2. The Embassy

A “Potifar’s Wife” Story

© 2024 Roberto Morales-Harley, CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 https://doi.org/10.11647/OBP.0417.02

Book 9 of the Iliad encompasses an assembly, a council of chiefs, and an embassy. At the assembly, king Agamemnon proposes to flee but young Diomedes insists on fighting. During the council of chiefs, old Nestor suggests the conciliation of the hero Achilles, and Agamemnon offers him compensation. Then, the orator Odysseus, the preceptor Phoenix, and the companion Ajax are chosen as ambassadors, and each delivers a speech for the benefit of the enraged hero, who, in turn, gradually and slightly yields his grudge. Phoenix’s speech includes three substories: the story of Phoenix, the story of the Prayers, and the story of Meleager.

The story of Phoenix (Il. 9.447-477) narrates a father-son νείκεα (strife). It involves not only the son Phoenix and the father Amyntor, but also the latter’s unnamed ἄκοιτις (wife) and παλλακίς (concubine). As a tale of two men disputing over a concubine, it resembles the plot of the Iliad itself. Nonetheless, when compared with other embedded narratives such as the story of Meleager, it appears “almost parodical” (Scodel, 1982, p. 133, n. 13): the anger is aimed not at the offender but at the offended, the supplication seeks to take the hero not to the battlefield but to bed, and the curse threatens not his life but his fertility.

The epic version is as follows: Amyntor favors his concubine over his wife. The wife, determined to divide Amyntor and the concubine, begs Phoenix to interfere by sleeping with the concubine. Her reasoning is that having slept with the young man, the concubine would prefer him to the old one. Phoenix reluctantly obeys his mother’s pleading and, in turn, faces his father’s wrath. He gets cursed not to bear any children. Then, he thinks about killing his father, but a god makes him desist.⁶⁰ He wants to leave his father’s palace, but friends and relatives prevent him from doing so, by guarding him day and night by turns. On the tenth night, he bursts open the door of his chamber, leaps over the fence of the court, and escapes without being noticed by the watchmen or the slave women.

οἷον ὅτε πρῶτον λίπον Ἑλλάδα καλλιγύναικα,

φεύγων νείκεα πατρὸς Ἀμύντορος Ὀρμενίδαο,

ὅς μοι παλλακίδος περιχώσατο καλλικόμοιο,

τὴν αὐτὸς φιλέεσκεν, ἀτιμάζεσκε δ᾽ ἄκοιτιν,

μητέρ᾽ ἐμήν. ἣ δ᾽ αἰὲν ἐμὲ λισσέσκετο γούνων

παλλακίδι προμιγῆναι, ἵν᾽ ἐχθήρειε γέροντα.

τῇ πιθόμην καὶ ἔρεξα· πατὴρ δ᾽ ἐμὸς αὐτίκ᾽ ὀισθεὶς

πολλὰ κατηρᾶτο, στυγερὰς δ᾽ ἐπεκέκλετ᾽ Ἐρινῦς,

μή ποτε γούνασιν οἷσιν ἐφέσσεσθαι φίλον υἱὸν

ἐξ ἐμέθεν γεγαῶτα· θεοὶ δ᾽ ἐτέλειον ἐπαρὰς,

Ζεύς τε καταχθόνιος καὶ ἐπαινὴ Περσεφόνεια.

τὸν μὲν ἐγὼ βούλευσα κατακτάμεν ὀξέι χαλκῷ·

ἀλλά τις ἀθανάτων παῦσεν χόλον, ὅς ῥ’ ἐνὶ θυμῷ

δήμου θῆκε φάτιν καὶ ὀνείδεα πόλλ’ ἀνθρώπων,

ὡς μὴ πατροφόνος μετ’ Ἀχαιοῖσιν καλεοίμην.

ἔνθ᾽ ἐμοὶ οὐκέτι πάμπαν ἐρητύετ᾽ ἐν φρεσὶ θυμὸς

πατρὸς χωομένοιο κατὰ μέγαρα στρωφᾶσθαι.

ἦ μὲν πολλὰ ἔται καὶ ἀνεψιοὶ ἀμφὶς ἐόντες

αὐτοῦ λισσόμενοι κατερήτυον ἐν μεγάροισι,

πολλὰ δὲ ἴφια μῆλα καὶ εἰλίποδας ἕλικας βοῦς

ἔσφαζον, πολλοὶ δὲ σύες θαλέθοντες ἀλοιφῇ

εὑόμενοι τανύοντο διὰ φλογὸς Ἡφαίστοιο,

πολλὸν δ᾽ ἐκ κεράμων μέθυ πίνετο τοῖο γέροντος.

εἰνάνυχες δέ μοι ἀμφ᾽ αὐτῷ παρὰ νύκτας ἴαυον·

οἳ μὲν ἀμειβόμενοι φυλακὰς ἔχον, οὐδέ ποτ᾽ ἔσβη

πῦρ, ἕτερον μὲν ὑπ᾽ αἰθούσῃ εὐερκέος αὐλῆς,

ἄλλο δ᾽ ἐνὶ προδόμῳ, πρόσθεν θαλάμοιο θυράων.

ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε δὴ δεκάτη μοι ἐπήλυθε νὺξ ἐρεβεννή,

καὶ τότ᾽ ἐγὼ θαλάμοιο θύρας πυκινῶς ἀραρυίας

ῥήξας ἐξῆλθον, καὶ ὑπέρθορον ἑρκίον αὐλῆς

ῥεῖα, λαθὼν φύλακάς τ᾽ ἄνδρας δμῳάς τε γυναῖκας.

…like when, at first, I left Greece, of beautiful women, fleeing from a strife with my father Amyntor, the son of Ormenus, who was exceedingly angry at me about a concubine of beautiful hair. He loved her and dishonored his wife, my mother, who repeatedly begged me at my knees to sleep with the concubine, so that she would hate the old man. I obeyed her and acted on it. My father, immediately having suspected it, called down many curses and invoked the loathed Erinyes, so that he would never set on his knees a dear son, born from me. And the gods fulfilled his curses, both Zeus, the belowground, and the dreaded Persephone. I decided to kill him with the sharp sword, but one of the immortals held my wrath: into my mind he put the people’s gossip and various recriminations, so that among the Achaeans I would not be called a parricide. Then the heart in my breast could not at all keep me living any longer in the palaces of my wrathful father. Truly, my fellows and my relatives, surrounding me and begging me, held me back there in the palaces. Many fat sheep, and cattle of curved horns and rolling gait did they slaughter; many swine, swelling with fat, did they lay to singe over the flame of Hephaistos; and much wine was drunk from the jars of that old man. For nine nights, they passed the night around me. Alternating, they kept guards, and the fire never went out: one beneath the portico of the well-fenced court, and the other in the porch in front of the doors of my chamber. But when the tenth dark night fell upon me, then, having broken the closely fitted doors of my chamber, I came out and easily leapt over the fence of the court, having escaped the notice of the male guards and the female servants.

