The Ajanta caves are in a row, a semi-circle of hollowed out rooms inside the giant rock face of the cliff. They are ancient - built, carved, and painted by Buddhist monks centuries ago. It would have been a safe haven for them, a shelter from the monsoon rains that poured as they worked, a cool respite from the burning sun, a place of protection from the harsh society of those times.

We could see the tiny sleeping rooms chiseled out of the walls inside one or two of the caves. They had hard stone bunks, some with stone pillows. I wondered

just how many men clad in religious robes had passed their lives there.

The work they did was amazing. Time and the elements have worn away some of the vividness of the colors, some of the detail. With a little imagination it was possible to see them back through the ages, bent over mixing paint in the little wells dug out of the rock floor, raising their brushes to adorn the murals with details of faces and hand gestures.

Many of the rooms had large Buddha statues. The best was of the Buddha reclining on his side, large and full length along the cavern wall. One or two caves had painted ceilings. They were held up by intricately carved pillars, some still with faded natural paint. There was a two story cave with a chiseled out staircase in the front corner leading to a blocked off second floor. It was closed for restoration.

The restoration process was ongoing everywhere. Bottles of chemicals could be seen hanging from iv poles as men on scaffolding repaired the ancient art found in the thirty odd caves.

One cave, the oldest from 500 years before Jesus, had graffiti scratched into the paintings covering the walls. It was in Hindi, or at least in some language with similar characters strange to the western eye. This was also the first cave rediscovered by the British soldiers in the early 1800s. It had remained hidden for centuries until then, away from destructive hands and curious adventurers.

The Indian tourists were fascinated by Catrina’s long blonde hair and wanted to take pictures with her and the other white girls. We felt like movie stars. The gang of Indian boys was intrigued by Austin and wanted their pictures with him. We had fun watching people too. Like kings and queens of old, a few of the Indian women were being carried up and down the hill of staircases on wooden chairs with long wooden poles on each side supported by four hardworking men on the corners. They offered the same ride to our group members for 400 rupees, about eight dollars.

We left by the same taxi that brought us. It was the same one that helped us to find rooms the night before. To get to it we had to make our way through countless touts hawking souvenirs. They were insistent and non-relenting. Alex liked one of the carved jewel boxes. The tout wanted 1200 rupees for it. That was a lot. He started at the entryway to the caves even though the government had built a little cement stand shopping mall at the bus drop off point down the hill so that the sacred site would not be destroyed by all the trampling capitalists pushing to be the first to get to their buyers.

The tout battered at Alex’s resolve, pushing the bargaining. At some point he managed to hand the box to him and wouldn’t take it back, demanding 500 rupees as his lowest offer. Alex looked so frustrated, so perplexed, a little lost at this foreign style of aggressive commerce. He wanted it, but didn’t want to pay too much for it. He seemed about to buy it just to have the guy leave him alone. The insolent nut had even climbed onto the government bus and followed him to the back of it, harping the entire way. It took one of the nationals on board to scold him in Hindi and have him thrown off the bus by the driver just to give Alex a few minutes of rest. But the tout beat the bus back down the hill and was waiting there to start in on him again before Alex even had both feet on the ground.

It was in that pause of a moment, when Alex was standing holding that jewel box he wanted but didn’t want, not sure what to do since the tout wouldn’t take it back from him, it was then that I had enough of it. I took the box from his hand, set it on the ground gently, and forcefully told the punk to stop and leave him alone. He wasn’t buying it because I would have to kick him hard if he did. You can’t reward behavior like that. It’s rude. And to buy because they break you down sets up the next bunch of tourists for more hassle. It’s not fair to the touts staying in the cement village where they are supposed to be. On walking through it, Alex found the exact same carved jewel box for 100 rupees – and bought three.