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I’m not a wise man.

Having lost the will to live after the death of his friend Enkidu, King Gilgamesh wandered the earth dressed in skins and furs, looking like a wild man. After wandering for thousands of leagues east of the cedars of Lebanon, Gilgamesh chances upon a group of strange bald men in robes sitting beneath a fig tree. Fatigued by the journey, he sits amongst them, listening to their chanting. Feeling relaxed and contented by the droning of the men, Gilgamesh falls asleep in cross-legged position, an expression of serenity written on his tired face.

Finding himself awakened by the early rising sun he is bedecked in garlands, bouquets of beautiful flowers and strange currency resting in stacks at his feet. His startled eyes opened just as one of the men was lighting some incense in a brazier beside him.

The man jumps back, exclaiming to the others, “The arhat has awoken!”

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