(Il. 9.447-477)

In Euripides’ fragmentary Phoenix, the father-son strife turns into a “Potiphar’s Wife” story. From the two main sources available, i.e., Apollodorus the mythographer (ca. 1-100 CE) and Hieronymus of Rhodes (ca. 300-200 BCE),61 the plot can be roughly put together like this: the concubine makes sexual advances towards Phoenix, but he rejects her. Then, the concubine takes the matter to Amyntor, and falsely accuses Phoenix of rape. Amyntor blinds Phoenix and imprisons him. The outcome is tragic for Amyntor, who sees his son leave, as well as for the concubine, who dies with regret; but it is favorable for Phoenix, who recovers his sight and gets enthroned elsewhere.

The evidence from Apollodorus the mythographer is direct; however, in terms of dramatic action, it only mentions the blinding, the accusation, the treatment, and the enthronement. Regarding the characters, it offers further help, since it refers to the name of the concubine as Phthia,⁶² as well as to the role of the centaur Chiron within the story.⁶³

...Φοῖνοξ ὁ Ἀμύντορος... ὑπὸ τοῦ πατρὸς ἐτυφλώθη καταψευσαμένης φθορὰν Φθίας τῆς τοῦ πατρὸς παλλακῆς. Πηλεὺς δὲ αὐτὸν πρὸς Χείρωνα κομίσας, ὑπ’ ἐκείνου θεραπευθέντα τὰς ὄψεις βασιλέα κατέστησε Δολόπων.

…Phoenix, the son of Amyntor… was blinded by his father, having been falsely accused of rape by Phthia, his father’s concubine. And having taken him to Chiron, by whom he was treated for his eyes, Peleus made him king of the Dolopians.

(Apollodorus mythographus, Bibl. 3.13.8)

The testimony of Hieronymus of Rhodes is indirect since it speaks of the story of the Anagyrasian deity in comparison with the story of Phoenix. When it comes to dramatic action, it recounts the accusation, the blinding, and the imprisonment, and even though it remains silent about Phoenix’s treatment and enthronement, it suggests Amyntor’s and the concubine’s tragic endings.

‘Ἀναγυράσιος δαίμων’· ἐπεὶ τὸν παροικοῦντα πρεσβύτην καὶ ἐκτέμνοντα τὸ ἄλσος ἐτιμωρήσατο Ἀνάγυρος ἥρως. Ἀναγυράσιοι δὲ δῆμος τῆς Ἀττικῆς. τούτου δέ τις ἐξέκοψε τὸ ἄλσος. ὁ δὲ τῷ υἱῷ αὐτοῦ ἐπέμηνε τὴν παλλακήν, ἥτις μὴ δυναμένη συμπεῖσαι τὸν παῖδα διέβαλεν ὡς ἀσελγῆ τῷ πατρί. ὁ δὲ ἐπήρωσεν αὐτὸν καὶ ἐγκατῳκοδόμησεν. ἐπὶ τούτοις καὶ ὁ πατὴρ ἑαυτὸν ἀνήρτησεν, ἡ δὲ παλλακὴ εἰς φρέαρ ἑαυτὴν ἔρριψεν. ἱστορεῖ δὲ Ἱερώνυμος... ἀπεικάζων τούτοις τὸν Εὐριπίδου Φοίνικα.

‘The Anagyrasian deity’ is such because the hero Anagyrus revenged himself upon an old neighbor who cut down his grove. The Anagyrasians were a deme of Attica. One of them cut down his grove, and he [sc. Anagyrus] drove his concubine mad about his son. Not being able to persuade the son, she denounced him to his father for lewd behavior. He [sc. the father] blinded him and confined him. After that, the father hanged himself, and the concubine threw herself into a well. Hieronymus reports this… comparing Euripides’ Phoenix with it.

This product/process of adaptation deals mainly with characterization. Its author exploits the following six procedures: [GE1]64 he subtracts the mother’s pleading, [GE2] he adds the concubine’s advances, [GE3] he merges the mother and the concubine into a single character, [GE4] he ignores the dilemma of whether to obey the mother or to respect the father, [GE5] he emphasizes the father’s wrath, and [GE6] he changes the outcome of the story.

[GE1] The subtraction of the mother’s pleading is the result of the broader authorial decision of dispensing with the character of the mother.⁶⁵ In the epic version, the pleading of the mother, much like that of Thetis towards Zeus in favor of Achilles (Il. 1.503 ff.), is presented as the external force impelling Phoenix to act. [GE2] In the dramatic version, the subtraction of this component entails the addition of the concubine’s advances.⁶⁶ In this case, the external force appears more negative in essence, considering Ancient Greece’s ideological take on gender roles and male/female infidelities. Unlike the worried mother from the Iliad, the concubine from the Phoenix is worrisome. The topic of the false accusation by the father’s wife/concubine is also presented, through Phaedra’s character, in Euripides’ Hippolytus (856 ff.).

[GE3] According to the economy of the play, the subtraction of one cause for action and the subsequent addition of a different one is possible because the characters that partake of such actions experience something of a merging.67 In the absence of the mother, the concubine fills in both as Amyntor’s paramour and as Phoenix’s stepmother. In this sense, the two characters that come between father and son, and that end up provoking their antagonism, can be viewed as merged into one. Moreover, if the character inciting the sexual encounter and the character such an encounter must be held with are the same, the tragedy of the situation becomes much more manifest.

[GE4] In the epic, Phoenix, even though pushed by an external force, faces an internal dilemma: is it better to obey a mother’s pleading or to respect a father’s position? Choosing either party would result in mistreating the other. After some consideration, he sides with his mother, and his father becomes so enraged that he curses the young man, who becomes sterile. In the drama, there is no dilemma or inner conflict.⁶⁸ The whole ambiguity of the situation is derived from the setup. If the epic Phoenix was guilty of executing the mother’s plan, the dramatic Phoenix is innocent, but framed by the concubine’s trickery. As a matter of fact, the Schol. ad Il. 9.453 states: “But Euripides stages a guiltless hero in the Phoenix [Εὐριπίδης δὲ ἀναμάρτητον εἰσάγει τὸν ἥρωα ἐν τῷ Φοίνικι]”.

