Just beyond the gentle sprawl of Visakhapatnam, near the windswept stretch of Thotlakonda Beach, a narrow road breaks away from the city’s thrum and begins its quiet ascent. It climbs steadily, snaking around a hillock, leaving behind the sounds of the sea. The road ends abruptly, at a rusted gate that guards a forgotten world. Behind it, sprawling over 120 acres, lie the weathered ruins of Thotlakonda, an ancient Buddhist monastery that once thrived between the 3rd century BCE and the 3rd century CE.
Standing atop the site, the view opens into an endless expanse of the Bay of Bengal, blue and boundless. But it’s not the ocean that draws the eye first, it’s the Mahastupa. This massive dome rises from the ground like a sentinel of time, framed by silence and sea breeze. Scattered around the Mahastupa are the remains of a once-bustling spiritual centre. Dormitory-style viharas—simple rooms where monks once lived in contemplation—line the paths. There are chaityagrihas, ancient prayer halls, a communal kitchen, and dining spaces now open to the sky. Not far from the stupas, a rectangular structure with short stone pillars catches the light. The site, the guide explains, was once a congregation hall supported by 64 pillars, each representing a different art form in Indian aesthetics. “It was an important cultural, spiritual and academic centre for Hinayana Buddhism, with monks arriving from as far away as China,” says the Archaeological Survey of India’s local guide and caretaker.
Beneath the ruins lie deeper stories—Roman and Satavahana coins, pieces of pottery, and religious relics unearthed by archaeologists. These artefacts hint at the cosmopolitan nature of the site.
The name Thotlakonda, meaning ‘hill of tanks’, finds its roots in the series of rock-cut cisterns that still punctuate the terrain. Carved into the hillside, these sunken tanks once harvested rainwater to serve the needs of more than 100 resident bhikkhus. A short drive—just five km east—leads to another hilltop echoing with a similar sense of quiet grandeur. Bavikonda, or ‘the hill of wells’, mirrors much of Thotlakonda’s layout: stone cisterns, votive stupas, viharas, chaityagrihas, and the remnants of what was once a massive Mahastupa. Today, only the pedestal remains, the domed crown lost to time.
But what Bavikonda lacks in scale, it makes up in significance. Among its 26 identified structures, archaeologists discovered a rare dagoba—a stupa housing a relic casket believed to contain a bone fragment of the Buddha himself. “Hardly anyone comes here except young people seeking privacy,” the guide remarks wryly.
In the hush of the hills, the ruins of Thotlakonda and Bavikonda still hold stories—of monks and merchants, of prayer and purpose. All they need now is someone to listen.