Nestling at the southern tip of Laos lies Wat Phu Champasak. Having long since passed into the passages of history, this ancient temple carries weight as one of Southeast Asia’s oldest sites of worship.
Visitors, perhaps those tracking the Mekong from Tibet to the South China Sea, will find a ruined Khmer-Hindu temple complex in Champasak province. It is, they find, the second Buddhist site in Laos. The temple sits at the feet of a sacred mountain called Lingaparvata, deemed spiritually important thanks to the lingam-shaped growth at its peak. Some deemed this place the home of Shiva, to whom the site is dedicated. And all agree that this mountain is also Phu Kao, from which the temple derived its name. One can thus call Wat Phu ‘the Temple of the Mountain.’ Like many other Hindu temples and places of worship, it faces east.
The skeletal lines of the temple’s layout show that it once looked over an ancient city that history records as Shrestapura. The city was built on the plain below and close to the banks of the Mekong, itself a representation of the sacred river Ganges, further highlighting the site’s devotion to the Hindu tradition.
Wat Phu Champasak sits at peace. Lotus-filled reservoirs and carved stone pillars distil the calm that pervades the site and infuse it with a quiet grace, placing the temple in the same role as a venerable elder in a village. But humility does not always mean obscurity. In 2001, UNESCO deemed the complex worthy of a World Heritage Site classification.
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Exploration shows the complex’s classic Khmer architecture. Its roots trace back to the fifth century. Shrestapura sat as head of a kingdom with connections to the Champa and Chenla realms, and the first structures appeared on the Phu Kao. But certain constructs pre-date even these constructs. The first megaliths, comprising stone cells, beast carvings and platforms, appeared on the site as early as the second century. And in the early seventh century, the first pre-Angkor brick buildings were built on temple grounds. Latter structures, those of the Angkor period, date from the 11th and 13th centuries.
Empire Forged
By the early tenth century, Wat Phu was part of the Khmer Empire, albeit in a different state than the one it has now. But things changed. A new city directly south of the temple supplanted Shrestapura. Soon enough, the complex’s buildings were also replaced by their overseers. This change happened in the 11th century. Over the next 200 years, the temple, in line with its fellow Khmer-era edifices, underwent cosmetic tweaks. But a more seismic shift occurred. In the 13th century, the winds of change had recast the temple to Theravada Buddhism. It is upon these shores that Wat Phu Champasak has remained.
Upon crossing the plateau toward the temple, it feels as though the area sits in thrall to the pious beacon. The harmony from the site seems to have flattened the surrounding land. Upon closer review, the visitor can note the lichens swabbed across the ruined palace buildings. They may also see the ground slowly engulfing fallen masonry. It looks as though the envoys of a subterranean netherworld have reached through the ground to reclaim what is rightfully theirs.
Daubs of orange, grey and black form psychedelic swirls on the weathered mortar, now-defunct halls and staircases. So doing, they force the husk of what once was to retreat further from the light. But this bereft air does not indicate doom. Rather, it suggests stillness and serenity, a climate vibrant with calm. All is silent save for the circling of birds and rustling of foliage. Plumeria trees have taken root across the complex; mango trees exist in similar abundance.
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Ascending Wat Phu, which sits at the foot of the sacred mountain Phu Kao, requires climbing staircases overgrown with gnarled frangipani bushes. The temple has a unique structure, topped by a shrine where water from the mountain’s spring bathes a lingam dedicated to Shiva.
Delve Deep
In keeping with the mysteries of divinity, Wat Phu keeps itself hidden but accessible to those who wish to know it further. The terracing and layout, coupled with the overgrown, plentiful trees, mean that few earthbound visitors can glimpse the temple in one go. Instead, Wat Phu rewards patience.
The first thing to note is the pair of red-hued brick pavilions that sit close to two large water basins. These buildings continue to baffle experts. Some think the pavilions sheltered pilgrims: men would gather in one and women in the other. But no definitive answer has ever appeared. Given that only the buildings’ walls stand, albeit with striking renderings of the Hindu deities Parvati, Shiva and Vishnu on their beams, their roles remain vague.