[GE5] The emphasis on the father’s wrath relates to the dramatic perspective.69 The Iliad’s Amyntor gets angry when he finds out about a consensual relationship between Phoenix and the concubine, but the Phoenix’s Amyntor gets angrier when he hears about the alleged assault from the concubine herself. Therefore, the guiltless behavior receives a much harsher punishment than the guilty one. The anger, a very Homeric topic (e.g., Il. 1.1), is also dramatically explored in very Homeric ways (e.g., Il. 9.443): Homer, through the words of Phoenix, only grants access to Amyntor’s deeds; Euripides, on the contrary, makes room for Amyntor’s words.70

In fragments 803a, 803b, 804, 805, and 807, Amyntor complains about life, children, wives, and old age. His complaint in 803a, “before, falling over his eyes, darkness has already reached him [πρὶν ἂν κατ’ ὄσσων κιγχάνῃ σφ’ ἤδη σκότος]” recalls Euripides’ Hippolytus 1444: “Oh! Oh! Falling over my eyes, darkness is already reaching me [αἰαῖ, κατ᾽ ὄσσων κιγχάνει μ᾽ ἤδη σκότος]”. After that, introspection gives way to interaction, and father and son argue, in an ἀγὼν λόγων (verbal contest) about the concubine’s allegations.

Fragments 809, 810, and 811 refer to proofs, evidence, and the well-known “nature versus nurture” debate. The statement in 810, “Then, the most important thing is nature, since no one, by being nurtured, would ever adequately turn evil into good [μέγιστον ἀρ’ ἦν ἡ φύσις· τὸ γὰρ κακὸν οὐδείς τρέφων εὖ χρηστὸν ἂν θείη ποτέ]”, brings to mind Euripides’ Hippolytus 921-922:71 “A wonderful Sophist – you say – is whoever will be able to force those thinking wrongly to think rightly [δεινὸν σοφιστὴν εἶπας, ὅστις εὖ φρονεῖν τοὺς μὴ φρονοῦντας δυνατός ἐστ᾽ ἀναγκάσαι]”.

[GE6] Lastly, the change in the outcome of the story is also motivated by dramatic choices.⁷² Instead of being cursed with sterility, Phoenix is blinded by Amyntor. The blinding and the accusation, if originally introduced by Euripides, would be the playwright’s two main innovations to the Homeric model. After the corrupt fragment 815, which may have contained the actual reference to the blinding, in fragments 816 and 817 Phoenix himself speaks of his ill fate, and bids farewell to his fatherland. It is not unreasonable to suppose a deus ex machina, in a manner like that in which they appear in other Euripidean plays.73

Don’t Shoot the Messenger!

Minor book 55 details Kṛṣṇa’s and Kuntī’s revelations about the warrior Karṇa’s true origin; minor book 56, the yoking of the armies for battle, which gives name to the entire book 5;74 minor book 57, the consecration of Dhṛṣṭadyumna and Bhīṣma as marshals, respectively, of the Pāṇḍavas and the Kauravas; minor book 57, a fourth embassy, of Duryodhana’s cousin to the Pāṇḍavas; minor book 59, a review of the warriors from both sides; and minor book 60, the substory of Ambā. Out of the four embassies,⁷⁵ that of Kṛṣṇa is the most prominent, both quantitively and qualitatively.

The embassy of Kṛṣṇa (MBh. 5.83-129) narrates Kṛṣṇa’s yāna (coming). The dūta (messenger) addresses, among several others, the father Dhṛtarāṣṭra and the son Duryodhana. The epic version is as follows: Dhṛtarāṣṭra knows that Kṛṣṇa is coming, and like Agamemnon in Iliad 9, Dhṛtarāṣṭra is willing to offer him various gifts. However, Vidura reminds him that Kṛṣṇa, similarly to Achilles in Iliad 9, will only settle for the one offering he expects, i.e., peace. Duryodhana agrees with recognizing Kṛṣṇa’s dignity, but he disagrees with the gifts, which he thinks could be seen as a sign of fear. Instead, he expresses his intention to capture Kṛṣṇa.

One day later, Kṛṣṇa arrives at Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s house, where all the noblemen rise from their seats to honor him. After visiting Vidura and his aunt Kuntī, Kṛṣṇa arrives at Duryodhana’s house, where the noblemen also rise from their seats. Kṛṣṇa rejects a meal offering and eats at Vidura’s place. Another day later, he enters the assembly hall, where for a third time he is welcomed by a standing crowd. Kṛṣṇa addresses his first speech to Dhṛtarāṣṭra, who as king has the power to restrain Duryodhana from combat. His speech contains quotes from the Pāṇḍavas’ speech. Then, as in Phoenix’s speech in Iliad 9, follow three stories: the story of Dambhodbhava, the story of Mātali, and the story of Gālava.

The sage Rāma Jāmadagnya tells the story of king Dambhodbhava’s challenging of Nara and Nārāyaṇa, intended to reveal the true nature of Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa. The sage Kaṇva narrates the story of Indra’s charioteer Mātali, who while procuring the snake Sumukha as a husband for his daughter, causes the eagle Garuḍa to inappropriately challenge a more powerful enemy. The goal of this story is for Duryodhana to learn his place. The sage Nārada recounts the story of the student Gālava, who to pay his gurudakṣiṇā (graduation fee), prostitutes princess Mādhavī to three kings and to his own teacher. From such unions, four sons are born, with the power to restore king Yayāti, Mādhavī’s father and their own grandfather, to heaven, from where he had fallen because of pride. The aim of this story is for Duryodhana to give up his own pride. Unsurprisingly, all three stories fall on deaf ears.

After the stories, Dhṛtarāṣṭra admits his powerlessness and requests Kṛṣṇa to redirect his efforts towards Duryodhana. Accordingly, Kṛṣṇa addresses his second speech to Duryodhana. As he himself later comments,⁷⁶ he tries sāman (conciliation), bheda (alienation), and dāna (gifts), leaving no other option than daṇḍa (punishment).⁷⁷ The grandfather Bhīṣma, the preceptor Droṇa, and the father Dhṛtarāṣṭra comment upon Kṛṣṇa’s speech. Duryodhana rejects the accusations, for he thinks not even in the game of dice was there any wrongdoing. At his brother Duḥśāsana’s instigation, Duryodhana leaves the assembly hall, only to be promptly brought back. Then, because of his mother Gāndhārī’s intervention, he once again leaves.

