Akitu in Nippur: The Divine Vibrations of Šemgalzur

Dear readers,

Today I take you into a hidden corner of the *Sumerian Deluge: Gods and Mortals* universe—an unreleased scene not featured in the book. Our borrowed gaze belongs to Šemgalzur, the leader of Enlil’s shadow network, Lúmušir \[⚑]. Through his eyes, we witness the Akitu Festival celebrated in Enlil’s holy city, Nippur, beneath the shadow of the great Ekur Ziggurat. Nippur is more than a city; it is the sacred center that knots heaven to earth, where divine will is etched into stone. Even kings of other cities seek their fate here. This “side-universe” story blends historical flavor with narrative fiction—breathe in the scent of stone, incense smoke, and the tense heartbeat of divine order.

**The Silence of Stone** *(Purification – Day -3 ► 0)*

The great bronze gates of Ekur remain sealed, guarding a divine secret. From within, a muffled murmur seeps through the air—the monotone chanting of priests reciting the balag hymn, heavy enough to weigh down even the breeze. In the courtyards, figures in white linen dip into sacred pools; each droplet that splashes feels like part of a ritual thousands of years in motion. Their movements show neither haste nor hesitation—only the cold stillness of stone and the burden of duty. The streets hold their breath in anticipation of the festival; only the rhythmic sound of guards’ sandals on the stone floor breaks the hush. Silence reigns… yet beneath the ground, from the foundations of Ekur, a subtle vibration radiates—so deep even a trained ear like mine struggles to discern it. It’s as if the heart of the mountain is beating. The drum has fallen silent, yes—but now the wind speaks, slipping between the stones with sharper, more meaningful whispers.

**The Pulse of Waiting** *(Day 1 ► 3)*

The gates remain sealed. Prayers rise with greater urgency now, echoing against the stone walls, growing like a pressure waiting to be released. I—Šemgalzur—perch high above the city, beneath the wind-swept eaves of a temple roof, my eyes scanning every movement, every whisper like a shadow bird. The people retreat indoors, trying to drown last year’s sins and next year’s uncertainty in their private silence. But I feel the stone tightening—not just the stones of Ekur, but the city’s very foundations, the people’s patience, perhaps even the gods’ invisible equilibrium… all are straining. The pulse of waiting is louder than silence itself.

**When the Gates Open** *(Day 4)*

The bronze doors creak open with the weight of centuries. Light and incense smoke spill out, momentarily blinding. Envoys—Ur’s golden robes glimmering, Eridu’s priests bearing wise faces—step respectfully yet curiously onto Ekur’s threshold. Inside, the holy statues glisten under sacred oils in the dim light. In one corner, the city’s king (or rather, Enlil’s appointed regent) kneels. The high priest, in solemn ritual, begins cutting his hair and beard with a sacred blade. As the first black strand falls to the floor, it’s as if the entire crowd’s breath is seized. Even kings must bow before Enlil’s order.

**Humiliation** *(Day 5)*

Before Enlil’s statue in its majestic silence, the king’s crown is removed. The high priest raises his hand—and slaps the king’s cheek with a resounding crack. That sound… it echoes not only through flesh and bone but pride and power. The crowd falls to their knees as one, faces to the ground. I grip the cold stone railing, my palms sweating. I don’t know why. The flash of that slap fades, but its echo—its deafening silence—lingers in the heavens. Is this the price of order? Or merely a display of power?

**The Fire of Chaos** *(Day 6 ► 7)*

By the riverbank, among the murmurs of the crowd, coarse effigies made of clay and reeds—the faces of the ancient chaos, the ‘kur-gal’—are set ablaze. As flames rise to the sky, screams of both terror and savage delight erupt from the crowd. Ash drifts with the wind, settling on the warm bread of a nearby baker. The air reeks of mold, burnt reeds, and fresh bread—a strange blend of death and life. Priests begin chanting familiar verses from the Eridu Creation Epic:

*"Before the great waves come, the earth holds its breath. And the sky… inhales deeply."*

Ash and whispers… reminders that divine order must be won anew each year. This is the language of chaos: searing and transformative.

**The Procession of the Gods** *(Day 8 ► 9)*

The statues rise once more onto the shoulders of the faithful. The city’s main street is a river of bodies. First Enlil, in all his majesty; then his warrior son Ninurta; then Inanna, as dangerous as she is beautiful. Each passing statue sends a different wave of energy rippling through the crowd. Bells pierce the air, drums strike like thunder in the heart. The procession flows like a river toward the sacred banks of the Ídigna (Euphrates). In the center of the devout—kneeling, whispering hymns—I spot an old fisherman standing motionless by the water. His face is blank, like the muddy river itself. His eyes are not on the gods, but on the current. He has seen many Akitu festivals. Perhaps he knows the gods come and go—but the river, the earth… they remain.

**Fate is Sealed** *(Secret Night 9 / 10)*

The heart of Ekur, the Ubšu-ukkin, closes itself to the world. Doors are sealed, even the gong’s sound is muffled within. The air becomes thick with resin smoke, almost unbreathable. From above, I feel it—a divine vibration descending, wrapping the temple in unseen energy. The decision has been made. Whose star will shine? Whose crops will fail? Which city’s walls will fall? It is all carved into the tablets of destiny. I wait in the shadows, as my duty demands. I write the usual report: *“Order has been maintained.”*

But my reed pen trembles slightly in my fingers. Is this truly fate… or merely Enlil’s will?

**The Loosening of Chains** *(Day 11 ► 12)*

As the statues return to their temples, the pressure over the city lifts. A breath is released. Pots simmer with the scent of meat, pitchers bubble with the sharp tang of beer. People dance in the plazas—but still, within invisible boundaries, only the allowed steps. This is not freedom; it is a reward. The chains haven’t broken, merely loosened—until the next tightening. Fires fade as the night grows old, the last laughter scattering down narrow alleys. Ekur’s massive shadow once again blankets the city.

I listen. I retreat to my shadows. But tonight is different.

The vibration I felt beneath the stones on the first day… hasn’t stopped. It’s growing.

The earth is speaking.

But I still don’t know what it’s trying to say.

**Dear reader,**

If Šemgalzur’s silent witness and his first flickers of doubt helped you feel both the seemingly unshakable might of Sumerian order—and its hidden cracks—then my work has meaning. I would love to hear your thoughts. In the next post, perhaps we’ll follow this vibration’s echo all the way to Lagaš.

Stay well—and listen closely:

Even when the drums fall silent, the earth still speaks.

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**Footnote \[⚑] Lúmušir:**

A secret intelligence unit under Enlil, meaning “Ear” in Sumerian—observers and recorders in the name of divine order.

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