(BEING CONTINUED FROM 2/04/15)
Response: Frank Holt
Beyond the narrow confines of the old Balkan city-states, the enormous Hellenistic world was essentially a frontier society. Not only along the hinterlands of that world, but even in the urban heartlands of Mesopotamia and Syria, Greek colonists could exploit (at the expense of native peoples) all the opportunities of a classic frontier setting: an abundance of new resources, a low ratio of men to land, increased mobility, a mingling of many occupational and social backgrounds, and something of a safety valve for ongoing expansion and exploration. Thus the Hellenistic frontier existed at almost all points, in Memphis as well as Meroë, in Babylon as well as in Bactria, in downtown Jerusalem no less than in the deserts of Jordan. This vast frontier experience was fundamental in shaping the history and culture of the Hellenistic world, in much the same way (though many times magnified) as in the earlier colonial period associated with the Greek Archaic Age. It follows that the concept of frontier studies should be central to the study of Greek history as a whole, and to the Hellenistic Age in particular.
This, of course, has not generally been the case. Greek frontier studies have failed to become a major field, quite unlike their well-developed, highly visible Roman equivalent. But while there may be no Hadrian’s wall in Hellenistic history, the frontier is clearly no less important to the Greek experience than to the Roman. When speaking about Macedonia, itself a frontier society which left its strong imprint upon the Hellenistic world, Charles Edson had this to say in the first sentence of the first paper of the First International Symposium on Ancient Macedonia: “The concept of the frontier has rarely been associated with the study of Greek history.”  It was thus twenty years ago that Professor Edson set the challenge met so admirably in Professor Burstein’s paper on Meroë.
The case of Meroë reminds us that studies of the Hellenistic fringe should never be left on the fringe of Hellenistic studies. In spite of the poor state of our evidence, it is well worth asking what the furthest frontiers of the Hellenistic world were like. What, for example, brought the Greeks (and what sort of Greeks were they) to such places as Nubia, Nabataea, Characene, or Commagene? Did there develop outside the political and military frontiers of the Hellenistic kingdoms a distinctly different (and more distant) cultural frontier? Did independent states on the Hellenistic fringe find it possible to nourish themselves on the non-Greek elements of Hellenistic culture while discarding, untasted, the unfamiliar husks of Hellenism? Was there really Greek culture where there were no Greek colonists? These are important questions, but not easy ones to answer. I therefore thank Professor Burstein for making the case of Meroë both interesting and understandable. In order to test his hypothesis, I shall respond by looking elsewhere on the Hellenistic fringe for evidence of a similar frontier experience. The obvious place to look, of course, is at the other great elephantine frontier of the Hellenistic Age; and so we turn to India.
Like Nubia, northwest India and the neighboring regions of Arachosia and the Parapamisadae (see figure 5) had only marginal contact with the Greek world before the Hellenistic age. The strongest western influence upon early India came not from Greece but from Persia, in much the same way that Egypt had put its stamp upon Meroitic culture long before the arrival of Ptolemaic envoys and armies. By the time the Greeks and Macedonians did arrive, both Meroë and India had become essentially independent under localized, native rule. Although Alexander did campaign in India and left there more than a dozen Greek garrisons and colonies, most of these were apparently drained away in the first bloodletting of the Diadochoi. In any case, Alexander had kept a number of rajahs in power, including Porus, Taxiles, and Abisares. Within seven years of Alexander’s demise, even these native rulers had been replaced by the rise of a new Indian king named Chandragupta, the founder of the Mauryan dynasty.
Fig. 5.The Bactro-Indian frontier. Map after F. Holt.
Chandragupta’s empire arose on the very fringe of the vast territories claimed by Seleucus I Nicator. In fact, Seleucus brought his army eastward to confront Chandragupta shortly after 305 B.C. While making claims of outright conquest, Seleucus conserved his energies in favor of a more useful solution: Chandragupta was acknowledged as rightful king of India, including Arachosia and the Parapamisadae, while Seleucus received as “tribute” some five hundred war elephants. In about 205 B.C. Antiochus the Great again brought a Seleucid army to India, and this encounter ended in the same way as the first—with a tribute of elephants and a treaty between these states. During the full century framed by these two famous attacks upon India, Seleucid contact with the East was very uneven. Some sort of marriage alliance, and the dispatch of ambassadors to the Mauryan capital, kept the first Seleucid monarchs in fairly close touch with the Mauryan dynasty. By the middle of the third century B.C., however, the Seleucids began to lose control of their own eastern satrapies and soon lost direct access to India. Thus, after a brief period of fairly close relations, as in the case of the early Ptolemies and Meroë, the Seleucids became preoccupied with problems elsewhere and their contacts with India were weakened. The eventual return of a Seleucid army under Antiochus III, and the renewal of the original treaty between these states, shows us the true nature of their relationship. They were independent states, neither of which could ever conquer or control the other. Theirs was never the history of the ruler and the ruled, but of the raider and the raided.