Duryodhana plots Kṛṣṇa’s capture with his uncle Śakuni, his brother Duḥśāsana, and his ally Karṇa. Dhṛtarāṣṭra is warned about the plot by Kṛṣṇa’s companion Sātyaki but is instructed by Kṛṣṇa himself not to impede it. Duryodhana is brought back for a second time by Dhṛtarāṣṭra and listens to Vidura’s account of Kṛṣṇa’s deeds. Kṛṣṇa shows his viśvarūpa (universal form), including his weapons: discus, bow, mace, conch, and sword, as well as spear and plough. The grandfather Bhīṣma, the preceptor Droṇa, the steward Vidura, and the bard Saṃjaya are given divine eyesight. The visit ends with Dhṛtarāṣṭra reminding Kṛṣṇa that he is in favor of peace but unable to control the bloodthirsty Duryodhana.

In (Ps.-)Bhāsa’s The Embassy, the plot goes like this: after the standard invocation of the god Viṣṇu, the prologue has the stage manager draw the attention of the audience towards the council chamber, around which the events are about to unfold. Then, the one and only act moves through all the facets of wickedness that make up the character of king Duryodhana: the fine for standing up, the painting of Draupadī’s humiliation, the dialogue with the ambassador, the attempted capture of the deity, and the intervention of the weapons.

The painting of Draupadī’s humiliation is the darkest possible trip down memory lane. Duryodhana not only failed to impede the crimes against Draupadī in the assembly hall, but he is also gloating over them right now. It is all there: prince Duḥśāsana pulling her hair, her husband Bhīma struggling not to burn the entire assembly hall to the ground, her husband Yudhiṣṭhira being the voice of reason, her husband Arjuna daydreaming about revenge, her husbands Nakula and Sahadeva being just as enraged, not to mention the utter schadenfreude of the gambler Śakuni, or the impotence of the preceptor Droṇa and the grandfather Bhīṣma. The painting suffices to relive the whole experience. It is obvious that Duryodhana’s crimes, both past and future, are just framing the present ones, those that this repulsive character commits during the embassy itself.

This product/process of adaptation focuses on characters and events. Its author exploits these six procedures: [SE1]78 he subtracts talking characters, [SE2] he adds the painting of the humiliation, [SE3] he merges the father and the son into a single character, [SE4] he adds the questioning of the genealogy, [SE5] he adds the fine for anyone who stands up, and [SE6] he adds the personified weapons.

[SE1] The subtraction of characters responds to the economy of the play.79 According to the epic source, those present during Kṛṣṇa’s message to Dhṛtarāṣṭra were Vidura (MBh. 5.92.32a), Sātyaki (MBh. 5.92.32b), Duryodhana and Karṇa (MBh. 5.92.33b), Kṛtavarman (MBh. 5.92.33c), Dhṛtarāṣṭra (MBh. 5.92.34a), Bhīṣma and Droṇa (MBh. 5.92.34c), Duḥśāsana (MBh. 5.92.47a), Viviṃśati (MBh. 5.92.47c), and Śakuni (MBh. 5.92.49a), alongside the innumerable hosts of Kauravas and Vṛṣṇis. However, in the dramatic adaptation, from the eleven characters mentioned by name, only four are alluded to: Droṇa (“preceptor [ācārya]”, DV 4.14), Bhīṣma (“grandfather [pitāmaha]”, DV 4.16), Śakuni (“maternal uncle [mātula]”, DV 4.18), and Karṇa (DV 4.22). Two more partake in the dialogue: Duryodhana and Dhṛtarāṣṭra. And five are altogether subtracted: Vidura, Sātyaki, Kṛtavarman, Duḥśāsana, and Viviṃśati.

As sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Duḥśāsana and Viviṃśati, have no place in the play,⁸⁰ provided that even their father has had to make room for the sole focus on Duryodhana as representative of the Kaurava cause; and as Vṛṣṇis, neither do Sātyaki and Kṛtavarman, because this same highlight on the Kaurava side is to explain Kṛṣṇa as having come alone. Vidura’s absence can be accounted for in a similar manner, since he always remains partial towards the Pāṇḍavas and Kṛṣṇa.⁸¹ The remaining characters are enough to situate the audience among the Kauravas.⁸²

[SE2] The addition of a painting of the humiliation is an authorial decision.83 The author of the play could have opted to include the causes of the conflict as part of the interactions between the ambassador and his addressee, as did the author of the epic. In the MBh.’s dialogue, Kṛṣṇa berates Duryodhana for humiliating Draupadī, among other things, by the way in which she was brought to the assembly hall against her will.

kaś cānyo jñātibhāryāṃ vai viprakartuṃ tathārhati |

ānīya ca sabhāṃ vaktuṃ yathoktā draupadī tvayā ||

kulīnā śīlasaṃpannā prāṇebhyo ’pi garīyasī |

mahiṣī pāṇḍuputrāṇāṃ tathā vinikṛtā tvayā ||

Who else would be capable of dishonoring the wife of a relative and, having brought her to the assembly hall, of speaking to her like you spoke to Draupadī? The wellborn, the well-behaved, the queen of Pāṇḍu’s sons, even dearer to them than their lives, was thus dishonored by you!

(MBh. 5.126.8-9)

Instead, the adaptation turns words into images, and opts for an ekphrasis, i.e., a verbal description of a work of art. The procedure is of Greco-Roman origin. Its most conspicuous representative in this context is the depiction of Achilles’ shield (Il. 18.478-608), and it is already adapted by Virgil for describing the pictures at Juno’s temple (Aen. 1.418-493). In fact, the idea of referencing paintings in plays is already common within Roman theater (Plautus, Asin. 174 ff. and 762, Capt. 998 ff., Epid. 620 ff., Men. 141 ff., Merc. 313 ff., Poen. 1271 ff., and Stich. 270 ff.; and Terence, Eun. 584 ff.).84 And it could have been borrowed by Sanskrit theater ((Ps.-)Bhāsa, DV 6 and SV 6; Śūdraka, Mṛcch. 2; Kālidāsa, Mālav. 1, Vikr. 2, and Śāk. 6; Harṣa, Ratn. 2 and Nāg. 2; Bhavabhūti, Mālatīm. 2 and Uttar. 1; and Rājaśekhara, Karp. 2 and Viddh. 1).85

The painting in The Embassy depicts two separate moments of Draupadī’s humiliation in the Sabhāparvan. One concerns Duḥśāsana grabbing her by the hair to bring her to the assembly hall against her will. The other one occurs a few moments later, and it relates to Duḥśāsana pulling her dress, whilst in the middle of the assembly hall, and unsuccessfully trying to undress her.

