There are three levels to Angkor Wat. From the walkway a set of stairs leads to the first level. It is rectangular and stretches around the other two levels. The inside has a remarkably high vaulted roof, which gives it the feel of a cathedral. Sanskrit inscriptions record the glorious deeds of the kings. On the outside is the gallery of bas reliefs, stone murals that cover over 800 meters of the outer wall.

Incredible Bas Reliefs on the First Level

The first one I came across showed a battle with the Siamese. Soldiers on foot and knights on elephant back battle equally impressive forces. Around the corner is another battle scene, but this one is different. In this one, giants do battle with ten armed demons, heroes are mounted on Khmer lions, garudas (a lesser Hindu divinity) and other mythical beasts, and arrows turn into snakes. This is no ordinary battle scene; this is a battle from the Hindu epic, the Ramayana. Turning a corner, I found myself looking at one of the most popular Hindu epics: the churning of the ocean of milk.

According to this very popular Hindu story the gods were trying to create the elixir of eternal life, but were not successful. Further, they were exhausted from fighting the demons so they went to Vishnu for advice. Vishnu told them that they would have to cooperate with the demons. Vishnu got the demons to agree to help by promising to give them the elixir once it was produced. The demons agreed so Vishnu took a mountain, placed it upside down over the ocean of milk, and wrapped the king of the Nagas (supernatural beings) around it. The demons stood on one side and held the tail and the gods stood on the other holding the head.

After many centuries, the churning produced treasures. Among them were the goddess Lakshmi, the three-headed elephant that became the mount of Indra, the cow of plenty (Shiva’s mount), and many other wonders. On the 999th year the churning produced the apsaras that emerged from the churning surface of the ocean. Finally, on the 1000th year, the elixir of eternal life was produced, enough to fill one goblet. Vishnu gave the goblet with the elixir to the king of the demons as promised. But before the demon could drink it, a stunningly beautiful and scantily clad girl appeared and danced seductively in front of the demon king. She asked the demon king for the elixir. He was so drunk with lust that he didn’t notice that she hadn’t offered him anything in return. The girl then darted away and gave the elixir to the gods. The girl was really Vishnu.

In the mural, the gods are shown on one side with calm-looking, almond-shaped eyes, while the demons are on the other side with big, round eyes. On another wall I found depictions of the Mahabarata, another great Hindu epic. While still popular in India, that epic has faded from South East Asia. Perhaps that’s because its morals involved the caste system and other Hindu values that are no longer a part of South East Asian culture. The Ramanaya teaches loyalty, dedication, respect and faithfulness. The Mahabarata teaches a rigid adherence to caste even if that means killing family members, an idea foreign to South East Asians. The bas reliefs pack an incredible amount of action into every inch. Characters are all very close together, and the word “busy” is an understatement. At one time the walls would have been lacquered and painted, which must have made them as exciting as any action show on TV.

Leaving all this behind, I climbed a steep set of stairs to the second level. Climbing to the second level means ascending into the heavens. Gone are the battle scenes and the hectic activity of the gallery of bas reliefs. They are replaced by smiling, serene apsaras. There are more than 1,500 apsaras with quiet, celestial faces, but they are spaced far enough apart that the busy feeling of the first level is gone. Large windows with carved stone bars looking out onto the green countryside and jungle add to the effect.

Serene Asparas Residing on the Second Level

The third level seems even closer to heaven than the second. The four lotus-bud shaped towers are on each corner, and the central tower is elevated in the center. There is a walkway around the perimeter and four large, square-shaped pools represent the cosmic ocean with four bridges to Mt. Mehru. At that point I felt inspired to sit on the ledge of a window and just look out and smile back at the apsaras on the second level below. The wonderland of halls and galleries of the lower levels and the peaceful, green farms and jungles made me feel like it was heaven on earth, if part of earth at all. After indulging in the view for about half an hour, I climbed to the central tower sanctuary. The central sanctuary was something of an anti-climax as the center was partitioned off in the 1600s when Angkor Wat became a Buddhist temple. There are now four chambers with modern-looking Buddhist altars. The center of the chamber is visible from only one part of the tower, and it is empty. In olden times it housed a gold statue of Vishnu mounted on a garuda.

Dragging myself away, I climbed back down the walkway. I stopped at the gallery of bas reliefs, which seemed to come alive in the orange light of the setting sun. As I walked from the first level back to the moat I found that I wasn’t the only person that had to stop to turn around and marvel at the temple every few steps. At the gate I just stopped and stared. There is much about it that is wondrous, not the least of which is its size. Not that a 213-foot building is that unusual these days. In fact, in most big cities a 213-foot building would be lost in the crowd of much larger buildings, but have you ever seen one shaped like a giant flower bud?

All this might beg the question, what was the rest of the city like? Only the temples remain as they were made of stone. You can only dream about what Angkor must have looked like when all the buildings of the city were still standing. There are very few sources of information on this. One of the few sources is a Chinese merchant who lived at Angkor in the 1200s, just after Angkor’s peak. The merchant, Zhou Daguan, wrote a book called The Customs of Cambodia. In it, he describes the palace: “Lentils and columns, all decorated with carved or painted Buddhas, are immense… In the chamber where the sovereign attends the affairs of state there is a golden window, with mirrors on square columns to the right and left of the window trim, 40 or so in number.”

Of the nobility and upper class dwellings he tells us they are, “Of wholly different in size and design from that of the people. The family temple and main hall are covered with tiles; all the outlying buildings are thatched with straw. The rank of each official determines the size of his house.” He then tells us, “Straw thatch covered the dwellings of the commoners, not one of whom would place the smallest bit of tile on his roof. In this class too, wealth determines the size of the house, but no one would dare to vie with nobility.”

By Robert Wilson (*)

(*) Robert Wilson is an English teacher in northern Thailand.

This is part of our Window on Southeast Asia series.

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