“The Hasanlu lovers in their loving embrace
Makes my memory an old tale retrace:
It is the good old Gilgamesh’s epic,
A man from Uruk, a city mystic;
A city within which legends strew,
The city where Gilgamesh rule did he do.
His legend speaks of his quest so grand,
Seeking eternal life across water and land.
Enkidu whom he thought was his soulmate for life, –
With whom he realized all impossible strife,
Was to him more than a mere friend or brother;
Some say he meant more than a lover.
But life’s tragedy struck with cruel might;
Just as flowers wither and birds fall from flight,
Enkidu was engulfed by death’s deep night;
No more was he destined to see sunlight.
Gilgamesh wept by his side when he died,
More than six days and seven nights he cried.
The city of Hasanlu stores another tale,
Though a tale yet again of love, loss and bale;
Forgotten it is; a tale of truths untold
Of a young couple, – Enlil and Ramsen bold,
Who swore eternity hand in hand, –
Such was their love, loyal and grand.
Just as Gilgamesh’s love for Enkidu,
Ramsen‘s held for Enlil deeply true.
Yet love, for youthful souls so fair,
Can blind their sight in passion’s glare;
It can shroud the future, far or near,
Lost in the moment, they know no fear.
‘Forever’, ‘till the end of time’, they say,
Forgetting fate that may come in the way,
But when fate does strike, it strikes them hard,
Their worlds fall apart and their hearts are scarred…”
*
In the days of yore when the winds carried echoes of tales untold through the cities and its mud-brick walls, over the rolling hills and fertile lands, through the oak trees of forests thick and along the mountains of Zagros, tales of calamity and triumph, or tales at times of loyalty and love. In those days of a distant time, a bard travelled along the banks of lake Urmia, jingling bracelets and yodelling rhapsodies. He was stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of ceramics of beauty sublime.
“These potteries look familiar to me,
Pray tell, merchant, from where do you hail thee?”
The bard asked as he picked up one of the jars that were arranged neatly on the cloth by the side of the dirt road. He shifted his piercing gaze to the man sitting behind the earthen utensils.
“From the city of Nimrud, far down west from here,” the merchant replied. The bard cackled and began singing once again:
“I see your donkey carries you far,
From west of Nimrud to Hasanlu’s star…
Old Nimrud, I know the city well,
For I too reside in its ancient spell.
As I set eyes on your pots I could tell,
For they carry their hometown’s sweet smell.”
The bard’s bracelets and bead necklaces jingled in rhythm as he adjusted his embroidered shawl over his tunic. The merchant chuckled, “I see, you are a fellow Assyrian.What are you doing so far from the capital?” He asked the bard who went on in a sprightly tune:
“You should inquire good old wind, not me,
For I follow its wild, untamed spree.
Now, which way do you intend to roam?
Onward north, south, east or back west for home?”
The merchant looked up at the evening sky and replied, “the sun has set for today. Tomorrow, I shall depart to meet the bronze smith of Hasanlu with whom I will trade all my ceramics. I will head home to Nimrud after that.”
“Let me join you on this journey grand,
If I may travel with you through foreign lands,
Trader of pottery, an art divine.
I’m sure it will be a delight so fine.”
The bard’s accessories tinkled as he sang. The merchant couldn’t help but smile, “certainly. I invite you with pleasure.”
The next day, the two reached the bronze smith’s house that was a few miles away. The bard banged on the bronze smith’s door.
“From the western city of Nimrud we come
To knock at your door for a trade of great sum.
Open, we beseech you, if you will be kind
O, wizard of bronze who can metal spellbind.”
The door opened. The bard greeted with a smile but the merchant frowned instead, as a young man came through it.
“Wherefore do you bear such a troubled brow?
Why frown and fret where there should be a bow?
What makes you flinch so? Is it the light beard?
Or his figure prow and strong, as though of a leopard?”
The bard asked but before the merchant could answer, the young man spoke.
“Do not worry, gentlemen of Nimrud, I’m the bronze smith’s son. My father passed away in the war with the Urartians a year ago. Now I have taken over the shop.” The three of them fell silent and the bard’s smile faded.
“Alas, the worthy smith’s soul now does soar
The wide blue skies; twelve moon cycles and more…
To the holy hands of God may it ascend
Where it shall find peace and rest without end.”1
As the bard finished the prayer, another young lad came through the door. Though a little shorter, this one was more muscular. The bard looked at him and back at the son. With a smile he sang in praise:
“You two are blossoming in handsome youth
My eyes doth your beauty soothe,
Teach me your names, I’m tempted to know
If you would let me with your voices mellow.”
The son answered, “I’m Ramsen and he is Enlil, sir. Enlil’s parents died when he was a little boy, so he has been with our family since.” He turned to the lad beside him and said, “Enlil, bring our guests some bread and wine and prepare a few metalworks that we could show them.” The lad immediately disappeared through the door and his quick footsteps could be heard as he made his way through the house.
The bard’s earrings tinkled as he began:
“Though outwardly fair, inwardly grim,
Is there a strife between you, so dim?
Appearances deceive the eyes; now reveal
The turmoil that your pristine looks conceal.