The author of The Embassy merges the two offenses into one. He also pushes them from their past timing, during the events of the Sabhāparvan, and into a present timing, set during the events of the Udyogaparvan; all this, whilst incorporating the ekphrasis device. The merging is not at all unexpected, since pictorial representations tend to operate within a single time frame, whereas verbal representations can more easily afford to develop multiple time frames. The solution provided to this challenge by (Ps.-)Bhāsa, that is, to depict both the hair-grabbing and the dress-pulling scenes as a single “pregnant moment”, is not dissimilar to what a painter would do. A case in point is the painting Draupadi Vastraharan, by Raja Ravi Varma (1848-1906), in which Duḥśāsana appears grabbing Draupadī’s hair with his right hand and pulling her dress with his left hand.

bādarāyaṇānīyatāṃ sa citrapaṭo nanu yatra draupadīkeśāmbarāvakarṣaṇam ālikhitam

O Bādarāyaṇa, please fetch me that painting, where Draupadī’s hair-and-dress dragging is depicted.

[SE3] Merging father and son results in Duryodhana being presented as king.86 In the MBh., Dhṛtarāṣṭra is addressed as “king [rājan]”, for instance, by Vidura (MBh. 5.85.1a), and even by Duryodhana (MBh. 5.86.12a). For Duryodhana, in turn, the text is ambiguous: sometimes he is a king and other times he is a prince. In the DV, there is no ambiguity: Duryodhana is presented as “great king [mahārājo]” by the chamberlain (DV 2.7).⁸⁷ This title is befitting to his self-portrait, which mentions both the umbrella as a symbol of royalty and the water as a sign of the royal consecration.

aham avadhṛtapāṇḍarātapatro dvijavarahastadhṛtāmbusiktamūrdhā |

avanatanṛpamaṇḍalānuyātraiḥ saha kathayāmi bhavadvidhair na bhāṣe ||

anubhūtaṃ mahad duḥkhaṃ saṃpūrṇaḥ samayaḥ sa ca |

asmākam api dharmyaṃ yad dāyādyaṃ tad vibhajyatām ||

dātum arhasi madvākyād rājyārdhaṃ dhṛtarāṣṭraja |

anyathā sāgarāntāṃ gāṃ hariṣyanti hi pāṇḍavāḥ ||

[SE4] After the speeches, the epic source includes a debate centered on the Kauravas’ wrongdoings (MBh. 5.126); but the dramatic adaptation adds the questioning of the genealogy.88 Where Vyāsa focuses on the characters’ actions, such as the humiliation of Draupadī, (Ps.-)Bhāsa reinterprets this by looking into the characters’ relationships: is Pāṇḍu the legitimate father of the Pāṇḍavas, or is Vicitravīrya the legitimate father of Dhṛtarāṣṭra? The fact that Pāṇḍu’s curse led to Kuntī’s summonses, and then to Dharma, Vāyu, Indra, and the Aśvins fathering, respectively, Yudhiṣṭhira, Bhīma, Arjuna, and the twins, as well as the fact that Vicitravīrya’s death led to Vyāsa begetting Dhṛtarāṣṭra on Ambikā and Pāṇḍu himself on Ambālikā are obviously known to the author of the MBh. In fact, they are narrated as early as the very first book. The novelty in treatment by the author of the DV is that one is used by Duryodhana to question the Pāṇḍavas’ claim to the kingdom, while the other is adduced by Kṛṣṇa as a counterargument against that exact claim by the Kauravas.

tvayāhaṃ hiṃsito yasmāt tasmāt tvām apy asaṃśayam |

dvayor nṛśaṃsakartāram avaśaṃ kāmamohitam |

jīvitāntakaro bhāva evam evāgamiṣyati ||

Since you injured me, then I will certainly make you, who caused the harm of this couple, unwillingly deluded by love. You will be the cause of your own death; just so, it will happen.

(MBh. 1.109.25)

vane pitṛvyo mṛgayāprasaṅgataḥ kṛtāparādho muniśāpam āptavān |

tadāprabhṛty eva sa dāranisspṛhaḥ parātmajānāṃ pitṛtāṃ kathaṃ vrajet ||

vicitravīryo viṣayī vipattiṃ

kṣayeṇa yātaḥ punar ambikāyām |

vyāsena jāto dhṛtarāṣṭra eṣa

labheta rājyaṃ janakaḥ kathaṃ te ||

[SE5] The addition of the fine for standing up evinces a superb mastery of the Udyogaparvan. For Vyāsa, the action of standing up is telling in terms of courtesy towards the ambassador.89 He emphasizes this procedure by mentioning it on three separate occasions during the embassy: first, during Kṛṣṇa’s arrival at Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s palace; second, during Kṛṣṇa’s first arrival at Duryodhana’s palace, which gets interrupted because the ambassador will not eat until he has spoken his mind; and third, during Kṛṣṇa’s second arrival at Duryodhana’s palace, where the audience listens to the speech towards the father, and then, to the speech towards the son, a doubling down on the former, and a last-ditch attempt to avert disaster.

After being introduced by an absolute construction about Kṛṣṇa’s arrival, the first scene about standing up offers two expressions that will turn out to be key in terms of the text’s self-referencing: udatiṣṭhan (stood up) and āsanebhyo ’calan (rose from their seats). The enumeration of those who stand is structured in descending order, from Dhṛtarāṣṭra, passing through Droṇa and Bhīṣma, and down to the rest.

abhyāgacchati dāśārhe prajñācakṣur nareśvaraḥ |

sahaiva droṇabhīṣmābhyām udatiṣṭhan mahāyaśāḥ ||

kṛpaś ca somadattaś ca mahārājaś ca bāhlikaḥ |

āsanebhyo ’calan sarve pūjayanto janārdanam ||

When the Dāśārha arrived, the renowned king whose sight was knowledge, as well as Droṇa and Bhīṣma, stood up. Kṛpa, Somadatta, and the great king Bāhlika all rose from their seats, honoring Janārdana.

(MBh. 5.87.13-14)

The second scene repeats the absolute construction about Kṛṣṇa’s arrival, and it offers a variation on one of the expressions from the previous scene: udatiṣṭhat (stood up). The plural is substituted by the singular since now the subject is just Duryodhana. As in the previous case, the enumeration begins with the most prominent character. That the passages are to be taken in tandem is further signaled by Duryodhana’s renown, mirroring that of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, as well as by Kṛṣṇa’s being honored.

abhyāgacchati dāśārhe dhārtarāṣṭro mahāyaśāḥ |

udatiṣṭhat sahāmātyaḥ pūjayan madhusūdanam ||

When the Dāśārha arrived, the renowned son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra stood up, together with his advisors, honoring Madhusūdana.