One impressive feature of the Hellenistic fringe is this remarkable similarity between the African and the Indian experience. In a number of important ways, Mauryan India was to Seleucid Asia what Meroë was to Ptolemaic Egypt. Indeed, I think it is safe to classify both Meroë and Mauryan India as Hellenistic “resource frontiers.” These areas, much like Spain to the Romans or Brazil to the Portuguese, offered important commodities which could not generally be obtained from areas already under the state’s control. Desirable though these materials might be, they tended to be very difficult and costly to collect, and to be located in areas not easily conquered or economically controlled. In the parallel cases of Meroë and Mauryan India, such important resources included elephants and precious metals, desired by both the Ptolemies and the Seleucids, often in direct competition with each other. Professor Burstein has linked Ptolemy II’s Nubian campaign to a need for new war elephants, since those of Ptolemy I were no doubt of little value by the mid 270s B.C. It is worth adding that a cuneiform tablet from Babylon records the delivery of twenty elephants (via Bactria) to Antiochus I at the same time that Ptolemy II suddenly found his own needs critical. Thus, the Seleucids and Ptolemies raided their respective resource frontiers whenever the opportunity or need arose. Such incursions were rarely significant military events involving genuine conquest; but since they did achieve the goal of resupplying the state with wealth, elephants, and exotica, these products were easily paraded as the spoils of war back in Alexandria or Antioch.
If I am right about the nature of Meroë and India as Hellenistic resource frontiers, what does this suggest about patterns of cultural interaction? First, it becomes clear that the Ptolemies and Seleucids were interested, literally, in fringe benefits, and in little else. They were fascinated by certain products, rather than by the peoples or places associated with them. In this regard, there was no “moving frontier” tied to “manifest destiny,” no attempt to “convert the savages,” no “Greek man’s burden” in either India or Africa.
The aim of the Hellenistic states was less to annex these fringe areas than to exploit them with as little involvement and expense as possible. This particular approach did not encourage exchanges of population or of cultural traits; it did not engender serious concern for permanent or peaceful contacts. The occasional presence of Greek envoys and explorers in Nubia or India might suggest an interest in mutual understanding, but in fact they were more likely to be royal agents scouting these regions’ resources. Once such resources were identified, it was easier to leave most of the actual mining or hunting to native effort and expertise. Thus, except in very small numbers, the Greeks were not motivated to move deeper into Africa or India in either a spiritual or a physical sense.
I suspect that this ambivalent attitude was largely reciprocated, and that the native rulers of these resource frontiers were less interested in Greek culture than in keeping the Greeks themselves away. From the point of view of Meroë or the Mauryans, of course, the Hellenistic states were themselves resource frontiers. Either by attack or by agreement, non-Greek rulers could acquire Greek luxury goods without necessarily involving themselves in a cultural metamorphosis. Professor Burstein has shown this quite well in the case of Meroë. For India, too, the debate over cultural influences divides itself along nationalistic and disciplinary lines. Western scholars, most of them classicists, put too much emphasis upon a thin scattering of classical references and Greek artifacts. This evidence is unevenly distributed in time and place, and subject to self-serving interpretation. Thus the discovery of Greek objects (e.g., the “Begram Treasure”) in India is considered “proof” of the long-term dominance of Greek culture, while the discovery of Indian artifacts in the Hellenistic world (e.g., at Ai Khanoum) is considered “proof” of Greek military dominance. Classicists insist upon having it both ways at once—“heads we win, tails they lose,” no matter what is found where or when.
