Omorka, the story of old.
This tablet is done.