Ancient Sumerian 'The Royal Game of Ur'
Prolog . . .
2254 BC. The Third Dynasty of Ur. A prosperous time, a rich time, a happy time, but a time near the very end of the Sumerian Civilization; only a fortunate man's life-time before the coming Elamite hordes, when the poet would lament: "When they overthrew, when order they destroyed. Then like the deluge all things together the Elamite consumed. Whereunto, Oh Sumer! did they change thee?"
Arphaxad neared the end of his journey from Eridu to his home in Ur. "My wife and child will be glad to see me and I them," he mused, as he stepped along the narrow path through the barley fields, bag over his shoulder, his sword slapping his thigh, and his spear firmly in his hand. Not too far away, the life-giving Euphrates river flowed, one of the twin rivers, the gift of the Gods, an arm of which protected and encircled the city. Across the water lay a bustling Ur, fires lit, music and hubbub wafting through the evening air over the city wall, and towering over, reaching into the sky, the ziggurat of Nanna, the moon god, proclaimed civilization and safety to the horizon, as it glinted in the light of the afternoon sun. "Almost there now . . . I haven't been eaten by the lions yet . . .," he laughed nervously to himself, for within sight of the city, and walking on this well traveled and guarded route, a mishap with a lion would be very unlikely . . .
More than 4000 years later -- on the evening of Feb. 25th, 1991, at a remote listening post on the northern edge of the Allied 'Desert Storm' thrust into Iraqi territory.
"Lord help the men that lie under that!" declared Carter as he extinguished his cigarette and shielded his eyes from the shimmer and thunder of the exploding skyline. In the distance a luminescent Hell of FAE (Fuel Air Explosives) lit the night skies over the Iraqi positions and their hurried retreat to Baghdad. Blindingly bright, deadly, near atomic in destructive force, the huge fireballs seemed to reach their thermal tentacles out to even this distance to singe his face and mute his unintentioned prayer.
"She's down!" the Jackson yelled. 'Again?!" cursed Carter. Strung out from the listening post toward the Iraqi lines stretched a thin spider web of wires and listening devices that could hear and locate the slightest hint of enemy movement coming back from the frontier toward the Allied positions. But now #30 was down. It had been so before and its intermittent failure made it totally unreliable. The post was 'blind' in front of a narrow, but important slice of the web. "Okay, we've no choice now!", snapped Carter as he turned toward you. "We can only spare one man. Get out there on the double. Take your low-light and I.R. gear -- it will be useable at least after that pounding stops. We'll begin repairs but in the meantime we can't be blind. The Iraqi's seem to be retreating but don't let that fool you. Keep Sharp! Watch those ruins carefully. If you see anything, sing out, then get out!!" "Aye, Sarge," you hear yourself mumble as you don your gear and begin your bold advance into the desert night.
Near the end of the 'blind' zone, you drop and prepare for a lonely vigil. Creeping over a sand dune you scan the horizon with your electronic eyes . . . "Nothing . . .," you mutter, "nothing but desolation, dunes, rocks, sand . . . and silence . . . that's good . . ." You inspect the small hill and ruins in the distance very carefully. A few short walls -- some ragged bricks really -- and a restored pyramid of some sort, are all that meet your eyes. The Iraqi's had stored ammo, fuel, and based some planes there a few days earlier . . . some kind of archaeological site . . . at least that's what the others said . . . now it's utterly desolate and abandoned. The night wears-on with you on careful watch . . . morning nears and the eastern sky begins to lighten a bit with the coming of the dawn and colors the dunes in the faintest of pinks. "Soon this low-light gear will be useless," you think to yourself, "better get ready to switch to . . ." But you don't finish your adjustments, for from behind you comes the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Very near!!!
You whirl; weapon ready. There upon you is a man with a spear. He looks up suddenly -- surprise and fear in his eyes. You are startled; hesitant -- this is not an Iraqi soldier. He screams, and thrusts his spear through you. Instinctively, too late, you fire a burst from your weapon. The man falls back trembling in the sand. "Please Lord, Please . . . I have made libations faithfully at the temple . . . have mercy on your servant" the man sobs, and crouches over on the sand. You expect searing pain but there is none. Groping your torso you find nothing . . . the man's spear has passed right through you and beyond - - no wound, no blood . . . as if the spear was never there. Nor have your bullets harmed your cowering assailant -- they seem to have passed through him harmlessly. You rip off the low-light gear . 'What the #@!&! . . ," you exclaim.
"Who are you? How did you get here?!" you yell as the man stumbles to his feet. You reach out to steady him but your hand passes right through his body. He rises. The two of you stand face to face. He reaches out to touch your shoulder but grasps only air. Hand passes through hand as you both attempt to touch the other.
"You are not there -- a being of the mist" the man utters.
"Strange!" you reply, "It is you that are not here. Even stranger that we understand one another's language."
The man looks closely at your face, sees your humanity and realizes that you are not the demon he thought. "I am Arphaxad of Ur. " he replies shakily, then with more courage demands, "Who are you, that lies in the fields on his belly, in the guise of a goggle-eyed demon?"
