Whispers of Ajivika doctrine survive only in stone and second-hand scrolls. No original treatises or theological manuals have endured; their sacred writings seem to have vanished into thin air. What remains are a handful of inscriptions and mentions by rivals.

The most tangible traces sit in the Barabar and Nagarjuni cave complexes of Bihar. Carved under Emperor Ashoka’s patronage around the 3rd century BCE, a few Brahmi-script inscriptions mark those rock shelters as gifts “to the Ajivikas.” They don’t spell out creed or practice—it’s more a landlord’s deed than a sermon—but they’re precious archaeological signposts. A later Dasaratha inscription on the same walls reiterates royal favor, underlining how politically significant the Ajivikas once were.

Beyond caves, scant references pop up in early Buddhist and Jain chronicles, where Ajivika determinism is often critiqued. Chinese pilgrims—like Song Yun in the 6th century—jotted down hearsay about Ajivika settlements near Pataliputra, yet none of those notes form a coherent scripture. Even the famed Hathigumpha inscription in Odisha, though rich with details on King Kharavela’s patronage, offers only a passing nod to Ajivika ascetics among other sects.

Modern archaeology and epigraphy have peeled back a layer of history, but the core of Ajivika thought remains locked away. Recent conservation efforts—especially the 2022 restoration of Barabar caves—have brought renewed attention to these silent chambers. Still, without manuscripts or doctrinal outlines, what’s left feels like piecing together a puzzle with most tiles missing. The detritus of inscriptions and outsiders’ jottings keeps the Ajivikas alive in academic lore, even if their own voice has been lost to time.