ultimate image painted of Gilgamesh. He ravages his city, “struts through it, arrogant, his head raised high, trampling its citizens like a wild bull,” (Mitchell, 72).
Then Gilgamesh meets and develops a codependency with his perfect opposite, another man formed by the gods to balance him out. This two-thirds animal man, Enkidu, challenges Gilgamesh, but eventually falls in next to his side as Gilgamesh’s other half. Here Gilgamesh learns to love and care for another, and he faces many conflicts and fears with the support of Enkidu, which leaves him wiser and more mature. When Enkidu dies from Humbaba’s curse, Gilgamesh’s pride and power is worn down by the hopelessness of watching his other half leave him. “Shouldn’t my cheeks be hollow, shouldn’t my face be ravaged, frost-chilled, and burnt by the desert sun… I cannot bear what happened to my friend” (Mitchell, 167). He embarks on his quest for eternal life, and from those that assist and hinder him along the way, he learned humility, acceptance, and perhaps even the beginning of kindness. The futile quest takes away nearly everything that made Gilgamesh’s character at the exposition of the epic, leaving a complex and grief driven man, who yet still self-centered, now has seen and lived
all. He welcomes Urshanabi into the beauty of his city, ending on what seems like a hopeful note, both for the city of Uruk and its king. The Epic of Gilgamesh is one of the oldest texts in the world, and the fact that it is still relevant and read over today is a truly admirable feat for any piece of writing. How does writing, survive so long and still connect with the audience from anywhere, anytime? Aside from the themes and messages relating to a universal audience, it is the characters and their familiarity that draw in a reader. Without Gilgamesh’s character development and experience of all of the emotions and inevitable challenges that come with humanity, the story wouldn’t have been so immortal and important in the range of literature that is surviving today.