Buddhism first slipped into Cambodia’s cultural bloodstream around the 5th and 6th centuries, riding in on Indian traders and wandering monks. Early rulers of Funan and Chenla favored Mahāyāna practices alongside Brahmanical rituals, sprinkling Buddhist iconography into Hindu-dominated temples. When Jayavarman VII crowned himself in the late 12th century, Mahāyāna Buddhism took center stage at grand monuments like the Bayon—its smiling faces a testament to spiritual fusion.

By the 13th and 14th centuries, a pilgrimage of Sinhalese monks reintroduced Theravāda teachings, reshaping Cambodian piety into a more austere, monastic-focused tradition. This fresh wave emphasized personal merit over royal patronage, allowing village temples to become hubs of community life. Monks took on roles as teachers, healers and even mediators in local disputes, solidifying Buddhism’s grassroots appeal.

Long before any monk arrived, however, Cambodians had whispered to nagas, offered rice cakes to mountain spirits and bowed before household deities known as neak ta. Rather than sweep those customs aside, Buddhism wove them into its tapestry. Small spirit shrines now stand beside ordination halls, and annual festivals like Pchum Ben blend venerations of ancestors with merit-making alms rounds. Protective yantras, inked into skin or painted on doorways, combine Buddhist mantras with magic symbols inherited from pre-Buddhist sorcery.

Today’s temple restorations at Angkor and Preah Vihear remind visitors that this isn’t a museum relic but a living faith. During the recent Water Festival, boat racing crews still seek blessings from both monks and neak ta guardians of the river. Meanwhile, younger Cambodians streaming back from Phnom Penh’s tech startups often post videos of morning alms offerings—capturing a centuries-old ritual that continues to evolve without losing its heartbeat. In Cambodia, Buddhism and folk traditions aren’t two separate streams but one flowing river, carrying every generation forward together.