Prambanan

Feel the ground first. The path is flat and warm, and then the stone begins: dark grey volcanic rock, rough under the hand, faintly cool even in the morning heat. Ahead, a cluster of tall pointed towers rises out of the green plain. They look almost too sharp to be stone. Up close, every surface is carved. There are figures, flowers, and faces, with very few plain blocks anywhere. Welcome to Prambanan, the largest Hindu temple compound in Indonesia.

This place was built in the ninth century, on the plain between the Opak River and the slopes of Mount Merapi. At that time, Central Java was ruled by kingdoms that followed both Hinduism and Buddhism. Many historians link the temple to the Mataram kingdom. An inscription dated 856 describes the dedication of a great Shiva sanctuary, and scholars widely connect it to this site. So these towers are older than most of Europe's great cathedrals.

The compound honours the Trimurti, the three central gods of Hinduism. Brahma is the creator. Vishnu is the preserver. Shiva is the destroyer, the god who clears the way for renewal. Shiva's temple stands in the middle, and it is the tallest — around forty-seven metres high. Brahma's temple stands to the south, and Vishnu's to the north. The three towers form a line that you can see from almost anywhere on the grounds.

Now turn around. Facing each of the three great towers is a smaller temple. These are for the vahanas — the animal mounts that carry each god. One holds Nandi, the bull that carries Shiva. In many visits, Nandi is the quiet surprise: a large, calm stone bull, resting in the dim chamber. The other two were dedicated to Hamsa, the sacred goose of Brahma, and Garuda, the eagle of Vishnu. Gods and their mounts face each other across the open courtyard.

Picture the original plan from above. The central courtyard holds the main temples. Around it, in a wider square, there were once more than two hundred small shrines, set in neat rows. Today most of them are piles of loose stone. Walk to the edge of the inner yard and look out. You will see rough heaps of grey blocks, some partly rebuilt. They show the scale of the original design, and they show how much has been lost.

Why was it lost? In the centuries after its construction, the centre of Javanese power moved east. Pilgrims came less often. Then there were earthquakes and eruptions from Merapi, the volcano you can sometimes see to the north. Towers cracked and fell. Trees grew into the stone. For a long time the temples stood as ruins in the fields, and local farmers told stories about them.

The best-known story is a legend, not history. Locals tell of Roro Jonggrang, a princess. A powerful man named Bandung Bondowoso wanted to marry her. She did not want him, so she set an impossible task: build a thousand temples in one night. With the help of spirits, he almost succeeded. Before dawn, she ordered the village women to pound rice and light fires. The roosters thought morning had come, and they crowed. The spirits fled.

According to the tale, Bandung Bondowoso had only nine hundred and ninety-nine temples. He was furious. He cursed the princess and turned her to stone, making her the thousandth temple. Inside the Shiva temple, in the north chamber, there is a statue of the goddess Durga. Many local people call this statue Roro Jonggrang. It is one reason the whole site is often called by her name. Look for her when you go inside — a slender figure with many arms, standing on a buffalo.

The Shiva temple has four chambers, one on each side. Shiva himself stands in the main eastern chamber. The others hold Durga, the wise teacher Agastya, and Ganesha, the elephant-headed god. To see them, you climb steep stone steps. The doorways are framed by a large carved face called a kala, a protective guardian figure with wide eyes. It looks down at everyone who enters. Hold the rail and take your time on the steps.

Here is a detail many visitors walk past. Along the inner walls of the gallery, on the Shiva and Brahma temples, runs a long carved story: the Ramayana. This is the ancient Indian epic of Prince Rama, his wife Sita, and the demon king who takes her. The panels are meant to be read in order, walking clockwise around the temple, with the building always on your right. That walk itself was part of worship. The Vishnu temple carries stories of Krishna.

On the outer base of the temples, look for another repeated image. A small lion sits in a niche, with a tree on each side. In the trees are creatures that are half bird and half human, called kinnara. This design appears again and again, and scholars sometimes call it the Prambanan motif. It is easy to miss, because it is low and small. Bend down and you will find dozens of them, each one a little different.

The temple you see today is a careful rebuilding. Western surveyors recorded the ruins in the early nineteenth century. Restoration work began in the twentieth century, and the Shiva temple was reassembled in the 1950s. In 1991, the compound became a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Then, in 2006, a strong earthquake struck the region. Stones fell, and engineers had to repair the towers again. Some scaffolding or fencing may still mark areas of work.

Before you leave, stand back in the open grass and look at the three towers together. Notice how the light changes on the grey stone — paler in the noon sun, darker and warmer near evening. Listen to the voices of school groups, the birds in the trees, the wind across the plain. For more than eleven centuries, people have stood here and looked up at the same carved stone. As you walk back along the path, look again at the scattered ruins on either side.