Kadingu (or Kadeniya): The Ancient Sumerian Name for Babylon – 3300 B.C.
The day slowly receded, leaving behind a golden canvas painted across the waters of the Euphrates River. A gentle breeze caressed the reeds along the banks, while the flickering flames of small torches, set afloat by the revelers, reflected upon the water like stars dancing in the depths.
People gathered in a wide circle, laughter rising around them, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air as children ran between groups, holding clay cups filled with date and pomegranate juice. Musicians, seated on ornate carpets, played ancient melodies on lutes and drums, the music flowing through the air as if it were part of the river itself.
Amid the crowd, an elderly man with a silver beard recounted tales of heroes who had crossed this river thousands of years ago, of kings who built magnificent cities, and of the magic within the Euphrates' waters that carried boats, irrigated fields, and inspired poets. As his words rose, the listeners nodded in rhythm, as if sailing on the waves of time itself.
When the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, applause and cheering erupted. The torches blazed brighter, signaling the beginning of a night filled with joy, dancing, and song, with the Euphrates bearing witness to yet another celebration of the Akiti festival, marking the New Year in the Sumerian calendar.
Suddenly, a loud explosion silenced the revelers. Everyone froze, eyes turning toward the source. And then the darkness of night transformed into daylight! They witnessed the greatest star in the sky entering Earth's orbit, its debris leaving a radiant trail followed by silver mist cascading freely onto the Euphrates and the surrounding lands, as if the heavens had scattered their treasures upon the earth. The amazed crowd stood bathed in shimmering light.
The river itself turned silver, like liquid mercury, breaking the spell of awe with a voice shouting among them: "The heavens bless our new year! Look, despite the great explosion, none of us was harmed."
Another voice from across the circle added, "Yes, see how everything shines brilliantly! Let us celebrate—this is a good omen."
The celebration resumed with renewed delight, drums beating and instruments playing, dances performed under the shimmering sky. By the end of that extraordinary night, the Euphrates returned to its normal state, and the glow faded from their bodies—but it remained alive in their hearts. This tale was passed down through generations, from grandparents to children, surviving years, decades, and even centuries.
Over time, the remarkable event transformed into legend, recounted by children gathered at roadside fires or hearths, occasionally altered in the telling but never forgotten.
Iraq – Babylon – 1750 B.C.
On a calm afternoon, the sound of flowing water mingled with birdsong and the rustling of March leaves. A young girl cautiously stepped from behind the trees toward the river.
She tilted her head from side to side and whispered excitedly, sensing she was alone, "Hooray! I'll catch a big fish!"
Lifting her dress haphazardly, determination etched on her face, she stretched her foot toward the river's edge—but a deep voice, like the shadow of the trees themselves, stopped her. "Stay back, little one. It's dangerous."
Startled, she pouted and asked, "Who are you, stranger?"
Raising an eyebrow, he sneered, "Do you want the fish brought to you, or to go after it yourself? Also… where are your parents?"
"My grandmother told me never to speak to strangers. So continue your business quietly and let me finish mine."
"You call this your business? Throwing yourself into the river?"
She furrowed her brows in irritation. He continued in a dark tone, "There's a legend that this river is haunted… it swallows girls." Straightening from his perch on a large rock, he added, "It swallowed my younger sister when she tried to catch a fish."
Then he turned and left silently. The girl watched his black figure disappear among the trees, eyes brimming with tears, before she reluctantly turned to the river, hesitating. Finally, she ran to her grandmother to recount the fear the strange man had instilled in her.
Days passed, and she returned to the river often, reassured by her grandmother that the waters were clean and not haunted, despite the nightmares that had begun to trouble her.
She resumed her old routine—but this time, she had promised her grandmother she would no longer attempt to catch a fish, lest she fall in and become a meal for the waters.
On that exact Friday afternoon, she ran to the river, laughing, carrying her new rabbit with eager hands. "Come on, Carrot! Let's have some fun!"
She hopped happily, careful not to drop the rabbit. "I'll show you my secret spot—it's beautiful, you'll love it. Hmm… maybe you can bring your friends too, and we can eat carrots together," she mused aloud.
Her excitement broke into a squeal. "Carrot! Look, we're here!" She squatted by the riverbank, setting the rabbit down. "Are you thirsty? Want some water?" She cupped her tiny hands to serve the rabbit, who began drinking obediently.
"You're a good boy. Drink up until you're satisfied," she said with pride, then sat on the grass, Carrot resting on her lap. "Grandmother says you must eat well to grow. Don't worry, I'll feed you and water you. And you know what else? I'll build you a lovely home and find a friend for you to play with while I help Grandmother. I couldn't leave her working alone… though she's strict with me, I love her."
Her contemplation was interrupted by the steady sound of long footsteps. She turned to see the tall figure approaching—the same stranger. "Last time you tried to catch a fish, and now you brought a rabbit. Don't you tire, little one?"
He sat on his usual rock, the sound of snapping twigs startling the rabbit, which leapt onto him. She cried, "Catch him! He's running toward you!"
The man remained motionless, watching the rabbit flee peacefully, leaving her frustrated. "I told you to hold him! Now look, Carrot's gone! All of this is your fault!"
