Simon Marcus Gowe, Contributor, Prambanan
Fri, 07/10/2009 3:09 PM

The towers rise tall and proud from the Prambanan plain, testament to the skills and beliefs of the medieval Javanese. But even as it inspires awe, the temple complex of Prambanan exudes an air of vulnerability.

The huge Hindu temples, built between the 8th and 10th centuries on what is now the border between Yogyakarta and Central Java regencies, were and are evidence of the great Mataram Kingdom that rose to power at that time. But what we refer to as the Prambanan Temple or Candi Complex today is only one part of a much larger story.

Visitors to the temple complex today can see a handful of towering structures, each one impressive at more than 40 meters tall. But at one time, spread across the Prambanan plain, were more than 200 temple sites. What an incredible sight they must have made!

Nevertheless, the remaining remnants of the past greatness remain great. Over the centuries, as kingdoms moved on or declined, and new faiths and values emerged, the hundreds of temples on the Prambanan plain were abandoned as kingdoms moved on or declined.

In the days of neglect, treasure hunters stripped the temples of their treasures, while for many local people, the complex was an open quarry whose stones they could take away for their own purposes.

Then, in the mid-16th century, a reportedly massive earthquake brought down many temples.

In May 2007, another earthquake rocked the region with the damage still evident today and parts of the complex cordoned off to protect visitors from any falling rocks.

Although the temple towers of Prambanan are now well protected and looked after, they still exude an air of fragility and vulnerability, accentuated perhaps by the piles of stones lying at their feet.

In the shadows of the remaining towers are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of stone blocks, appearing haphazardly discarded. Once part of other buildings in the complex, many show signs of fine carving.

The temple architecture too lends an air of vulnerability. The stone finials and decorative elements attached to the higher reaches of the towers look to be on the brink of falling and crashing to the ground.

The towers themselves resemble huge three-dimensional jigsaw puzzles, with blocks slotted in against each other, the shapes and grooves of the stones interlocking to hug and hold each other together and stay erect. Their magnificence suggests they stand erect only out of sheer will and in defiance of gravity.

Countering the sheer mass of stone are the fine details and beautiful relief carving on the galleries and balustrade, depicting scenes from the Hindu epic, the Ramayana.

Dozens upon dozens of carved stones that would make exquisite museum pieces here are slotted into the massive and exposed structures.

The impressive structures of the towers make them, effectively and symbolically, manmade mountains. When they were originally constructed, they would have been the skyscrapers of their day.

The people who labored on their construction could only ever have lived in single-story wooden or bamboo structures.

For those people, then, who had no inkling of today's concrete jungles, these massive monuments must have been breathtaking as they rose above the plain, reaching for the place of the gods.

But while these temples were built to honor the Hindu gods, Shiva, Brahma, Vishnu and others, they were also built to symbolically recreate the cosmic mount of Meru. This symbolism connects Prambanan to Borobudur, which was also a symbolic recreation of Meru.

It has other connections to Borobudur also. Prambanan was built at a time of transition from the Buddhist Sailendra dynasty to the Hindu kings of Mataram, as shown in some of the architecture and decorative work of the temples, parts of which combine Buddhist and Shivaite aspects.

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