(MBh. 5.89.6)

The third scene provides greater variation. It opens with Dhṛtarāṣṭra, whom, in similar order, the others follow: Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and the rest. Then comes the expression āsanebhyo ’calan (rose from their seats), which occupies the same metrical position as before. In fact, MBh. 5.92.34c-d = MBh. 5.87.14c-d. After this, there is the absolute construction about Kṛṣṇa’s arrival, immediately followed by two of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s recurring features: his renown and his special kind of sight. By realizing that MBh. 5.92.35 ~ MBh. 5.87.13, it becomes clearer that the passages are to be taken conjointly. By now, the expression udatiṣṭhan (stood up) reverberates with the one from MBh. 5.89.6c and the one from MBh. 5.87.13d. If all these repetitions were not enough of a token, MBh. 5.92.36 presents two additional variations on the “ud- + sthā” theme: uttiṣṭhati (stood up), as part of a new absolute construction; and samuttasthuḥ (stood up), with an additional prefix. As in MBh. 5.89.6, the last verse mentions one prominent character and fills in with several unnamed ones.

dhṛtarāṣṭraṃ puraskṛtya bhīṣmadroṇādayas tataḥ |

āsanebhyo ’calan sarve pūjayanto janārdanam ||

abhyāgacchati dāśārhe prajñācakṣur mahāmanāḥ |

sahaiva bhīṣmadroṇābhyām udatiṣṭhan mahāyaśāḥ ||

uttiṣṭhati mahārāje dhṛtarāṣṭre janeśvare |

tāni rājasahasrāṇi samuttasthuḥ samantataḥ ||

Following Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and the rest all rose from their seats, honoring Janārdana. When the Dāśārha arrived, the renowned and magnanimous one, whose sight was knowledge, as well as Bhīṣma and Droṇa, stood up. When the great king Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the lord of the people stood up, those thousands of kings stood up around him.

(MBh. 5.92.34-36)

(Ps.-)Bhāsa subtracts these threefold repetition, and in its place, adds the fine for standing up. Three epic variations on the same theme become one new dramatic theme. Could it have been that the playwright deemed this treatment excessive or inadequate for the new genre? This is unlikely since he himself turns the triple acknowledgement of Karṇa’s curses (MBh. 8.29, MBh. 8.66, and MBh. 12.2-3) into Karṇa’s three calls for action in Karṇa’s Task (KBh. 5, KBh. 14, and KBh. 24). An authorial decision seems more suitable, because the addition of the fine maintains the emphasis on the action of standing up that the traditional text already reveals, but it does so in a creative way. Such adaptation is suggested by the phrasing pratyutthāsyati (stands up), a new variation on the “ud- + sthā” theme. On a separate note, when presented with the detail of a twelve-coin penalty, a reader of the MBh. cannot help but remember the twelve-year exile.

api ca yo ’tra keśavasya pratyutthāsyati sa mayā dvādaśasuvarṇabhāreṇa daṇḍyaḥ

[SE6] As stated, another major addition is that of the personified weapons.90 The weapons in the play are the same ones, minus the spear and the plough, as in the narrative. What is new is that one of them speaks. The personification of the discus Sudarśana allows for the introduction of themes that are already present in the MBh., such as the relieving of the Earth. The themes are so close that there can be little doubt about the source of the adaptation: “to relieve Earth’s burden [bhūmer nirasituṃ bhāraṃ]” and “the relief of Earth’s burden [mahībhārāpanayanaṃ]”. However, the technique is much more innovative. Since “it-fiction”, i.e., speaking objects, is common in Roman lyric (Catullus, 4, 66, and 67; Horace, Sat. 1.8; and Martial, Epigr. 13.50, 14.39, 14.41, 14.44, and 14.64),91 and since examples involving weapons are already a feature of Hellenistic lyric (Hegesippus, Anth. Pal. 6.124; Mnasalces, Anth. Pal. 6.125; Nicias, Anth. Pal. 6.127; and Meleager, Anth. Pal. 6.163),92 this could have been another borrowing by Sanskrit theater.

asyā bhūmer nirasituṃ bhāraṃ bhāgaiḥ pṛthak pṛthak |

asyām eva prasūyadhvaṃ virodhāyeti cābravīt ||

And he said, “To relieve Earth’s burden, one by one you must be partly born on her for the sake of strife.”

(MBh. 1.58.46)

mahībhārāpanayanaṃ kartuṃ jātasya bhūtale |

asminn eva gate deva nanu syād viphalaḥ śramaḥ ||

Ekphrasis and It-fiction

After analyzing the motif of the embassy in Il. 9 and Phoenix, as well as in MBh. 5 and The Embassy, I put forward two cases of possible Greek influence in the adaptation techniques: [EM1]93 epic characters that are not essential are subtracted in the plays, provided that their functions are merged into other characters, and [EM2] dramatic themes which have no precedent in the source texts are added with the intention of providing an emphasis.

[EM1] Epic characters that are not essential are subtracted in the plays, provided that their functions are merged into other characters. It is a truism that any theatrical work must compress when adapting from a narrative text. However, the combined technique of subtracting one or more characters, and then merging their functions into other characters, is something that can be identified even in a fragmentary play such as Phoenix, where the subtraction of the mother (GE1) is correlated with the merging of the mother and the concubine (GE3). Then, a single character comes between Phoenix and his father.

If the author of The Embassy knew these sources, the procedure could have influenced his parallel subtraction of characters (SE1), which is also linked to the instances of merging involving the father and the son, as well as the speeches directed towards them (SE3). The merging of father and son is, certainly, the more relevant one, for it results in a single character opposing Kṛṣṇa. Moreover, the father/son conflict between Amyntor and Phoenix would have offered an epic model, which already had been proven to be adaptable to the theater in Greece, and therefore, its adaptation into the father/son conflict between Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Duryodhana, would have had an influence in India.

If this were an instance of Greco-Indian anukaraṇa, its trademark would be reversal: the Greek texts (Il. 9 and Phoenix) about an embassy’s addresser (Phoenix) who opposes his father (Amyntor), would have become the Indian texts (MBh. 5 and The Embassy) about an embassy’s addressee (Duryodhana) who opposes his father (Dhṛtarāṣṭra).