On the other hand, some Indologists insist upon the total failure of the Greeks to penetrate the society and culture of the subcontinent. In one famous formulation of this thesis, which betrays itself by its own close borrowing from the classical world, the Greeks “came, they saw, but India conquered.”  The truth is that each culture felt assured of its own superiority, and succeeded in remaining independent and aloof for a century or so. But beyond that point, in India as well as Africa, cultural interaction became quite pronounced. The Indologist must accept the fact that Greek culture eventually influenced the East, but the classicist must also accept the fact that Greek culture had little impact until long after Alexander.
Seleucid Asia, therefore, was not much affected by the vigorous culture of independent India. Although Asoka (c. 269–37 B.C.), the grandson of Chandragupta, claimed to have sent Buddhist missionaries to the kings of Hellenistic Asia, Egypt, Epirus, Cyrene, and Macedonia, there is no notice of their arrival in or effect upon the courts of these kings. By the same token, the impact of Greek culture upon Mauryan India also seems negligible. Bindusura (c. 297–69 B.C.), the son of Chandragupta, is said to have taken an interest in acquiring certain exotic items, namely figs, wine, and a sophist. Antiochus II supplied the wine and figs, but not the philosopher. Thus the third century saw little real interchange between East and West: Bindusura became no more Greek than Antiochus became Buddhist, and it would appear that it was easier for Ergamenes to find a sophist in Nubia than for Bindusura to beg one for India.
This does not mean, of course, that there were no Greeks in the Mauryan realm. Besides ambassadors and adventurers, the fringe areas of the Mauryan empire (particularly Arachosia and the Parapamisadae) still contained a few Greek colonies dating back to Alexander and Seleucus Nicator. This explains why Asoka set up Greek translations of his edicts at Khandahar (see figure 6). The presence of these Greek colonists is proven not only by Asoka’s Greek inscriptions, but by an earlier ex-voto set up there by the son of a certain Aristonax. What this means, of course, is that some of the Greeks there were willing to accept Asoka’s rule, though we are not sure that they embraced Asoka’s religion. In fact, it would appear that the Greeks represented no more than an old colonial enclave at Khandahar, one largely impervious to Indian culture as late as the mid–third century B.C. Nor was Greek influence by any means growing. Elsewhere in Mauryan India, Asoka had no occasion to express himself in Greek. We may conclude that where there were Greek colonists on the Hellenistic fringe, there was Greek culture, but that the cultural frontier of Hellenism rarely reached beyond them in any lasting or meaningful way.
Fig. 6.Greek and Aramaic translation of an edict by Asoka. Khandahar, mid–third century B.C. Photo: Délégation Archéologique Française.
During the Mauryan period, the Greek language made no inroads into India, and only maintained itself among the colonists at Khandahar. This makes the case of Aramaic all the more important and interesting. The administrative language of the old Persian Empire was used in six of Asoka’s edicts, including two examples from Khandahar and others from Taxila and the region of Laghman. Even in the Greek kingdom of Bactria, Aramaic continued in use at least until the final collapse of Ai Khanoum in the latter half of the second century B.C. Thus, long after the Persians had lost control of the East, and in spite of the Greek intervention under Alexander and his successors, the Persian imprint upon the culture of this region could not be erased. Indeed, it enjoyed a remarkable resurgence in the form of Kharoshthi, a script derived from Aramaic and used by Asoka to write the Indian Prakrit language. In architecture no less than linguistics, the influence of Persia appears ever stronger during the Mauryan period. The excavated “audience hall” at Patna, the rock-hewn monuments of Bihar, and the widespread use of bell-shaped column capitals (see figure 7) all attest to Persian rather than Greek inspiration during the first century of the Hellenistic Age. This may well be a rare example of what Professor Burstein has discovered in Nubia, where Hellenistic contacts merely reinvigorated the Egyptian roots of Meroitic culture.
Fig. 7.Persian-style bell-shaped column capitals. Karli, western India. Photo: Archaeological Survey of India.
Beyond the third century B.C., when the Mauryan empire collapsed and India was invaded by the Greeks of Bactria, the cultural interaction of Greeks and non-Greeks was greatly intensified. Thereafter, we may trace a long and active period of cultural exchange in India, eventually giving rise to Indo-Greek states and Gandharan art. Yet, as in Meroë, this was a much later development extending well beyond the Hellenistic Age. For the first century or so following the death of Alexander the Great, as Professor Burstein has shown so well, the Hellenistic fringe was a much more complicated arena where the confrontations of Greek and non-Greek cultures produced little in the way of “brotherhood” and cultural borrowing.
