Chapter 3 - Citizen
The Plain of Engur. SW Asia
I must transport your spirit to a land far, far away from the temperate world of I and Ur’salla. This other world is contemporary to my own lifetime. It is an eastern land of hot sun, where we may meet the citizens. They live across a foreign plain where long, dry summers are broken by chilly winters of only sparse rainfall.
Wait, who is this treading along a dry trail? Two beasts and a tall, hooded man. We should follow this stranger, because he'll lead us to the next part of my tale. A willowy figure, wearing a long, hooded cloak of rustic weave. He steers two oxen along the dusty trail. In his wake, the traveller leaves behind the gardens of Eden. There, the citizens labour to drain marshlands, and to dam the natural flood basins. Their tough, collective efforts are well rewarded, with bountiful harvests of grain, lambs and calves.
To the right of the drive lies the unmastered, still wild grasslands. A wide, stony steppe, punctuated by small islands of stunted trees. Fascinating wild creatures survive there. Lions and leopards predate on herds of gazelle, oryx, onager and ostrich. Golden jackals, wolves, and pariah dogs feast on the carrion, while honey badgers shuffle their way across the plain to send hamsters scuttling away.
Our hooded traveller turns to the south-east. There he views the wild wetlands of the delta marshes, where the fisherfolk and wildfowlers dwell. It's there the sweet, fertile waters of Abzu, mix with the salty waters of his brides, to twist around islands of reed bed and silt.
The traveller’s two beasts of burden are weary. All morning they've carried his cargo of tribute, and both desire rest. They draw closer to yet another land in the west. Two oxen sense the dry air of the approaching desert. The barren world of sand dunes, scorpions, wild camels, and of jerboas who leap to avoid predation by long eared desert foxes.
This man who we are following has no desire to visit the hostile desert. His destination lies a short distance ahead, before the invasion of sands. Already he picks out its details. Palm trees and reed beds line the margins of the holy lagoon. This sacred water in turn, embraces the township of Engur.
Religion is ancient in this far away land. For generations, the locals shared bountiful harvests with their gods as sacrifice. Small shrines of local fertility and water cults prospered upon this wealth, and some have grown into religious sanctuaries of gods. Many people now flock like sheep to live closer. Their urban populations swell on the rich produce of the alluvials, outgrowing the ancient principles of the commune. New forms of government emerge, and for the first time in any world, the many are becoming ruled by the few. This division in equality is the new concept of civilization, and its inhabitants become the first citizens.
Beyond the lagoon, the traveller witnesses the spectacle of this civilisation. He sees other trails join his own ahead, to filter over a causeway. Multi-storey public buildings, mudbrick compounds which form winding streets, granaries, shrines, smoke rises from industry.
Above this urban sprawl, sprouts a massive, man-made hill of regular sides. Its summit supports a monumental building the traveller knows to be the house on earth to Abzu, god of the aquifer beneath. This temple is called the E- engur. Never in my own savage world could we imagine such a feat of human construction. With admiration, he gazes up the perfect ramps leading up to the grand doorways of the temple. Four temple walls weave between tall buttresses and recesses, each reaching up to the blue sky. Long, vertical vents open up these walls, permitting daylight to enter the interior, and the smoke of incense and ritual cooking to escape. Large bricks of sun baked clay have been plastered over to please the eyes.
It's no accident the citizens have built their holy house juxtaposition to delta, eden, and desert. The local faithful believe the lagoon is a relic of divine creation, a gateway between worlds. Some even profess it was here the gods parted sky from earth, then cast out the lands from its bottom. Others suggest the goddesses of the waters moulded the first humans from its wet clays.
Sands blow from the invasive desert, and the ox master pulls his hood to act as a veil around his shaven face, filtering out the choking dust. His oxen have no such luxury, and they protest with bellows. He murmurs a reassurance to his beasts, because they approach the entrance of Engur’s causeway. Here, stone age barbarian peasants naked, or wearing sheepskin kilts, with beads of baked clay strung around their weathered necks, compete in trade with chalcolithic citizens, dressed in tunics of weave, with beads of ivory and imported stones.
Our traveller pulls back his hood, so he might reveal his identity to any familiar friends present. This action exposes a weathered, bronzed face. His cracked lips are visibly parched. Wrinkles of a life lived, radiate away from his wizened old eyes. His head is strangely shorn all over, which gives us the first clue to his status, office, and identity. Further clues lie beneath his dusty travel cloak, for all he wears beneath, are a goatskin kilt of priesthood style, and leather sandals upon his feet. His name here is Arrapu, and he is a negotiator between an ancient water spirit called Nammu, and a rural village nearby on the edge of the marshes. On account of the antiquity of his priest-chieftain office, he’s recognised in Engur as a Sanga. The bustle of traffic is heavy as Arrapu steers his oxen towards a nearby row of merchant stalls.
