One Pillar Pagoda

A small wooden temple rises on a single stone pillar above a square pond. Lotus plants float on the water around it. From a distance, the whole structure looks like one flower opening on its stem. This is the One Pillar Pagoda, one of the oldest and most unusual temples in Hanoi. The pond is small, and a low fence runs around its edge.

The story begins almost a thousand years ago, with an emperor and a dream. Emperor Ly Thai Tong ruled the country from 1028 to 1054. He had grown old without a son. This worried him, because he had no heir to follow him. He prayed and hoped for a child. In those days, a ruler without a son faced an uncertain future for his line.

One night, the emperor had a dream. In it he saw Quan Am, the goddess of mercy, seated on a lotus flower. She held a baby boy in her arms and handed the child to him. Not long after, the emperor married a young woman from the countryside. Together they had a son. In Vietnam, this goddess is loved as a giver of children and a comforter of the sad.

The emperor believed the goddess had answered his prayers. In gratitude, he ordered a temple built in 1049. He wanted it to look like the lotus he had seen in his dream. So the builders raised a single pillar from the middle of a pond and placed a small shrine on top, like a blossom on the water. Word of the strange and lovely temple soon spread through the city.

The design is simple but full of meaning. In Buddhist thought, the lotus is a sign of purity. It grows up out of the mud, yet its flower stays clean. By shaping the temple as a lotus, the builders turned a prayer into wood and stone. The pillar is the stem. The shrine above is the flower. For Buddhists, it shows how a pure heart can rise above a hard life.

Inside the small shrine sits a statue of Quan Am, the same goddess from the dream. The space is tiny. Only a few people can climb the steps and enter at one time. For hundreds of years, people without children have come here to pray. They ask the goddess for the same gift the emperor once received. The wooden steps are narrow and worn smooth by many feet.

The temple was cared for by later rulers. In 1105, Emperor Ly Nhan Tong had it repaired and made larger. A bell was cast to hang nearby. Over the centuries, the pagoda became one of the lasting symbols of the city. It survived wars, weather, and the rise and fall of many ruling families.

But the temple you see today is not the original. In 1954, near the end of the French period in Vietnam, the pagoda was destroyed with explosives. The single pillar and shrine were reduced to rubble. For a time, the lotus on the water was gone. It was one of many losses during the years of war.

The loss did not last. In 1955, the government rebuilt the pagoda. The new builders followed the old designs so the temple would look as it had before. They raised the pillar again and placed the shrine back on top. Once more the lotus rose above the pond, as it had for nine centuries.

Stand back and look at the whole scene. The pillar is stone, about four meters tall. The pond around it is square, edged with low walls. A short flight of steps leads up to the shrine. Old trees lean over the water. The roof curves up at its corners, in the style of the region. Incense smoke drifts from a burner at the foot of the steps.

The pagoda sits within a larger group of sites near the center of Hanoi. Close by are wide squares and other monuments. Yet this small temple holds its own. People are drawn to its strange and gentle shape. They stop, look up, and try to take in the whole flower at once. A small garden and a few old trees frame the pond.

Before you go, watch the lotus plants on the water for a moment. Each summer they bloom around the pillar, repeating in life the shape the temple was built to hold. An old emperor's dream became this small wooden flower on its stem. It has been knocked down and raised again, and still it stands, quiet above the pond. Children sometimes stop to count the lotus buds.