The relief from the Lion Temple of Musawwarat that Professor Burstein showed, depicting an elephant and captives, is very reminiscent of the entryway of the Ramesside temple of Abu Simbel, with the Asiatic captives on one side and the Nubian captives on the other.
S. M. Burstein:
The similarity is not surprising. The layout of Meroitic art is fundamentally Egyptian. One does often have the feeling, however, that Egyptian forms are used to express ideas that are not Egyptian, and this is particularly true in the Roman period. But the artistic idiom always remains fundamentally Egyptian.
K. D. White:
Just a very general question: if there is anything to be gained at all from any kind of comparative study of the interpenetration of cultures and fringe benefits and so on, is it possible that Africa can produce aliquid novi here as well?
S. M. Burstein:
The answer is certainly yes, especially with regard to late ancient sites. Particularly likely to produce interesting new information are sites such as Adulis in the territory of Axum, Meroë’s eastern neighbor, in modern Ethiopia.
T. Watkins (U. T. student):
Both in Meroë and in Bactria there was a period without much interaction and then a period of greater interaction between Greek and non-Greek peoples. Why is this?
S. M. Burstein:
The answer depends on the nature of the interaction. As far as military and political interaction is concerned, the determining factor must be the monumental logistical problems posed by the upper Nile valley, problems so severe that in the Middle Ages the Islamic rulers of Egypt abandoned the attempt to spread Islam by military means. In antiquity the requisite effort was made no more than sporadically, and then only under pressing necessity, as in the case of the third-century Ptolemies. Evaluation of the extent and character of cultural interaction is a more difficult problem, one that is complicated by two factors. First, to be honest, there is the Hellenist’s prejudice against Rome. The vast bulk of the evidence I have seen for the spread of Hellenistic cultural phenomena beyond the frontiers of the Greco-Roman world dates from the Roman imperial period. This is without doubt true for the two areas I am most familiar with, namely Nubia and Dacia. Candidly, I suspect that the Hellenistic kingdoms, with their comparatively small Greek and Macedonian populations, are much overrated as political and certainly as cultural powers. The second factor is the relative strength of the various cultures in the multiethnic Hellenistic kingdoms. This is particularly important in the case of Egypt since Ptolemaic Egyptian culture was rich and vibrant, and the Ptolemies presented themselves to the Meroites as pharaohs. By contrast, Roman Egyptian culture was a culture in decline, and for good reason. Unlike the Ptolemies, the Romans did not patronize the Egyptian temples as their predecessors did; nor did the Roman officials the Meroites encountered present themselves in pharaonic guise. Thus, unlike the situation under the Ptolemies, in the Roman period the Meroitic state interacted directly with the dominant culture in Egypt, with results visible in the evidence for the greater incorporation of Hellenistic cultural elements mentioned at the end of the paper.
Whenever we are dealing with the interaction of two still vigorous cultures, as in the case of the Seleucids and the Mauryans, there is something of a cultural stalemate. What breaks that down is the weakening of one power and its invasion by the other. In the third century B.C. this is exemplified by the fact that in the easternmost city of the Seleucid realm (Ai Khanoum) there is a strong cultural statement: the Delphic maxims, proclaiming Greekness in an inscription set beside a gymnasium, theater, and so forth. Beyond this frontier is a cultural boundary drawn by the Hindu Kush mountains. And on the other side of that boundary, at the same time, we find Asoka putting up the Indian rival of the Delphic maxims, a set of inscriptions proclaiming the dharma of Buddhist India. Thus in the third century there is a cultural standoff taking place on either side of the Hindu Kush. In the second century B.C. that situation changes. The Greeks cross the Hindu Kush and conquer northwest India. Then you get this strong cultural interaction, then you finally get Greek kings issuing coins that are Greek on the obverse and Indian on the reverse. Eventually, you even get a Greek king who professes Asoka’s dharma. This exemplifies the process. And it is a long process, I should emphasize. Tarn and others tended to shorten it into one great spasm of brotherly interaction, and I don’t think it happened that way. We should remember the famous example of this process involving Greece and Rome before and after the Macedonian wars.