Tears streaked her face as she complained. He rubbed his neck, conscience pricked, saying softly, "It's just a rabbit. Don't cry like that."
She whimpered, "You should have caught him when he ran to you! Why did you let him go?"
"I'll get you another rabbit. Stop crying, or your eyes will swell."
Her flushed face turned toward him, suspicion in her eyes. "Another rabbit?"
He nodded, expression unreadable. "Yes, another rabbit."
She smiled, satisfied, and approached him with determination. Standing a meter away, she pointed her pinky at him—but he suddenly stepped back. "Don't come closer."
She raised an eyebrow, lips trembling. "You must promise me first."
He stepped two paces back. "Promise you?"
"Yes. Promise me you'll bring me another rabbit."
He nodded patiently. "Fine. But you must promise me something too, since we share this spot."
"What?"
"I'll bring the rabbit, and in return, you must promise not to come near me."
She hesitated, then stepped back three paces, tilting her head. "Like this?"
He smiled at her innocence. "Yes, well done, little one."
Despite the agreement, she continued to visit the river secretly, waiting for her new rabbit. She approached lightly, like a shadow, gently pushing aside fig branches. Her eyes never leaving him.
There he sat, pale, leaning on a rock, eyes deep as if gazing into a time unseen.
She drew closer—not afraid, but captivated by something she couldn't name.
"Why do you sit here alone every day?" she whispered to herself.
No answer.
"You know? You're like the light in the legend that scattered over the river, aren't you?"
He remained silent, as if his voice belonged to another era.
She continued, "They said it was a star, but I saw it as spray… it was calling you, wasn't it?"
She sat beside him, leaving a respectful distance. "I'm Lamasu… what's your name?"
After a long silence, he finally spoke in a low, hoarse voice, like a cold night breeze: "Sin."
She smiled faintly. "Sin… doesn't that mean the Moon?"
He blinked, surprised. "How did you know?"
"I just learned a few things from my grandmother. Sin… your name is like the moon! She says the moon sees everything but never speaks… just like you!"
He turned away, a shadow of ancient sorrow in his eyes.
"Are you sad?" she asked, seeking gentle reproach.
"You're too small to understand."
She laughed softly, fearless. "And you're too old to be alone."
She took his hand lightly, whispering, "I can stay… if you want."
"Why?"
"Because you brought me a new rabbit!"
He said nothing. She remained. She rambled about her abandoned rabbit, her wish to catch a big fish, and her grandmother's strict rules, while he listened quietly, letting her pour out her heart.
Unexpectedly, this became a weekly ritual, Lamasu visiting Sin, sharing her worries, joys, and mundane daily tales. Sin never interrupted; he grew accustomed to her chatter, her humor, and her clever insights.
"Lamasu," Sin's voice broke through one evening. She murmured in reply. "The sun sets—leave before night falls. The path grows dangerous in the dark."
She hugged her knees, resting her head, "Let me enjoy this beauty… I don't remember the last time I saw the orange sun reflected on the Euphrates with such brilliance."
He moved closer, sitting about two meters away, silently observing. The little girl had grown into a young woman. He didn't know how time had passed so quickly. He should be happy—but also sad. Her endless chatter had faded into thoughtful quiet, contemplation, and a love for observation.
"Lamasu," he said gently. "Why do you look troubled? You've grown silent and pensive. Is something bothering you?"
"Honestly," she hesitated. "I've been having nightmares. I barely sleep through the night."
"Nightmares? About what?"
"I don't know… they come suddenly, frightening, and vanish with the night."
"Are the nightmares the only reason? Nothing else?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Suddenly he said quietly, "Follow me."
Startled, she brushed off her dress and followed him. They walked silently until he stopped by a blue-purple flower growing from a large tree.
She paused, stepping back two paces, honoring the seven-year-old promise—never to enter his space.
He pointed to the flower, "This is a Numarel flower, rare. It blooms at sunset and its gentle scent drives away dark spirits and nightmares."
He stepped back. "Good we arrived on time. Come, pick it."
She crouched by it, muttering, "Can't you pick it for me, lazy man?"
Raising an eyebrow, he replied sarcastically, "Afraid my hands will get dirty."
She smiled, ignoring him, and finally plucked the flower carefully. "This will let me sleep peacefully again! Such relief."
"Just place it under your pillow and sleep well," he advised. She nodded gratefully. "I'll return now. You may go too."
"Time is late, Lamasu. Let me escort you to the exit."
"What about you? How will you return?"
"Don't worry. Now go."
They walked maintaining their distance until she reached the forest's edge. She turned to bid him farewell, then remembered something, running back. She wanted to call his name but saw him not far, leaning on a tree, holding a flower in his bare hand.
Frozen, she watched in horror as the blooming flower withered to ash and scattered in the wind. She gasped, unable to comprehend. He plucked another, and it too withered.
Her trembling footsteps revealed her presence. Sin looked at her in astonishment. "Lamasu! Why are you here?"
She swallowed hard, raising a hand to stop him. "Don't follow me."
She ran through the trees, more in shock than fear, until reaching her home, breathless and her mind reeling.
How? How did it happen?
Had she truly seen it, or was it a dream?
To be continued…