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GRK Murty
Homer advocates that every man should aim at winning over his
own base instincts for, it would reward him with a life of
fulfillment and in the case of a leader, it would ensure ardent
followership.
The Greek forces camp beside their ships on the shore near Troy. For
the last nine years, they have been fighting under the dashing
leadership of Achilles. Yet, they could not bring the war to a conclusion.
They could, however, capture and loot a number of villages in the
Trojan territory.
But this successful looting leads to a feud between Achilles and his
commander-in-chief. Agamemnon had been allotted the girl, Chryseis,
as his prize. Her father, a local priest of Apollo, approaches the Achaean
camp requesting them to release her by accepting a ransom. But
Agamemnon refuses to give her up. Instead, he heaps insult on the
priest. The priest then prays to his god. As a result, a plague results in
the Greece camp. Giving in to the public feeling, Agamemnon releases
the girl to propitiate the angry god.
After an abortive truce, the two armies again meet. Taking advantage
of Achilles’ absence from the battle, Hector, the Trojan commander-in-
chief, who had hitherto been penned up in Troy in its defense, succeeds
in setting fire to one of the Greece ships.
Inspired by the gods, King Priam, father of Hector, visits Achilles in his
camp by night to plead for his son’s body. Achilles relents: the play thus
ends with an uneasy truce for the funeral of Hector.
Achilles, frowning at him, says swiftly, “Old man, don’t provoke me. I
myself intend to give you Hector. Zeus sent me here a messenger.
Otherwise, no matter how young and strong, no living man would dare
to make the trip to our encampment. So don’t agitate my grieving heart
still more. Or, I might not spare even you, old man, though you’re a
suppliant in my hut. I could transgress what Zeus has ordered.”
This reprimand frightens the old man. Then Achilles, like a lion,
dashes out of doors with his two favorite aides. He calls some women
servants and tells them to wash and anoint Hector’s body in another
part of the house so that Priam will not see his son’s body, for Achilles
is afraid that the heart-stricken old man, at the sight of his son’s corpse,
might be unable to contain his wrath, and that his own spirit might then
get so aroused that he could kill Priam, disobeying Zeus’ orders. This is
another testimony to Homer’s understanding of human emotions.
Achilles foresees the possible reaction of King Priam and in turn his own
likely response to it with a clinical precision and accordingly executes
the needful in such way that it affords a noble relief sans the vulgarity,
the triviality, the litter and debris of the transitory and the unessential
to all concerned. This is no doubt an example of exalted leadership
displayed by the same Achilles who, while handling Hector’s body, was
at the height of savagery. The episode displays how ambiguous
leadership is—moving from the depths of depravity to the heights of
nobility—and how dexterous a leader needs to be in the handling of
right and wrong.
As the women servants anointed the body with olive oil and wrapped
it in a fine mantel and tunic, Achilles lifts it with his own hands on to a
bier, and as his comrades help keeps it in the wagon. In a groan, he
then addresses his beloved friend: “O Patroclus, / don’t be angry with
me, if you learn, / even in Hades’ house, that I gave back / godlike
Hector to his dear father. / He’s brought to me a fitting ransom. / I’ll be
giving you your full share of it, / as is appropriate.” Here again, Achilles
exhibits simultaneously his respect for the dead Hector by placing his
body on the bier by himself and to his departed friend, Patroclus. This
terrific scene woven by Homer, portrays moments of radiant
exaltation—in it we witness a solemn quiet, of fate accepted, of life not
exuberantly commanded but taken for what it is, grim and pitiful, with
its own strange, sad beauty, and at least able to be justified—an
incredible tale, the spirit of which every leader worth his salt must
internalize.
Then Achilles walks into the hut saying, “Old man, your son has been
given back, / as you requested. He’s lying on a bier. / You’ll see him for
yourself at day break, / when you take him. We should think of eating. /
Even fair-haired Niobe remembered food, / with twelve of her own
children murdered in her home, / her six young daughters and her six
strong sons. So, my royal Lord, let us two also think of food.” Then as
Achilles’ attendants fetch bread and meat, they help themselves to the
good things spread before them.
Once their thirst and hunger is satisfied, they look at each other with
admiration. Then King Priam begs to retire for the night. Thereupon
Achilles instructs maids to put the bedsteads in the portico. He then
tells Priam: “you must sleep outdoors, my friend, in case some Achaean
general pays me a visit… your recovery of the body will be delayed.” He
also enquires: “… tell me—and speak truthfully / how many days do
you require to bury / godlike Hector, so I can stop that long / and keep
the troops in check?” The venerable king then replies: “If you really
wish me to give Prince Hector a proper funeral, you will put me under
an obligation, Achilles, by doing as you say. We should be mourning him
for nine days in home, on the tenth day we shall bury him and hold the
funeral feast, and on the eleventh day build him a mound. On the
twelfth, if need be, we will fight.”
Saying, “All right, old Priam, things will be arranged / as you request.
I’ll suspend the fighting / for the length of time you’ve asked for,”
Achilles takes the old man’s wrist on his right hand, to banish all
apprehensions from his heart.
Through the whole episode of King Priam’s interaction with Achilles,
Homer establishes the magic of words in bringing the much desired
healing that totally evades definition. It is under the touch of this magic,
a great quiet descends upon Achilles and he grows ashamed of his
turbulence, his hurry, his ignoble self-pity, his insatiable discontent and
perhaps hearing the voice of his personal wrongs, he emerges as a
savior full of tender expressions of an almost religious solemnity. That
is great leadership indeed!
Homer, through his great Achilles, also shows the necessity of a great
leader to rise above meanness and inhumanity and deliver ‘quietness’
even to an enemy when the issue at stake is “man’s humanity to man.”
It is of course a different matter here that this recognition in Achilles is
brought about partly by divine intervention—‘deus ex machina’ —and
partly by a powerful appeal to his filial emotions.
But what is more important to grasp from the whole episode is:
however mighty the leader may be, digressing the basic tenets of
humanity could be disastrous— in modern terms, lead to unpredictable
consequences. Now, can today’s leaders afford to ignore Homer’s
prescription?
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