E. S. Gruen:
I have a frontier question that is not geographical but chronological, that is, one that concerns the frontier between the Hellenistic and Roman periods. What do you make of Gallus’ invasion of Ethiopia? What did the Romans want there? Certainly they weren’t interested in exporting Greek culture to Meroë, and I don’t think they were interested in the resource frontier—they didn’t want the elephants. What do you make of this?
S. M. Burstein:
I’m inclined to agree with Colin Wells’s view that the Romans never saw a frontier they didn’t try to cross, and this was, I think, particularly true in the twenties B.C. Certainly, Gallus implies in his Philae inscription that when he met Meroitic envoys he bullied them into what the Latin text of the inscription clearly implies was recognition of Roman supremacy. As far as Gallus, and presumably Augustus, was concerned, Meroë had become Roman territory. The Meroites, of course, didn’t see it that way; and when they struck back later in the decade, they made a symbolic statement: they took statues of Augustus back to Meroë, where the head of one was found buried under the threshold of a Meroitic building whose decoration included a painting of a Roman prisoner being humiliated. The striking thing about Augustus, however, is that he knew it paid to cut his losses when the costs of maintaining a distant and unprofitable conquest were too great. Hence his retreat from Nubia at the end of the decade. In a sense, his treatment of Nubia foreshadows his reaction to Varus’ disaster in Germany. Interestingly, both cases are treated similarly in the Res Gestae, Petronius’ expedition and the conquest of Germany being mentioned but not the later retreats. In a nutshell, though, I think that in the twenties Augustus was prepared to expand as far as possible until he discovered how far “far” really was.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Notes to Response
1. The argument here is not for the revival, on yet another frontier, of the famous thesis of Frederick Jackson Turner. I do believe that it was the adjustment to a new environment which stimulated the rise of a unique Hellenistic civilization, and that the frontier experience (not necessarily the frontier natives) contributed at least as much to that new culture as did the heritage of the old Greek poleis. It is also true that some of Turner’s aggressive frontier types (explorers, miners, etc.) may be found in the Hellenistic period, and that the native peoples were largely oppressed, ignored, or displaced. On closer inspection, however, much of Turner’s thesis has no bearing whatever on the Hellenistic model. Most notably absent, perhaps, is the democratic stimulus which is allegedly fostered by the frontier wilderness. That impulse lingered weakly in Athens, perhaps, but not in the new royal cities of the east. On Turner and his influential thesis, see the works of his staunchest supporter, Roy Billington: Frederick Jackson Turner: Historian, Scholar, Teacher (New York, 1973), and The Genesis of the Frontier Thesis (San Marino, 1971).
2. The new edition of the CAH, admirable in so many ways, nevertheless exhibits this shortcoming; see F. W. Walbank et al., eds., CAH VII.1, The Hellenistic World, where, in a rather full index of thirty-nine pages, the word frontier does not find a place alongside factories, famine, fishing, freedom, and fruit. Walbank does have a “frontier” chapter in his short work The Hellenistic World (Cambridge, Mass., 1982), but its twelve pages are really devoted to geography and exploration.
3. Charles Edson, “Early Macedonia,” Ancient Macedonia 1 (1970): 17–44. The symposium was held at Thessaloniki in 1968.
4. While India provides an ideal model for testing Burstein’s thesis on Meroë, it is certainly not the only area offering useful points of comparison. The eagerness of some of our fellow symposiasts to draw our attention westward to the Tiber frontier is perhaps the best example. Our discussions really did bear out the proposition that Hellenistic frontier studies ought to be developed further. This is only one way in which our separate thoughts were drawn together by this forum, and I take this opportunity to thank the sponsors and organizers for making this possible.
5. See Jean W. Sedlar, India and the Greek World: A Study in the Transmission of Culture (Totowa, N.J., 1980).
6. Holt, Alexander the Great and Bactria (Leiden, 1988), 84 n. 139, 100–102.
7. DS 19.48; Strabo 15.2.9 C 724.
8. Just. 15.4.21; Strabo 15.2.9 C 724; App. Syr. 55; Plut. Alex. 62.2. See H. Scharfe, “The Maurya Dynasty and the Seleucids,” Zeitschrift fur vergleichende Sprachforschung 85 (1971): 211–25, and P. H. L. Eggermont, “Indien und die hellenistischen Königreiche,” in Jakob Ozols and Volker Thewalt, eds. Aus dem Osten des Alexanderreiches (Cologne, 1984), 74–83. The basic bibliography for these matters may be found conveniently in E. Will, Histoire politique du monde hellénistique, 2d ed., 2 vols. (Nancy, 1979–1982), to which should be added the exemplary treatment by Paul Bernard, Fouilles d’Ai Khanoum (Paris, 1985) 4:85–95.
