Ta Prohm

Listen for a moment before you look up. Somewhere above you, a leaf the size of a dinner plate falls through the canopy and lands on stone with a soft slap. The air is damp and green. Underfoot, the path changes from packed red earth to wooden boards, and then to grey sandstone blocks worn smooth by feet and rain. Ahead, a pale root as thick as a horse runs down a wall, splits the blocks apart, and disappears into the ground. This is Ta Prohm, and the forest is still part of the building.

Most temples at Angkor were cleared of jungle during the twentieth century. Trees were cut, rubble was sorted, and walls were rebuilt stone by stone. Here, the French scholars of the École française d'Extrême-Orient made a different choice. They decided to leave this temple largely as they found it, so that visitors could see what early explorers saw. It was a deliberate decision, not neglect. The trees, the fallen galleries, and the moss are part of the plan. The trees are protected as carefully as the stones.

So who built it? Ta Prohm was commissioned by King Jayavarman the Seventh, one of the most ambitious builders in Khmer history. It dates from the late twelfth century, and its foundation inscription gives the year 1186. The king dedicated the main image to his mother, shown as the Buddhist goddess of wisdom. Its original name was Rajavihara, which means royal monastery. The name Ta Prohm, often translated as Ancestor Brahma, came much later. Jayavarman also built Preah Khan nearby, which honours his father.

Here is a detail most visitors walk past without knowing. A large stone inscription, found inside the complex, records the life of the monastery in remarkable detail. It lists more than 12,000 people who lived and worked here. These included priests, dancers, and officials. It also says that tens of thousands of villagers in the surrounding area supplied rice, honey, wax, and other goods. The inscription even lists treasure — gold dishes, pearls, precious stones, and Chinese silk. This was not a quiet hermitage. It was a small city.

Now look at the trees themselves. Two kinds do most of the work here. The tall, pale giants with smooth, almost silvery bark are silk-cotton trees, also called kapok. Their roots spread over walls like melted wax. The other type is the strangler fig, whose thinner roots wrap around stone like a net. A seed lands in a crack in the roof, often dropped by a bird. Over many decades, its roots grow down to the soil, and the stones slowly move apart.

This creates a real problem for conservators. The trees break the temple, but they also hold parts of it together. If a large tree dies or is cut down, the walls it is gripping can collapse. That is why you will see wooden props, steel cables, and scaffolding in some corners. Since the early 2000s, Cambodian authorities have worked with the Archaeological Survey of India on stabilising the site. Their task is difficult. They must keep the ruin safe without removing the forest that gives it its character.

As you walk deeper, notice how the layout works. The temple is arranged as a series of rectangular enclosures, one inside the next. Long, low galleries with corbelled stone roofs run between them. Corbelling is an early method where each stone sits slightly further out than the one below, until the two sides meet. The Khmer builders did not use true arches. This is one reason so many roofs here have fallen in. The narrow corridors twist, turn, and sometimes end at a pile of collapsed blocks.

Look at the walls closely, especially near doorways. You will see carved female figures standing in niches. These are devatas, which are minor goddesses or guardian spirits. Each one has her own hairstyle, jewellery, and posture. Some are still sharp after eight hundred years. Others are blurred by lichen, so their faces look green and soft. You may also notice small holes drilled in some walls. Many scholars think these once held metal fittings or decorative plates that have long since disappeared.

One carving here causes lively debate. On a doorway, inside a small round frame, there is an animal with a row of plates along its back. Some visitors say it looks like a stegosaurus, a dinosaur. Guides love to point it out, and you may hear people argue about it. Most scholars think it is a rhinoceros, a boar, or another familiar animal, with the plates being decorative leaves behind it. It is a good example of how people bring their own stories to old stones.

The temple also has a more recent claim to fame. In 2001, scenes from the film Tomb Raider were shot here, with Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft. After that, one great tree beside a doorway became known simply as the Tomb Raider tree. Its roots pour over the top of the doorway like a frozen waterfall. Expect a queue of people waiting for their photograph. It is worth being patient, but it is also worth looking at the quieter corners nearby.

In one of the inner chambers, people often stop and gently thump their chest. The small, tall room makes the sound echo back strongly, while a normal voice barely carries. Local guides say the room may have had a ritual purpose, but nobody knows its use for certain. Try it yourself, softly. Standing in that dim stone space, listening to your own heartbeat return, is one of the strangest moments here. It also shows how carefully sound and darkness were used inside these buildings.

Think, too, about what is missing. When this monastery was alive, the stone was probably not bare grey. Many Khmer temples once had painted surfaces, gilded details, and wooden buildings that rotted away long ago. The courtyards would have been full of incense, chanting, and the movement of thousands of people. Today, the main sounds are birds, cicadas, and footsteps on wooden walkways. The quiet you hear now is new. For much of its early life, this was a crowded and noisy place.

The forest is also changing the light as you move. In the outer areas, sunlight comes through in bright patches. In the inner galleries, everything turns cool and shadowy. After rain, the stones become darker, and the moss turns almost luminous green. In the dry season, the roots look paler, and dust drifts in the beams of sun. Every visit feels a little different. That variety is part of why many people come back to this temple more than once.

Before you leave, stand still for one last minute. Choose a single root and follow it with your eyes, from the top of the wall to the place where it enters the earth. That root has been growing for longer than most living people. The stones it holds were cut and placed by hand, more than eight centuries ago. As you walk back along the path, listen again for falling leaves. The forest and the temple are still slowly shaping each other.