Such mystery does not extend to the pavilions’ layout. Each had a rectangular courtyard with corridors and entrances, with recessed niches at their eastern and western points. Pediments and beams, similar in design to those at Angkor Wat, further show the site’s Khmer stylings.
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A central staircase bisects Wat Phu Champasak and leads to a small shrine dedicated to the bull Nandi, Shiva’s mount. Further ascent reveals terraces, guarded by a fearsome dvarapala that depicts Phra Kammatha, the temple’s founder. Despite the complex’s clear state of ruin, the vanguard of dok champa, Laos’ national plant grown at every Buddhist temple, provides welcome relief from the blast furnace rays of the sun. Many in Southeast Asia consider the flower sacred. Certainly, it imbues sanctity in any place it grows.
The sun picks out the flower’s distinct white petals. So doing, the light also shines on skeletal branches reaching deep into the earth. And at the flower’s heart, one finds a yellow spiral, compact and heavenly gilded. Upon this spiral, do the petals intersect. Stared into, they afford a brief glimpse into the infinite reach of time itself. Thus do the celestial flowers offer a grand backdrop for a climb to the upper levels.
Upper Reach
This path ends in seven sandstone tiers, the levels of which reach the upper terrace and two-part central sanctuary. Perhaps in tribute to the enigma of faith, the back of this sanctuary is now empty, where once it contained a lingam. One can find richer pickings in the front section, where four Buddha images stand still and dignified.
This sanctuary dates from a later time than the two pavilions below. Estimates place it as a product of the 11th century, from the Baphuon period. A trio of doorways, each bearing a holy pediment, marks the east side. Vishnu sits on his mount Garuda; Indra rides Airavata, the divine elephant; and Krishna beats Kaliya, the nāga. Krishna appears once more on a lintel adorning the southern entrance. Here, one can see him slay the tyrant Kamsa.
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South of the sanctuary lies a worn library, while to the northwest resides a depiction of the cosmic divine Trimurti: Brahma the creator, Shiva the destroyer and Vishnu the preserver. The cliff face has upon it a Buddha footprint. So, too, are there stones shaped like elephants and a crocodile. Mystery attaches itself to the latter in the form of rumours that hint at human sacrifices upon the stone’s surface.
Like other Angkor-period buildings, detailed carvings adorn Wat Phu’s walls. Apsara dancers pose in endless grace, stone guardians stand rapt and noble, and scenes from the Ramayana play out in stillness. The variety of styles shows how Khmer stone architecture evolved and took shape. All point towards a grand sense of vitality at odds with the temple’s endless rest.
Wat Phu Champasak forms part of a cultural landscape that spans over 1,000 years. It sits at the foot of a sacred mountain, in deference to the Hindu vision of the bond ‘twixt humanity and nature. While the other super-temples in Southeast Asia — Angkor Wat’s brooding grandeur, the t-shirts and touts of Wat Pho in Bangkok, Borobudur’s bell-shaped stupas — rightly have the kudos, secluded Wat Phu stands alone in terms of quiet reflection. Its peace envelops the surroundings, which bow in supplication, as if to avoid witnessing the temple directly.
(Editor’s note: If you, perceptive reader, note that at least one of these pictures is slightly ropy, then count yourself thoroughly observant. This story was drawn from a visit to Wat Phu Champasak in 2007 — EITM prides itself on not being current or in-the-know — when camera phones were still, well, rubbish. Thus, some of the images are video stills, the acquisition process of which quickly lost its appeal; true to form, we half-arsed it instead and made do with the least worst material we had to hand. Enjoy.)
This worn monolith placidly surveys its domain, riding out the ravages of time. But such is the throb of Wat Phu’s residual energy that the pulse never totally extinguishes. The Khmer rulers of yore planned as much: that the convergence of faith and place would inspire the devout. The temple gave solid form to this notion. And the rulers of Angkor concurred: inscriptions show gifts of weapons, rice and money bestowed upon the temple from many miles away. And even in its current repose, the sacred site of Wat Phu Champasak still commands awe from all who stand in its presence.
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