"I'm a soldier . . . fighting to free Kuwait," you counter, "How did you get here? Surely you would have been stopped by Allied troops behind me. No one could have gotten through."
The man seems puzzled. "Your words are strange, they mean nothing to me. I travel to Ur. There," the man points.
"THERE?!", you blurt out, "There is nothing there but sand and desolation!".
"What! . . . Can you not see?" counters Arphaxad. "Even from here I see the river encircling the city . . . the boats enter the harbor still . . . I see the smoke from the many fires . . . do you not hear the music from Nanna's great temple? . . . do you not see the great ziggurat rising to catch the fleeing sun?"
"No," you shake your head, "all is in desolation. The city you speak of is long gone . . . the river is 15 miles to the north . . . no one has lived here for thousands of years."
"Impossible! Friend, your words cannot be. Do we not stand in the barley fields of Ur at this very instant?", implores the Sumerian.
"I see only sand and rock" you murmur.
"From the future? You say you are from the future then?," he muses.
"Yes, yes, . . . . apparently many years from your time," you counter.
"I say you are from the past, before the great deluge. What year is it?," asks Arphaxad.
"1991" you flatly reply.
"By my father Shem!", swears the Sumerian, "But in the reign of what king? Only an anti-deluvian king could have ruled such a long time. I say it is year 4 of the Great King Shulgi's reign, the mighty warrior, king of Ur, king of Sumer and Akkad . . . may he reign a thousand years or more as your king must have done."
"No, it is you that are from the past," you say, "Can't you see the dust of tanks in the distance? Can't you see planes overhead and hear the explosions to the north as their drop their loads? You are on the battle front. Come with me back to my squad. You will be safe there, we'll protect and help you."
"No, No . . . surely you are wrong," answers Arphaxad, "For I see everything as it should be. Please come with me to my home in Ur, it is only a little way, and I will seek help from a physician for you."
You laugh nervously. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you?", you ask.
Sit for a little while," he beckons, "and we will pass a small portion of time with a game, for I have made many to sell in Ur . . . Please! . . . Come tell me how you live. While we play, you will tell me of your time, and I will tell you of mine, and in this way we will decide who is of the past and who is of the present . . ."
Epilog . . .
Arphaxad begins to fade. Slowly, intermittently, his form becomes transparent. He must notice the same in you for he remarks, "Friend, you grow faint . . . you dissolve into the fields."
"I suspect the FAEs have caused this . . . this joining of two times, yours and mine . . ." you reply, "They say they are near-atomic on a small radius -- they seem to have ravaged time as well as space . . . but the rift is healing itself".
"Soon we will see no more of one another then" he replies. "Sad, we have not yet determined which of us stands in the past and which in the future."
"I suspect we have done both, together" you murmur.
"It was good meeting you friend!" offers Arphaxad.
"It was good meeting you too grandfather," you reply.
"Grandfather!," exclaimed Arphaxad, "How so since my only child is yet young!".
"But you could be my grandfather from many generations ago -- I will imagine it so at least," you say with a smile. Arphaxad smiles too.
"Yet we have not resolved our question" he says with a twinkle in his eye, "Perhaps you are in fact -my- grandfather!". You laugh.
"I must be going . . . my squad will soon move toward Basra; it's almost 8:00," you say as you look at your watch and feel the rising sun's heat on your back.
"I too must go. Soon it will be dark and I must cross the great bridge into Ur before the city gates close for the night. Good-bye my friend."
"Good-bye" you smile as Arphaxad's image fades one final time into the shifting sands.
4245 years earlier, in the rapidly coming twilight, Arphaxad watched your image fade into the fields of Ur. "A strange man, "he mused, "friendly, if a bit confused. Little Salah would have liked his strange stories . . ." Happily he put his game board and pieces into the bag, hefted his spear, and headed for home.
And Arphaxad worked his craft, took care of his little family, and thought to himself often of his strange, confused friend who had faded like the morning mist into the barley fields. Little Salah grew straight and strong, eventually married, and when 30 years old
begat Eber. And Eber lived four and thirty years, and begat Peleg. And Peleg lived thirty years, and begat Reu. And Reu lived two and thirty years, and begat Serug. And Serug lived thirty years, and begat Nahor. And Nahor lived nine and twenty years, and begat Terah. And Terah lived seventy years, and begat Abram, Nahor, and Haran. Now these [are] the generations of Terah: Terah begat Abram, Nahor, and Haran; and Haran begat Lot. And Haran died before his father Terah in the land of his nativity, in Ur of the Chaldees. And Abram and Nahor took them wives: the name of Abram's wife [was] Sarai; and the name of Nahor's wife, Milcah, the daughter of Haran, the father of Milcah, and the father of Iscah. But Sarai was barren; she [had] no child. And Terah took Abram his son, and Lot the son of Haran his son's son, and Sarai his daughter in law, his son Abram's wife; and they went forth with them from Ur of the Chaldees, to go into the land of Canaan; and they came unto Haran, and dwelt there. And the days of Terah were two hundred and five years: and Terah died in Haran. NOW the LORD had said unto Abram, Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father's house, unto a land that I will shew thee. And I will make of thee a great nation, and I will bless thee, and make thy name great . . .