It's from one of these stalls, a harpy voice shrieks out, ‘Arrapu! Where have you been? You old goat. What swamp did you crawl out of?’
The faces of citizens turn to face the source of the loud insult, to find a short, wide woman guilty. The culprit stands waving from her trading station. The citizens return their gaze towards the Sanga. Arrapu blushes as he senses their pity for him. Trapped here in charge of his two oxen on the highway, he’s unable to prevent further insults from radiating with force from around the single remaining tooth in Babatu's mouth,
‘I expect you’ll want me to care for your scrawny castrated beasts, while you drink beer, and eat fish with the high and mighty up the hill?’
It has been said even the bearded, goat-faced spirit called Enki, lord of the mound beneath the temple, has complained Babatu’s voice disturbs the peace of Abzu’s house.
Yet, she has more to scream at poor Arrapu, ‘You think I'll organise temple porters while you cool your stinking feet in the waters? Maybe I will, you old goat, but it’ll cost you plenty in exchange!’
The references to goats, and to the Abzu, could violate a few local laws. Either could be seen as blasphemy, and offensive to gods. Yet Babatu follows this with her usual loud cackle. Arappu himself is no more than slightly embarrassed by her manner. She’s an old friend. Together they make an odd couple, this tall skinny priest, and a short, rotund trader.
Two young men in Babatu’s service rush to the side of Arrapu’s ox team. They’re eager to take the reins and to unload the cargo. Arrapu is equally eager to be relieved of his charges. He holds out open arms to hug Babatu as she crosses over to join him. The merchant wears a goatskin jacket over a skirt of sheepskin. A sash of amber dyed weave around her ample belly for show. Babatu escorts Arrapu back to her trading station.
On sheepskins, she displays her goods for exchange, piles of stamped clay tokens, delicately painted pottery with handles and spout, ivory, painted clay beads for the Eden’s barbarian peasants, and the jewels of precious stones from far away for wealthy citizens. Whatever you could desire, Babatu can supply it, a goat kid for sacrifice, a mercenary guruš for an assassination, or the intimate company of a party girl or boy. Babatu can provide it in exchange for measures of grain, sheepskins, or whatever else the customer has to hand, for there is no money in our time. There are stories she has accepted the family members of customers as bondage.
Arrapu proceeds to enquire if Babatu is well, but she interrupts his polite greetings, ‘Shush, you old goat!’ The trader demands this using an uncharacteristic hush which makes Arrapu feel uneasy. She carries on with her quiet discretion, ‘listen old friend, I need to warn you. It's important you hear me’.
Still surprised to hear the loud merchant lower her infamous voice, he listens tentatively. Babatu’s eyes light up with foreboding as she mutters,
‘Dear Arrapu, you must be careful in the temple. Of late, the E-engur has become a hazardous house, full of ill doings. NinShudapa is nearing the end of her life. Her mind has already crossed to the Underworld, in advance of her spirit’.
NinShudapa is the high priestess, and reigning chieftain of Engur. Babatu’s eyes squint as she delivers the remainder of her caution, ‘Beware of a wolf from the East, who’s gained entry into a sheepfold of greedy gudus. His name is Uguli’.
Arrapu offers reassurance to his old friend, ‘Babatu, I promise you my once famous temper has mellowed with age, and my business in the temple today will be brief and formal. I’ll stay clear of politics and such mischief’.
Lagoon of Abzu
Prior to any business inside the E-engur, Arrapu needs to purify himself at the sacred lagoon of Abzu. He leaves Babatu to follow a well trodden path to the edges of the waters. A small flock of pelicans take safe rest, shaded by palm trees. Colourful birds - rollers and bee eaters, dart over the water’s surface to snatch at insects. A family encourages a naked grandfather to enter the divine waters. Nearby, a floodplain barbarian fills up his waterskins. Perhaps with the intent of sprinkling it over his soils or cattle as a blessing. A holy man sits rigid on a rickety jetty, contemplating the Universe.
Our sanga removes all of these sights from his mind. He strips away his travel cloak, removes his sandals, and unwraps his goat skin kilt. As naked as a wildman, Arrapu bends down and cups his hands into the magical waters of life. Soon his skin tingles with spiritual blessings. This purification complete, Arrapu prays to the gods of these waters, to those of fertility, and to others of agriculture.
He asks the gods of the afterlife to pass on a message to his wife, ‘Tell Sidura I still love her with my every breath, I yearn for reunion. For with her at my side, even death couldn't be so grim’. Poor Arrapu. Though this sanga is unaware of her, I can tell you Sidura’s ghost is always at his side. Arrapu’s rituals are complete. He wraps his priest’s kilt back around his lower half, and fits his sandals back on. He can cross the causeway, and enter Abzu’s house on earth.