Strange is the mar­riage of the cave and the sanc­tu­ary. We usu­ally think of a sanc­tu­ary as a build­ing made by human hands, and of a cave as a nat­ur­al hol­low. The cave sanc­tu­ary is a curi­ous sym­bi­os­is of the two. The cave mon­as­ter­ies of Ajanta were foun­ded fif­teen hun­dred years ago. It is thought that once the entrance had been carved, they began to cut the interi­or deep into the rock face, work­ing from the out­side and from above. So they needed no scaf­fold­ing.

The largest cave sanc­tu­ary has a floor area of 19.5 x 22.25 metres and an inner height of 4.6 metres. From the ves­ti­bule a splen­did colon­nade opens out; in the sanc­tu­ary, which can be walked around, the Buddha pro­claim­ing the dharma sits on a lion throne, flanked by bod­hisat­tvas hold­ing fans and celes­ti­al nymphs bear­ing a gar­land of flowers. The interi­or also holds fur­ther chapels and cells. The tall, bare columns may once have been painted, but the walls are still adorned with paint­ings of the Jata­kas, the Buddha's former incarn­a­tions.

We might think that at Ajanta, besides the splen­did nar­rat­ive mur­als and the monu­ment­al statues, it is the smal­ler stone carvings, the pro­por­tions of the struc­tures, and per­haps the view and the beauty of the nat­ur­al set­ting that make an impres­sion on the vis­it­or. But cave sanc­tu­ary XXI makes not only a visu­al but also an aud­it­ory impres­sion. Here, in the cave sanc­tu­ary shrouded in half-light, two strange carved stone pil­lars stand side by side in the colon­nade. These are the speak­ing or singing pil­lars: tapped with the palm, the left one pro­duces a rising cres­cendo, the right one a sink­ing one. Divin­ing-stones, or a litho­phone to bright­en the monks' lives? Or else the two dir­ec­tions of the sound's vibra­tion carry a far-reach­ing mes­sage: we must go deep into our med­it­a­tion, so that our aware­ness may then rise…

The cave-sanc­tu­ary is no mere sac­red struc­ture. It is also a womb. That is why her­mit-exist­ence is foet­al exist­ence. A wait­ing for spir­itu­al birth, which, seen from here, is rather a wait­ing for bod­ily death. Which is the world turned upside down? The her­mit's, for whom the embod­ied state is foet­al exist­ence and who waits to be born into etern­al life, or the worldly man's, for whom tak­ing on a body, his actu­al com­ing into the world, is the enforced end of his foet­al exist­ence?

If you with­draw into a mon­as­tery-cave, you accept your own foet­al nature and make it con­scious, and if you become enlightened in your con­scious­ness, that is, if you are born anew, then you step out of the cave's womb into the pure light of the tran­scend­ent world. This dying, dying to the world, is true rebirth, while being born into the world is in truth a per­ish­ing. Which is the world turned upside down? The wak­ing of men is night to the sage who sees his soul…

The next cave holds the relief of the Buddha's par­inir­vana. Nearly eight metres long and lying on his right side, the Buddha reposes on a couch, his head rest­ing on his right hand, laid upon a pil­low. Depart­ing into the final extin­guish­ing, the Buddha lies between two trees; in the shade of the tree at his feet stands Ananda, his beloved dis­ciple, who also looks towards the north. The north is the sym­bol of spir­itu­al per­fec­tion through­out India… The Buddha's death – a true cross­ing into etern­ity.

North of Kush­in­ara, on the bank of the Hir­an­yavati [Gandaki] river, between two sala-trees, it happened that the glory of the age, look­ing towards the north, entered nir­vana. (Fa Hsien, Chinese trav­el­ler)

The nat­ur­al cave is a nat­ur­al place of rebirth, now giv­ing shel­ter, now a source of danger. The man-made cave sanc­tu­ary or mon­as­tery is no source of danger. It evokes a sense of prim­al secur­ity, and although the rock couch is not about com­fort, since in a mon­as­tery and in spir­itu­al prac­tice it is always worth step­ping out of the com­fort zone, a true mon­as­tery-cave, far from dis­turb­ing our secur­ity zone, widens and strengthens it. It gives secur­ity, shel­ters the soul, and pre­pares it for being born anew.