In the hush of the recent past, as the world around us slowed to an unfamiliar stillness, many of us discovered a rare gift — time. Time to pause, to introspect, to wander not just within our minds, but across the silent pages of history. For me, that journey of inward and outward exploration led unexpectedly to a name lost in the winds of time — a name that echoed with ancient meaning and mystery: Shaduppum.

This city, little known to most and now referred to as Tell Harmal, lies in the Diyala River basin, around 75 kilometres northeast of Baghdad. To the casual observer, it may seem like just another archaeological mound. But Shaduppum’s story — both rich and riveting — offers a remarkable window into the administrative acumen, spiritual fervour, and intellectual vibrancy of ancient Mesopotamia.

The very name “Shaduppum” holds a mirror to its legacy. In Akkadian, it translates to “the accountant’s office” or “the treasury.” Not just a place, it was a concept — a nucleus of order, governance, and record-keeping.

Shaduppum was no sleepy outpost. It was a vital cog in the administrative machinery of Eshnunna, a kingdom that flourished during the Bronze Age. What remains today — in mud brick and fragmented script — reveals a planned urban sprawl of fortifications, residential quarters, temples, and bureaucracy.

The city first emerged during the days of Sargon of Akkad in the late third millennium BCE, but it truly blossomed in the second millennium, becoming a pivotal node in Babylonia’s financial and bureaucratic network. Archaeological efforts led by Taha Baqir between 1945 and 1963 uncovered almost 3,000 clay tablets — a treasure trove of legal codes, literary epics, mathematical puzzles, and administrative records.

Shaduppum was not only the pulse of Mesopotamian order — it was a city of the sacred. Among its seven temples, one stood out: the Temple of Nisaba, the Sumerian goddess of writing and grain.

Nisaba, one of the oldest attested deities of the region, was the divine patron of scribes. It was her blessing that ensured accuracy in the clay-written ledgers and hymns. The temple dedicated to her — and her consort Haia — was guarded by two magnificent terra-cotta lions, symbols of divine protection. These roaring clay beasts, crafted between 2004 and 1595 BCE, now rest in the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad, their silent growls still echoing a command to respect knowledge.

One of the lions, looted during the chaos of 2003, was thankfully retrieved and restored — a small victory in the fight to preserve our collective past.

Law Before Hammurabi: The Laws of Eshnunna

Perhaps Shaduppum’s most remarkable legacy lies in its legal traditions — and how they predate and, in some ways, even surpass the famed Code of Hammurabi.

From the dusty archives of the city, scholars unearthed The Laws of Eshnunna, a sophisticated legal code attributed to rulers Bilalama and Dadusha in the 18th century BCE. Unlike Hammurabi’s often brutal “eye-for-an-eye” principle, these laws opted for a monetary system of fines for many offences — a progressive leap in jurisprudence.

A bitten nose? 40 shekels of silver.
A slap? 10 shekels.

These laws were nuanced, class-based, and far-sighted. Society was stratified into awilum (free men), mushkenum (dependents), and wardum (slaves), and the penalties varied accordingly. But the concept of measured justice — one that sought restitution rather than vengeance — speaks volumes of the society’s evolving moral compass.

The Laws of Bilalama contain 42 provisions, while the Laws of Dadusha contain 60 provisions. The laws cover various topics, such as contracts, property rights, inheritance, family law, personal injury, homicide, theft, and slavery.

Mathematics in Clay: A Babylonian Euclid?

Another layer of brilliance emerged from Shaduppum’s tablets — mathematics. Not just for measuring land or counting taxes, but abstract reasoning — problems on triangles, square roots, and even concepts akin to the Pythagorean theorem, long before Pythagoras was born.

These clay tablets, written in the sexagesimal (base-60) system (which we still use for time and angles), were likely teaching aids. They hint at an organised system of mathematical education — where young minds grappled with complex geometric problems, including areas of trapezoids and volumes of irregular vessels. Some of these problems, uncannily, resemble Euclidean geometry, placing Babylonian math centuries ahead of its time.

The Epic Echoes of Gilgamesh

No tale of Mesopotamia is complete without Gilgamesh, the legendary king of Uruk. Among Shaduppum’s tablets, fragments of this ancient epic were found, including the dramatic episodes of Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s battle with Humbaba, and the tavern-keeper Siduri’s counsel to embrace life’s pleasures.

That a city so rooted in bureaucracy also harboured literature’s earliest masterpieces is a testament to the rich duality of Mesopotamian civilisation: practical, yet philosophical; administrative, yet deeply human.

Like many ancient cities, Shaduppum’s fortunes rose and fell with the tides of empire. By the Late Babylonian period (626–539 BCE), it was abandoned. Its temples emptied, its scribes silenced, its lions left to watch over the dust.

But in that silence lies not finality, but resonance. A reminder of the transient nature of power and the enduring power of ideas.

Today, the ruins of Shaduppum whisper to the curious traveller and the attentive scholar. They urge us to look beyond monuments and embrace the thoughts, laws, dreams, and stories that once flourished in the cradle of civilisation.

As we, in our modern world, wrestle with the challenges of governance, equity, education, and meaning, perhaps we would do well to listen to those whispers from clay.

Let us honour cities like Shaduppum. Not just for what they were, but for what they tried to become — a place where order met imagination, and where humanity first dared to write its story.