Those Ancient Khmers

I am running late for my train. The driver taking me to the train station, a bald, middle aged Thai man with long strands of white hair sprouting from a mole in his cheek and a gift for conversation, is excited to learn that I am from the Northeastern region of Thailand. He speaks enough English to engage in conversation about the old Khmer ruins widespread in my neck of the woods. We compare Phi mai and Phnom Rung; talk about the lesser known ruins like Ku Phra Kona and Ku Ka Sing; and he tells me about the beauty of Khao Phra Wihan. I don’t mind him talking as long as he keeps driving.

“Do you know how the Khmers built those temples in the mountains?” he asks me.

“I have no idea”.

He looks at me and gives me one of those smiles. “Well I do”.

And thus begins a rather tense 5 minutes

He starts telling me the story, his foot easing from the pedal as his excitement builds up.

“The ancient Khmer” he declares in rapid oratory “had clean hearts!”

“Clean hearts, got it” I say, nervously glancing at my watch

“They had no technology but their hearts were clean!”

His voice starts rising, his passion more evident, his pride swelling at the opportunity to impart his wisdom upon me. His feet leave the pedal completely. We are parked on the side of the street. His hands flailing wildly in the air like a symphonic maestro, his message being delivered with a fervor becoming of a minister:

“And they had faith! And so they had power! The big stones felt like chog to them!”

“Chog?” I ask, actually a bit captivated by the story (I had given up hope of making my train)

“Yes!” he screams as he begins writing things in an imaginary blackboard “like chog!”

“Oh, like chalk”

“Yes, like chog!”

“Got it”

He goes on, his tone rising, his vocabulary taking on a biblical quality:
“And because of faith, five men were like one and twenty men were like one and one was like many…and because it was for god, they worked with one mind and one clean heart”

I’m carefully working out the previous statement (how the hell is five like one and twenty like one?) when he suddenly turns to me and eyes me rather suspiciously.

“Do you think” he asks, quite guardedly “that they used elephants?”

“Well, I imagine they would have”

“No!” he screams as if I had uttered some blasphemy “They not use elephants!”

He attempts to clear my sacrilege

“The mountain was like this” he slants his right forearm at a steep angle to his thigh and uses the fingers of his left hand to show elephants attempting to climb the steep mountain

“Elephants” he says, as his left hand slides across his belly “could not walk up”

We sit there thoughtfully for what seems like quite a while. He giving me time to let everything sink in; me trying to work out what other options I might have if I were to miss the train.

“Okay, he says finally, as if snapping out of a trance “we go now”

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Post script: The train was blowing its horn as we pulled up to the station. If not for an ancient Khmer like burst of strength that I summoned from the depths of my clean heart (and a whole lot of adrenaline) I doubt my fully filled 85 liter backpack would have felt light as “chog” as I made the dash for my journey back to the Northeast.