[EM2] Dramatic themes which have no precedent in the source texts are added with the intention of providing an emphasis. In Phoenix, apart from ignoring the dilemma (GE4) and changing the outcome (GE6), the two main innovations would be the accusation and the blinding: the concubine falsely accuses Phoenix of rape, and in turn, his father blinds him. In this sense, the addition of the concubine’s advances (GE2) entails the emphasis on the father’s wrath (GE5). And, in The Embassy, the two chief contrivances are the painting and the personified weapons: at the beginning of the play, the keepsake of the humiliation attests Duryodhana’s ethos; and at the end of the play, the speech by the discus reveals Kṛṣṇa’s ethos. Minor additions, such as the fine for anyone who stands up (SE5) and the questioning of the genealogy (SE4), highlight certain details too: respectively, the honoring of the messenger figure and the legitimacy of the father figures. However, it is the major additions, like the painting (SE2) and the personified weapons (SE6), that better exemplify the technique of emphasizing.

One of The Embassy’s chief contrivances, i.e., the painting, is introduced by an ingenious combination of flashback and ekphrasis, both common procedures in the Homeric epics (e.g., Od. 9-12 and Il. 18.478-608, respectively). Nonetheless, the specific choice of a painting could have been borrowed from Roman theater.

Among Romans playwrights, Plautus (254-184 BCE)94 employs, mostly for the purpose of comparisons, eight references to paintings: in Asin. 174, a well-wishing bawd is something that has never been “painted [pictum]”; in Asin. 762, an exclusive courtesan should be made to get rid of every undesirable “painting [pictura]” so that she is deprived of any writing surfaces; in Capt. 998, several “paintings [picta]” of the Acheron’s tortures are no match to certain quarries; in Epid. 624, a scene depicting a maiden and a usurer is compared to a “beautifully painted picture [signum pictum pulchre]”; in Men. 143, a youth is likened to the mythical Ganymede and Adonis that one can see in any “picture painted on a wall [tabulam pictam in pariete]”; in Merc. 315, a decrepit old man is said to be worth as much as a “picture painted on a wall [signum pictum in pariete]”; in Poen. 1272, a scene depicting a youth and a courtesan is something that only a famous painter “would have painted [pingeretis]”; and in Stich. 271, a slave’s pose is equated to that “from a painting [ex pictura]”.

Terence (185-159 BCE)95 only has one reference to a painting, but it is by far the most relevant one. If Plautus falls short of expectations in not describing the paintings and in not exploiting them enough as artistic devices, the situation with Terence is very different. Not only does The Eunuch’s painting entail ekphrasis, with the description of how Zeus sends a shower of gold, turns himself into a man, enters a house, and tricks a woman; but also, it is central to the plot:96 in the painting, a god (Jupiter) turns into someone else (a man) and rapes a woman (Danae); in the play, a youth (Chaerea) dresses up as someone else (a eunuch) and rapes a woman (Pamphila).

It is striking that The Eunuch’s painting has not yet been linked to The Embassy’s painting. The commonalities are numerous. They are both presented as nearby paintings: “this painting [pictura haec]”, “this painting [ayaṃ citrapaṭaḥ]”. In both cases, there is an explicit reference to the painting process: “a painted picture [tabulam quandam pictam]”, “this picture was carefully painted [suvyaktam ālikhito ’yam citrapaṭaḥ]”. They function as ekphrases: “in which [quo pacto]”, “this one right here [eṣa]”. A sexual assault is the main event: “as they say, sent a shower of gold to her lap [misisse aiunt quondam in gremium imbrem aureum]”, “grabbed her by the lock of her hair [keśahaste gṛhītavān]”. The offender and the victim are the first ones to be mentioned: “Jupiter [Iovem]” and “Danae [Danaae]”, “Duḥśāsana [duḥśāsano]” and “Draupadī [draupadīṃ]”.

Lastly, both pictures condone a previous offense and serve to rationalize an impending one. Through The Eunuch’s painting, Jupiter raping Danae sets an example for Chaerea raping Pamphila: “And I, a puny man, would not do it? I certainly did it, and gladly! [ego homuncio hoc non facerem? ego illud vero ita feci ac lubens]”. Through The Embassy’s painting, Duḥśāsana grabbing Draupadī sets an example for Duryodhana attempting to take Kṛṣṇa captive: “Then, how am I the vile one of perverted mind? O experts in conduct and misconduct, let go of your anger today! Unforgiving of the dishonor related to the dicing match, may they have their heroism censured among the truly courageous ones [nīco ’ham eva viparītamatiḥ kathaṃ vā roṣaṃ parityajatam adya nayānayajñau | dyūtādhikāram avamānam amṛṣyamāṇāḥ sattvādhikeṣu vacanīyaparākramāḥ syuḥ]”. The use of the first person, the rhetorical questions, and in general, the blunt statements, all come together to support the claim of a borrowing from Rome into India.

While this [sc. a bath] is prepared, the maiden sits in her room, looking at a painted picture. On it, was this painting in which Jupiter, as they say, sent a shower of gold to Danae’s lap. I started to look at it too, and since he had already played such a trick, my heart rejoiced even more: a god that turned himself into a man and secretly came under another man’s tiles, through the impluvium, all as a hoax aimed at a woman; and what a god! – ‘He who shakes the highest regions of heaven with his thunder’. And I, a puny man, would not do it? I certainly did it, and gladly!

aho darśanīyo ’yaṃ citrapaṭaḥ | eṣa duḥśāsano draupadīṃ keśahaste gṛhītavān | eṣā khalu draupadī ||

7. duḥśāsanaparāmṛṣṭā sambhramotphullalocanā |

rāhuvaktrāntaragatā candralekheva śobhate ||

eṣa durātmā bhīmaḥ sarvarājasamakṣam avamānitāṃ draupadīṃ dṛṣṭvā pravṛddhāmarṣaḥ sabhāstambhaṃ tulayati | eṣa yudhiṣṭhiraḥ ||

