Imagine wandering through the gallery of Angkor Wat and spotting Shiva’s cosmic dance reliefs rubbing shoulders with serene Buddha images. That side-by-side display tells a story of two traditions mingling like old friends at a festival. On the temple pediments, the Churning of the Ocean of Milk scene—originally a Hindu myth about Vishnu’s incarnation as Kurma—takes on fresh layers when local devotees began viewing it as an allegory for Buddhist samsara and the quest for enlightenment.

Apsaras drifting across walls offer another clue. These celestial dancers, born in Hindu lore, were equally embraced by Khmer Buddhism as embodiments of cosmic harmony. Their flowing scarves and perfectly arched poses echo on sanctuaries dedicated to both Vishnu and later Avalokiteshvara. Speaking of whom, statues of the multi-armed Bodhisattva Lokesvara at Bayon draw a clear line from Hindu polytheism’s love for elaborate iconography to Buddhist ideals of compassion embodied in many arms (just in case one might need all that help).

Then there’s the naga motif—serpent kings winding along balustrades in front of Buddhist chapels, a nod to the naga Mucalinda who sheltered the meditating Buddha under his hood. That same serpent design first surfaced as protectors of Shiva sanctuaries. Lotus columns and guardian lions stand guard at entrances, symbols borrowed from Hindu temple blueprints but repurposed as Buddhist gateways to nirvana.

On bas-reliefs at Banteay Srei, scenes from the Ramayana nestle beside Jataka tales without missing a beat. In a way, it’s like overhearing two epic sagas chatting over morning coffee—distinct origins but enough shared values to swap heroes and morals. The result isn’t a patchwork quilt but a seamless tapestry where Hindu gods and Buddhist saints cohabit in carved stone, whispering tales of Cambodia’s rich, blended heritage.