The nasty truths that inwardly churn, –
A sin? or something for which you strongly yearn?”
The bard’s clear eyes looked straight into Ramsen’s as if looking into his soul. Ramsen did not blink.
“There is nothing between us,” he blurted out.
“The truth cannot be buried, it will find a way
Through slips of the tongue it comes out of play.
Come, to the good old bard do confide
Those secrets unsaid, don’t let them hide.”
The boy clenched his jaws and lowered his gaze.
“How did you know Mr. Bard?” He stammered after a moment of silence, his eyes still fixed on the ground.
“The wind speaks to me of world’s truths and lies
So love ‘t was that hid behind disguise.
Say, young Ramsen, have you a child you hold dear?
A wife and family that you most endear?”
“I do but this love to me is more true. Enlil is and will be the love of my life whom I will protect and endear for the rest of time.”
“Rest of time,’ you say, a phrase overused,
Its meaning hasn’t it been o’er time abused?”
“Mr.Bard,” Ramsen stammered again, “our love is true, I want to be with Enlil forever. Together, we will overcome any toil that life brings,” he said with more conviction.
“Young man, with words so bold, yet naive,
In war’s fury, what will you achieve?
Would you let your kinsmen suffer and cry,
To safeguard Enlil, and bid them goodbye?”
The bard nudged his chin forward making his ornaments clink. With a frown again on his face, the merchant opened his mouth to interrupt but was stopped by the bard. With an unwavering tone this time, Ramsen swore there and then, to himself, to the bard and to the big, wide world that he will be with Enlil for centuries to come.“With Enlil by my side,” he announced, “I will bend fate if it requires me to.”
The bard broke into a cackle so loud that it probably reached the Zagros range and his ornaments jingled along.
“Strive, Ramsen. Strive! Young you are still!
Together you shall be if that’s what you will,
For centuries to come, if that’s what you wish,
All obstacles on the way you shall banish;
Albeit your endeavour might end in vain,
If that is your wish, let it be your bane.”
After having said this, the merchant and the smith’s son finished their business and bid farewell to each other. The bard and the merchant headed west for Nimrud. On their way back to the capital, the merchant asked, “where have you gotten the news of the war? How did you know of Ramsen’s affair? And how did you get him to talk so easily about it? What are you, a mere bard, a prophet or a wizard?”
“As I said before, I repeat with sighs,
The wind speaks to me of world’s truths and lies.
Listen closely and you too will hear
Hah! I am no wizard, do not fear.”
The bard laughed the matter off but the merchant did not seem satisfied, “why then have you planted such a seed of worry in young Ramsen’s heart? He has lost his father in the war, was he not pitiful enough?” To this the bard exclaimed:
“Do I look so despicable and cruel
To toy with innocence, so pure as a jewel,
Just to get out of it some minor pleasure?
Do I look like such a disgraceful failure?
I just warned him of life’s uncertain way,
Immortality’s quest, a daunting play.
Eternal love, a feat yet harder to gain,
As in Gilgamesh’s epic, – truth remains plain.
Goddess Siduri told him a word wise, –
“All mortals must die, under earthen skies.”
And eternal love’s beyond mortal’s reach,
A truth I thought to Ramsen I must teach.”
This was one of the last conversations the two of them had, after which they parted ways: the merchant into the bustling city of Nimrud and the bard went singing through the rolling hills and pastures green. His songs echoed from hill to hill and through the tall oak trees. Songs of battles won and lost, of noble kings and many great Gods, and songs at times of immortality and love…
*
“For some, love is a tender embrace,
For others, a haven, a comforting place.
For Ramsen, like a fire’s warming light,
‘Twas his only refuge from the world’s harsh spite.
When he learnt love could come to an end,
A churning turmoil within him did descend.
He followed Gilgamesh’s quest so bold,
Seeking immortality, as the legends foretold.
Said he, “Enlil, my living Enkidu, by my side,
If eternal life I capture with pride,
And if all my wishes and dreams come true,
The one guiding beside me shall be you.”
Ramsen marched onward, to the world’s far end,
Beyond the waters of death, his path did extend.
He even fought sleep, but all was in vain,
He returned homeward, engulfed in pain.
A war had erupted, the city was in flames,
Ramsen sought Enlil amidst chaos and claims
Through houses ablaze, in scorching hot air,
Then together they hid, in a pit’s sheltering lair;
Enlil held his lover, Ramsen kissed him farewell,
And the two ignited in a fiery spell.
Alas! For centuries to come, the kiss will hold fast,
Have they found then, love that will forever last?”
A massive old man chuckled as he finished his song. He swayed in his seat on the empty train. It was the last one that went out before the terminus. It sped through the dark plains of West Azerbaijan, past the trees and lakes hidden by the night.
When the train came to a halt, the old man opened his tired lids, revealing under them a pair of clear eyes. As he made his way out of the train, he made his bracelets jingle, though fewer now. He hummed old tunes of times forgotten as he disappeared into the night.
- Influenced by Assyrian Poems on the Immortality of the Soul. Transactions of the Society Biblical Archaeology, Vol II, pg.29. Link: https://opensiuc.lib.siu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1851&context=ocj ↩︎
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