9. Polyb. 11.39.11–12.
10. On the Seleucid ambassadors Daimachos and Megasthenes, consult Eckart Olshausen, Prosopographie der hellenistischen Königsgesandten (Lovan, 1974) 1:171–74. Note also the Ptolemaic ambassador, pp. 33–34.
11. Polyb. 11.39; Just. 41.4.
12. On the siginificance of elephants see the standard work by H. H. Scullard, The Elephant in the Greek and Roman World (Ithaca, N.Y., 1974), esp. chap. 4. On mining and mineral deposits see John Healy, Mining and Metallurgy in the Greek and Roman World (London, 1978), esp. chap. 3. The mineral wealth of ancient India has been categorically denied by W. W. Tarn, The Greeks in Bactria and India, 3d ed. (Chicago, 1985), 103–9, but the ancient evidence seems convincing even if occasionally embellished with stories of gold-digging ants and gryphons: Herodotus 3.94, 102–5; Aelian VH 4.27; Curt. 8.5.3, 8.9.19; Strabo 15.1.30 C 700, 44 C 706, 69 C 718; DS 2.36.2.
13. Fragment no. 92689 in the British Museum; see Sidney Smith, Babylonian Historical Texts (London, 1924), 150–59.
14. A. K. Narain, The Indo-Greeks (Oxford, 1957), 11, later repeated in “Alexander and India,” G&R 12 (1965): 165.
15. Asoka’s Rock Edict 13 mentions the missionaries to Antiochus II, Ptolemy III, Magas of Cyrene, Antigonus Gonatas, and Alexander (of Epirus?); for bibliography consult F. R. Allchin and K. R. Norman, “Guide to the Asokan Inscriptions,” South Asian Studies 1 (1985): 43–50. If there was any impulse to influence the culture of a foreign state, the evidence suggests that it came from India rather than Greece, and that it was the Greeks who refused the offer. On this theme, see the thoughtful little essay by Arnaldo Momigliano, “The Fault of the Greeks,” reprinted in his Essays in Ancient and Modern Historiography (Middletown, Conn., 1977), 9–23.
16. Athen. Deipn. 14.652–53. See also 1.18e, where the exchange of exotica between the rulers of resource frontiers is complete: Chandragupta had sent Indian aphrodisiacs to Seleucus I.
17. For references, see Allchin and Norman, “Asokan Inscriptions.” It was probably from among these settlers that Asoka drew the linguistic talent necessary to render his dharma into Greek, both for local consumption and for his missionary activities in the West (see above, note 15). It is less clear whether Greek philosophers had become a regular part of the Mauryan court since the time of Bindusura’s unsuccessful attempt to obtain one through Antiochus II, as implied by E. Will, “ Poleis hellénistiques,” Classical Views 32 (1988): 340 n. 28.
18. The inscription has been published by P. M. Fraser, “The Son of Aristonax at Khandahar,” Afghan Studies 2 (1979): 9–21; see also A. N. Oikonomides, “The Temenos of Alexander the Great at Alexandrian Arachosia,” ZPE 56 (1984): 145–47. The reading of the inscription is contested; Fraser reaches the conclusion that the area was still under Seleucid control. For a judicious commentary, see Bernard, Fouilles.
19. Consult the maps and text of Allchin and Norman, “Asokan Inscriptions.”
20. The evidence for Aramaic (and its derivatives) may be found conveniently in F. R. Allchin and N. Hammond, eds., The Archaeology of Afghanistan (London, 1978), 192–201; also consult W. Ball, Archaeological Gazeteer of Afghanistan (Paris, 1982) 2:366–67. For the additional evidence of coinage, see in particular R. Audouin and P. Bernard, “Trésor de monnaies indiennes et indo-grecques d’Ai Khanoum (Afghanistan),” RN 16 (1974): 6–41, esp. 28–30.
21. The material evidence is surveyed and illustrated in M. Taddei, Archaeologia mundi: India (Geneva, 1970), 48–76.
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