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Trapped is the
adjective you use to describe the feeling of being caught on a ship
during a storm at sea. As the ship pitches and tosses you run from
bow to stern, making sure that all of the gear is lashed down, and
praying that the watertight integrity has not been breached. The
deck rises to meet you, and you suddenly find yourself running
uphill. Next, the earth drops away beneath you, and you are falling
into a profound chasm. The deck shoots up again, and you collide
with bone-jarring force.
Water washes over the deck. The pitch is more violent now. The stern
is submerged and the bow is lost, somewhere in the black sky. Next,
the bow crashes down below the waterline, its pointed arrow aimed
directly at the watery hell it will surely take you to. The stern is
behind you now, its massive weight driving the wedge home.
Forgetting where you are going or what you were doing, you collapse
on the deck, ambivalent to this deadly game of seesaw. Powerful
tidal waves form, gathering moment as they run the length of the
deck. One knocks you down. Caught in the undertow you are dragged
almost off the stern, but the boat pitches again, tossing you in the
air. Your once proud boat is now the plaything of the sea, like a
seal cub being toyed with by killer whales. And you and all the
other passengers are the least significant objects in the universe.
It finally happens,
a wave catches you from the port side and drops into the ocean to
starboard. The storm carries you away. With each peak and trough of
the waves, less and less of the boat can be seen. The other
passengers are in the water, struggling for their lives.
Periodically they are sucked under and then thrown back up by the
hungry ocean. Occasionally they go down and stay down. Your lungs
are full of brackish water. You hack, cough, and vomit. Calling upon
the dead spirits of your parents and grandparents, you silently pray
to your ancestors to protect you. You beg the Buddha for favor.
If you could only
reach the island a mere three hundred meters away, you would be
safe. But you have no control over your motion and almost no energy
left.
Suddenly, the Buddha
comes, in the form of a winged horse. He plucks the suffering people
from the water, and deposits them safely upon the island.
You collapse on your
belly, and give a prayer of thanks.
This is the legend
which is recreated at the temple of Prasat Nyat Pen. The temple
consists of a large central pool, surrounded by four smaller pools.
In the center of the
central pool I an island, bearing a stupa, honoring the Buddha.
Swimming to the island is a massive stone horse, with the figures of
the shipwreck victims gratefully holding on.
Samban explains that
years ago there was actually a spring which fed the large pool. But
today, it is replenished only by rainwater. Spring water or rain
water, because the water is collected at the sacred site, the water
become holy water. Visitors are invited to walk on the stone bridge
and climb upon the stupa. You can also visit the flying horse
Buddha, but sadly, his wings have been stolen by treasure hunters.
If you climb down
the stonework of the lesser pools, you will find a stone chamber,
with a bas-relief of a mythical animal. Inside the chamber of the
first lesser pool, there is a bas-relief of an elephant, whose trunk
is a waterspout. In former times, people come to sit upon the stone
statues of the footprint of Buddha and the sacred lotus blossom.
Lotus blossoms were once used to purify the way upon which the
Buddha would walk. The devotes sat upon the holy relics, and the
monks purified them by releasing holy water from the elephant.
The people believed that the sacred water would wash away their sorrows.
Explained Samban
Seeing Prasat Nyat
Pen I realized that in addition to spending a week to see all of
Angkor Wat, you could easily spend a month getting to know Siem
Reap.
Contact the author
at: antonio_graceffo@hotmail.com
You can reach Long
Leng of Phnom Penh Tours at
sales@phnompenhtours.com
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