The 12th Planet (61 page)

and greatly increased upon the earth,

and the ark floated upon the waters.

And the waters became exceedingly strong upon the

earth and all the high mountains were covered,

those that are under all the skies:

fifteen cubits above them did the water prevail,

and the mountains were covered.

And all flesh perished....

Both man and cattle and creeping things

and the birds of the skies

were wiped off from the Earth;

And Noah only was left,

and that which were with him in the ark.

The waters prevailed upon Earth 150 days, when the Deity

caused a wind to pass upon the Earth,

and the waters were calmed.

And the fountains of the deep were dammed,

as were the sluices of the heavens;

and the rain from the skies was arrested.

And the waters began to go back from upon the Earth,

coming and going back.

And after one hundred and fifty days,

the waters were less;

and the ark rested on the Mounts of Ararat.

According to the biblical version, Mankind's ordeal began "in the six hundredth year of Noah's life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month." The ark rested on the Mounts of Ararat "in the seventh month, on the seventeenth day of the month." The surge of the waters and their gradual "going back"—enough to lower the water level so that the ark rested on the peaks of Ararat—lasted, then, a full five months. Then "the waters continued to diminish, until the peaks of the mountains"—and not just the towering Ararats—"could be seen on the eleventh day of the tenth month," nearly three months later.

Noah waited another forty days. Then he sent out a raven and a dove "to see if the waters were abated from off the face of the ground." On the third try, the dove came back holding an olive leaf in her mouth, indicating that the waters had receded enough to enable treetops to be seen. After a while, Noah sent out the dove once more, "but she returned not again." The Deluge was over.

And Noah removed the covering of the Ark

and looked, and behold:

the face of the ground was dry.

"In the second month, on the twenty-seventh day of the month, did the earth dry up." It was the six hundred and first year of Noah. The ordeal had lasted a year and ten days.

Then Noah and all that were with him in the ark came out. And he built an altar and offered burnt sacrifices to the Deity.

And the Deity smelled the enticing smell

and said in his heart:

"I shall no longer curse the dry land

on account of the Earthling;

for his heart's desire is evil from his youth."

The "happy ending" is as full of contradictions as the Deluge story itself. It begins with a long indictment of Mankind for various abominations, including defilement of the purity of the younger gods. A momentous decision to have all flesh perish is reached and appears fully justified. Then the very same Deity rushes in a mere seven days to make sure that the seed of Mankind and other creatures shall not perish. When the trauma is over, the Deity is enticed by the smell of roasting meat and, forgetting his original determination to put an end to Mankind, dismisses the whole thing with an excuse, blaming Man's evil desires on his youth.

These nagging doubts of the story's veracity disperse, however, when we realize that the biblical account is an edited version of the original Sumerian account. As in the other instances, the monotheistic Bible has compressed into one Deity the roles played by several gods who were not always in accord.

Until the archaeological discoveries of the Mesopotamian civilization and the decipherment of the Akkadian and Sumerian literature, the biblical story of the Deluge stood alone, supported only by scattered primitive mythologies around the world. The discovery of the Akkadian "Epic of Gilgamesh" placed the Genesis Deluge tale in older and venerable company, further enhanced by later discoveries of older texts and fragments of the Sumerian original.

The hero of the Mesopotamian Deluge account was Ziusudra in Sumerian (Utnapishtim in Akkadian), who was taken after the Deluge to the Celestial Abode of the Gods to live there happily ever after. When, in his search for immortality, Gilgamesh finally reached the place, he sought Utnapishtim's advice on the subject of life and death. Utnapishtim disclosed to Gilgamesh—and through him to all post-Diluvial Mankind—the secret of his survival, "a hidden matter, a secret of the gods"—the true story (one might say) of the Great Flood.

The secret revealed by Utnapishtim was that before the onslaught of the Deluge the gods held a council and voted on the destruction of Mankind. The vote and the decision were kept secret. But Enki searched out Utnapishtim, the ruler of Shuruppak, to inform him of the approaching calamity. Adopting clandestine methods, Enki spoke to Utnapishtim from behind a reed screen. At first his disclosures were cryptic. Then his warning and advice were clearly stated:

Man of Shuruppak, son of Ubar-Tutu:

Tear down the house, build a ship!

Give up possessions, seek thou life!

Foreswear belongings, keep soul alive!