8. satyadharmaghṛṇāyukto dyūtavibhraṣṭacetanaḥ |

karoty apāṅgavikṣepaiḥ śāntāmarṣaṃ vṛkodaram ||

eṣa idānīm arjunaḥ ||

9. roṣākulākṣaḥ sphuritādharoṣṭhas

tṛṇāya matvā ripumaṇḍalaṃ tat |

utsādayiṣyann iva sarvarājñaḥ

śanaiḥ samākarṣati gāṇḍivajyām ||

eṣa yudiṣṭhiro ’rjunaṃ nivārayati | etau nakulasahadevau ||

10. kṛtaparikarabandhau carmanistriṃśahastau

paruṣitamukharāgau spaṣṭadaṣṭādharoṣṭhau |

vigatamaraṇaśaṅkau satvaraṃ bhrātaraṃ me

harim iva mṛgapotau tejasābhiprayātau ||

eṣa yudhiṣṭhiraḥ kumārāv upetya nivārayati ||

11. nīco ’ham eva viparītamatiḥ kathaṃ vā

roṣaṃ parityajatam adya nayānayajñau |

dyūtādhikāram avamānam amṛṣyamāṇāḥ

sattvādhikeṣu vacanīyaparākramāḥ syuḥ ||

iti | eṣa gāndhārarājaḥ ||

svairāsano drupadarājasutāṃ rudantīṃ

kākṣeṇa paśyati likhaty abhikhāṃ nayajñaḥ ||

etāv ācāryapitāmahau tāṃ dṛṣṭvā lajjāyamānau paṭāntāntarhitamukhau sthitau | aho asya varṇāḍhyatā | aho bhāvopapannatā | aho yuktalekhatā | suvyaktam ālikhito ’yam citrapaṭaḥ | prīto ’smi ||

Ah, this painting is beautiful! This Duḥśāsana right here, grabbed Draupadī by the lock of her hair. Indeed, this one here is Draupadī.

If this were another instance of Greco-Indian anukaraṇa, its trademark would be merging: a Greek text (Phoenix) about an alleged sexual assault (Phthia’s pretend rape) that results in an unforgiving father (Amyntor) blinding his son (Phoenix), would have been combined with a Roman text (The Eunuch) about a sexual assault (Pamphila’s actual rape) depicted in painting, to produce an Indian text (The Embassy) about a sexual assault (Draupadī’s humiliation) depicted in painting, that results in a blind father (Dhṛtarāṣṭra) asking for forgiveness in the name of his son (Duryodhana).

The other one of The Embassy’s chief contrivances, i.e., the personified weapons, as a device intended to restrain the choleric god from harming the king, and thus impeding the divine plan, exhibits the signs of a deus ex machina, a frequent technique in the works of Euripides (e.g., Hipp. 1283 ff.). This notwithstanding, the concrete decision of utilizing personification could have been borrowed from Hellenistic/Roman lyric.

Among Roman lyric poets, it-fiction can be exemplified by Catullus (84-54 BCE),97 Horace (65-8 BCE),⁹⁸ and Martial (40-104 CE):⁹⁹ in Catull. 4, a boat telling its life story, “says that he was [ait fuisse]” once a forest; in Catull. 66, a curl/constellation tells the story of the woman from whose hair it was cut, and it can even add, “I swear it [adiuro]”; in Catull. 67, a door reveals everyone’s secrets, and it further explains, “I have heard it [audivi]”; in Hor. Sat. 1.8, a statue of the god Priapus proclaims, “once I was the trunk of a fig tree [olim truncus eram ficulnus]”; in Mart. Epigr. 13.50, some truffles say, “as fruiting bodies we are second only to mushrooms [boletis poma secunda sumus]”; in Mart. Epigr. 14.39, a lamp, ironically enough, proclaims, “I shall remain silent [tacebo]”; in Mart Epigr. 14.41, another lamp asserts, “I am called a single lamp [una lucerna vocor]”; in Mart. Epigr. 14.44, a candelabrum states, “you know me to be wood [esse vides lignum]”; and in Mart. Epigr. 14.64, a flute complains about its flutist, “she is breaking us [nos… rumpit]”. There are many other examples of this topic.

Among Hellenistic lyric poets, examples of speaking objects are also quite common. The following poems100 by Hegesippus the epigrammatist (ca. 300-200 BCE), Mnasalces of Sicyon (ca. 300-200 BCE), Nicias of Miletus (ca. 300-200 BCE), and Meleager of Gadara (ca. 100-1 BCE) are relevant for this study. The first three texts represent instances of a shield speaking, and therefore, appear close to the next quoted passage from The Embassy, in which a discus speaks. In Anth. Pal. 6.124, the “shield [Ἀσπὶς]” even identifies himself as such.

In addition, in two of the Greek texts, the shield talks about saving its owner: “always saving my bearer [τόν με φέροντ’ αἰεὶ ῥυομένα]” and “having often saved my master’s handsome chest [καλὸν ἄνακτος / στέρνον… πολλάκι ῥυσαμένα]”. This is not explicitly stated in the quoted passage from The Embassy. Nonetheless, by remembering Kṛṣṇa’s plan, Sudarśana kills two birds with one stone: he saves Duryodhana (from being killed by Kṣṛṇa) and he saves the plan (of relieving the Earth from her burden). He truly saves the day, as any deus ex machina would when it comes to wrapping up the plot.

(Hegesippus, Anth. Pal. 6.124)

(Nicias, Anth. Pal. 6.127)

śrutvā giraṃ bhagavato vipulaprasādān

nirdhāvito ’smi parivāritatoyadaughaḥ |

kasmin khalu prakupitaḥ kamalāyatākṣaḥ

kasyādya mūrdhani mayā pravijṛmbhitavyam ||

yadi lavaṇajalaṃ vā kandaraṃ vā girīṇāṃ

grahagaṇacaritaṃ vā vāyumārgaṃ prayāsi |

mama bhujabalayogaprāptasaṃjātavegaṃ

bhavatu capala cakraṃ kālacakraṃ tavādya ||

If this were a third instance of Greco-Indian anukaraṇa, its trademark would also be merging: a Greek text (Phoenix) probably ending with a deus ex machina (Phoenix’s eye treatment by Chiron?), would have been combined with a selection of Hellenistic texts (The Greek Anthology) featuring it-fiction with weapons (speaking shields), to produce an Indian text (The Embassy) featuring it-fiction with weapons (a speaking discus) as a form of deus ex machina (Duryodhana’s life being spared by Sudarśana).

In sum, I postulate a Greek influence from Il. 9 and Phoenix into MBh. 5 and The Embassy. Such influence would encompass two adaptation techniques: character subtraction-cum-merging (EM1), and theme addition-cum-emphasis (EM2). As an instance of Greco-Indian anukaraṇa, the key component of this Greek influence would be reversal. Furthermore, from the embassy motif, I claim two Greco-Roman borrowings: on one hand, the painting about a sexual assault, from Terence’s The Eunuch; on the other, it-fiction with weapons, from The Greek Anthology. As instances of Greco-Indian anukaraṇa, they would both be characterized by merging.