Sacred Stones and Silent Gods: A Journey Through Surin’s Ancient Khmer Temples

As tensions along the Thai-Cambodian border ease, the timeworn temples of Surin Province—long overshadowed by Cambodia’s majestic Angkor—are stepping back into the light.

The international spotlight may have been drawn by political disputes, but for travelers, this moment has revived interest in Surin’s Khmer sanctuaries: stone-built remnants of a civilization that once ruled much of mainland Southeast Asia.

Located some 430 kilometres northeast of Bangkok—and just 90 kilometres from Buri Ram Airport—Surin is best known for its domesticated elephants, many of which live with local families.

But beyond its pachyderm fame, the province offers a spiritual and cultural landscape shaped over a thousand years.

Here, temple ruins lie half-buried in rice fields or tucked into forested ridges, their sandstone carvings recounting epics of Hindu deities, Buddhist kings, and ancient medical lore.

For travelers drawn to mythology, archeology, and the quiet power of sacred spaces, Surin offers a journey as contemplative as it is immersive.

In Sikhoraphum District, about 35 minutes east of Surin town, Prasat Sikhoraphum rises like a rediscovered jewel.

This 11th–12th-century sanctuary, with its five towers and richly carved sandstone lintels, was originally dedicated to Shiva and Vishnu before transitioning into a Theravāda Buddhist site.

The central tower still stuns: Shiva dances as Nataraja above a fierce kala mask and a trio of swans, while surrounding figures of Brahma, Vishnu, Ganesha, and celestial apsaras remain etched in dynamic detail.

A lotus-bud finial, once crowning the tower, now rests near the entrance—just one of many signs of the artistic and spiritual finesse of its Khmer builders.

Further south, in Sangkha District, Prasat Phum Pon lies largely unnoticed by the tourist trail.

Modest in scale but rich in sign ificance, its trio of brick towers and a solitary laterite structure align in a straight north–south axis.

Prasat Sikhoraphum's facade features an apsara (a divine nymph), with a lotus bud motif carved above her head. //Photo courtesy of TAT

Inscriptions in Pallava script—among the earliest Sanskrit texts found in Thailand—attest to the deep religious and cultural exchanges between ancient India and the Khmer world.

While many artifacts have been relocated to the Surin National Museum, the site itself remains powerfully evocative, especially at dawn, when the first light strikes its weathered towers.

Near the Thai-Cambodian border in Phanom Dong Rak District, the terrain shifts.

Forested hills and winding roads lead to the Ta Muen Temple Group, a triad of sanctuaries that sit at the heart of a simmering territorial dispute.

Cambodia has laid claim to the temples, which lie within Thai borders, and has indicated it may escalate the case to the International Court of Justice. Yet for visitors, the politics fade behind the presence of the structures themselves.

Prasat Ta Muen, likely a Mahāyāna Buddhist sanctuary built under King Jayavarman VII, features a long processional hall and a single prang made of laterite.

Its architecture is quietly eccentric: on the north side, faux windows are carved into solid walls, while on the south, real openings invite slants of light into shadowed interiors.

Nearby, Prasat Ta Muen Tod once served as an Arogyasala, or spiritual hospital—one of 102 built by Jayavarman VII across the Khmer Empire.

A sandstone inscription once stood here, invoking Bhaishajyaguru, the Medicine Buddha, and naming appointed healers.

Though the inscription is now housed in Bangkok, the sanctuary remains intact, with a central shrine, pond, library, and enclosing wall—a tranquil testament to ancient care and cosmological healing.

Most imposing of all is Prasat Ta Muen Thom, a Shaivite sanctuary believed to predate the others.

Its three sandstone towers face south, with the main tower sheltering a naturally formed lingam and a ritual water channel once used for purification rites.

Remains of cloisters and libraries hint at its former religious stature. Given the proximity to the border, visitors should check with local authorities before attempting to reach the site.

Off the paved road and deep within the forest, Prasat Ta Kwai requires a hike of several kilometers.

But the effort yields solitude and awe. Perched high on a ridge, the laterite-and-sandstone shrine evokes echoes of both Angkor Wat and the Bayon in its cruciform layout and spired roof.

Within, an uncarved Svayambhu lingam—a self-manifested symbol of Shiva—sits untouched in the sanctum.

Here, in the hush of the forest, spirituality feels timeless and profound.

Back in Prasat District, two smaller sanctuaries offer moments of unexpected intimacy.

Prasat Ban Plai, with its triadic towers set atop a laterite base and encircled by a moat, features sandstone lintels depicting deities above kala masks.

One shows Indra astride Erawan, the three-headed elephant, a motif of royal protection.

Though some reliefs have been moved to the Phimai National Museum, the remaining carvings convey a cosmology steeped in wonder.

Nearby, Prasat Hin Ban Pluang is perhaps Surin’s most intricately adorned temple.

Though compact, its carvings are vivid: Krishna lifting Mount Govardhana to shield villagers from Indra’s storm; Krishna subduing the serpent Kaliya; and a lintel of Indra, once again atop Erawan, surrounded by divine and earthly beings.

At Prasat Ban Phluang, a stone sculpture shows the god Indra riding the three-headed elephant Erawan, hovering above a Kala face that spits out flowing garlands. //Photo courtesy of TAT Surin Facebook page

Animals and gods coexist here in sculpted harmony—an extraordinary expression of fertility, balance, and interconnectedness.

A surrounding moat and the remains of a baray suggest a once-flourishing temple community.

With roads open and the border calm for now, Surin’s sacred stones invite not just sightseeing, but reflection.

These are not ruins in the romantic sense—they are still, silent participants in an enduring spiritual conversation.

The gods may no longer speak, but here, their stories remain inscribed in stone.

For travelers who venture northeast, the journey is more than archeological. It is meditative. And in the quiet of Surin’s temples, where sunlight plays across millennia-old carvings, the past feels startlingly present.

If you go

Surin Province is about 90 kilometres from Buriram Airport, to where Thai AirAsia and Nok Air operate scheduled flights from Bangkok’s Don Mueang International Airport.