Aboard ship take thou the seed of all living things;

That ship thou shalt build–

her dimensions shall be to measure.

The parallels with the biblical story are obvious: A Deluge is about to come; one Man is forewarned; he is to save himself by preparing a specially constructed boat; he is to take with him and save "the seed of all living things." Yet the Babylonian version is more plausible. The decision to destroy and the effort to save are not contradictory acts of the same single Deity, but the acts of different deities. Moreover, the decision to forewarn and save the seed of Man is the defiant act of one god (Enki), acting in secret and contrary to the joint decision of the other Great Gods.

Why did Enki risk defying the other gods? Was he solely concerned with the preservation of
his
"wondrous works of art," or did he act against the background of a rising rivalry or enmity between him and his elder brother Enlil?

The existence of such a conflict between the two brothers is highlighted in the Deluge story.

Utnapishtim asked Enki the obvious question: How could he, Utnapishtim, explain to the other citizens of Shuruppak the construction of an oddly shaped vessel and the abandonment of all possessions? Enki advised him:

Thou shalt thus speak unto them:

"I have learnt that Enlil is hostile to me,

so that I cannot reside in your city,

nor set my foot in Enlil's territory.

To the Apsu I will therefore go down,

to dwell with my Lord Ea."

The excuse was thus to be that, as Enki's follower, Utnapishtim could no longer dwell in Mesopotamia, and that he was building a boat in which he intended to sail to the Lower World (southern Africa, by our findings) to dwell there with his Lord, Ea/Enki. Verses that follow suggest that the area was suffering from a drought or a famine; Utnapishtim (on Enki's advice) was to assure the residents of the city that if Enlil saw him depart, "the land shall [again] have its fill of harvest riches." This excuse made sense to the other residents of the city.

Thus misled, the people of the city did not question, but actually lent a hand in, the construction of the ark. By killing and serving them bullocks and sheep "every day" and by lavishing upon them "must, red wine, oil and white wine," Utnapishtim encouraged them to work faster. Even children were pressed to carry bitumen for waterproofing.

"On the seventh day the ship was completed. The launching was very difficult, so they had to shift the floor planks above and below, until two-thirds of the structure had gone into the water" of the Euphrates. Then Utnapishtim put all his family and kin aboard the ship, taking along "whatever I had of all the living creatures" as well as "the animals of the field, the wild beasts of the field." The parallels with the biblical tale—even down to the seven days of construction—are clear. Going a step beyond Noah, however, Utnapishtim also sneaked aboard all the craftsmen who had helped him build the ship.

He himself was to go aboard only upon a certain signal, whose nature Enki had also revealed to him: a "stated time" to be set by Shamash, the deity in charge of the fiery rockets. This was Enki's order:

"When Shamash who orders a trembling at dusk

will shower down a rain of eruptions–

board thou the ship, batten up the entrance!"

We are left guessing at the connection between this apparent firing of a space rocket by Shamash and the arrival of the moment for Utnapishtim to board his ark and seal himself inside it. But the moment did arrive; the space rocket did cause a "trembling at dusk"; there was a shower of eruptions. And Utnapishtim "battened down the whole ship" and "handed over the structure together with its contents" to "Puzur-Amurri, the Boatman."

The storm came "with the first glow of dawn." There was awesome thunder. A black cloud rose up from the horizon. The storm tore out the posts of buildings and piers; then the dikes gave. Darkness followed, "turning to blackness all that had been light;" and "the wide land was shattered like a pot."

For six days and six nights the "south-storm" blew.

Gathering speed as it blew,

submerging the mountains,

overtaking the people like a battle....

When the seventh day arrived,

the flood-carrying south-storm

subsided in the battle

which it had fought like an army.

The sea grew quiet,

the tempest was still,

the flood ceased.

I looked at the weather.

Stillness had set in.

And all of Mankind had returned to clay.

The will of Enlil and the Assembly of the Gods was done.

But, unknown to them, the scheme of Enki had also worked: Floating in the stormy waters was a vessel carrying men, women, children, and other living creatures.

With the storm over, Utnapishtim "opened a hatch; light fell upon my face." He looked around; "the landscape was as level as a flat roof." Bowing low, he sat and wept, "tears running down on my face." He looked about for a coastline in the expanse of the sea; he saw none. Then:

There emerged a mountain region;