Justin Allen

Before a sin­gle man or woman had ever made the long trek over the east­ern moun­tains, or crossed the desert from the west, or fol­lowed the twist­ing shore-line of the south­ern sea, the Shi­nar was home to the gods. Ten-thousand there were, occu­py­ing hills and fields, streams and marshes. Lone­some by nature, the gods lived for forty mil­len­ni­ums in bliss­ful iso­la­tion. And They were content.

It was Mar­duk, the far-seeing, who broke this peace. He saw that the other gods paid him no mind, being mired in the con­tem­pla­tion of their own mag­nif­i­cence, and He waxed wroth. So Mar­duk called forth human­ity, direct­ing that a tem­ple should be built in his honor. And the peo­ple came. At his insis­tence, a priest­hood was formed, from whence He could direct his fol­low­ers in all man­ner of daily life. Offer­ings were made. Songs and poems writ­ten in obei­sance of Him.

See­ing this, the other gods became jeal­ous. They too demanded fol­low­ers, offer­ings and songs. So, They called to all the peo­ples of the earth, demand­ing that tem­ples be con­structed of wood, and brick, and stone. Kallah was hon­ored with the great Zig­gu­rat at Ur. For Moloch a palace, con­structed amongst the lofty peaks of the Karun Moun­tains — from whence he could look down over all the other tem­ples and smile.

But there was one place, mid­way between the With­ered Hills and the south­ern sea, a place where the Tiger and Ibex Rivers mean­dered clos­est together, a strip of land blessed with unri­valed fecun­dity, which all the gods claimed as their own.

Tem­ples grew there like blades in a field of grass. Vil­lages gath­ered round to sup­port them, each con­structed in a style meant to pay homage to the patron god or god­dess. Con­flicts nat­u­rally arose. Feuds became com­mon­place. As the cit­i­zenry grew ever more numer­ous, the domains of these tem­ples began to abut, one against another. Over time, they inter­wove so com­pletely that what had once been a hun­dred tiny vil­lages became instead a sin­gle mass of strug­gling humanity.

The gods could not decide in whose honor this new 'city' had been built, and so they too fought. Chaos reigned.

To this mega­lopo­lis, formed unlike any other on the earth, the god Mar­duk gave a name. He called it ‘Kan-Puram,’ which means both ‘home to all’ and 'home to none.' And upon this, at least, all the gods could agree — for never had a name been so well chosen.

From Slaves of the Shinar

The Over­look Press 2007

© Justin Allen