Photo by gang liang – Majestic stone carving amidst lush tropical jungle in Bali, Indonesia

Wherever I travel in Indonesia, I notice them. At first it was just a curiosity.

Statues on street corners. Another outside a home. Then more standing quietly in courtyards, tucked beside doorways, watching from temple gates. Some draped in cloth, some dusted with offerings, some so weathered they seemed older than memory itself.

They are everywhere.

Photo by Farah Sayyed – Street vendor selling fruits in Ubud, Bali, beneath a traditional statue, showcasing Balinese culture.

Phjoto by IIya Batorshin – Balinese shopfront with small statue and shrine.

I remember asking an Indonesian friend about them, half expecting a simple answer, that they were decorations or part of their tradition. She smiled in a way that suggested something deeper, explaining to me that they were not just ordinary statues, but guardians.

From that moment, I began to see them differently.

Photo by Jannet Serhan – Dwararpala Guardian Statues outside temple gate in Ubud.

Photo by Evelin Magnus – Traditional Balinese temple adorned with guardian statues. 

In places like Bali and Java, the guardians stand at the thresholds of temples, called pura, and royal compounds called puri. These guardians are called Dwarapala, though in Bali I also heard them referred to as Bedogol. Massive, unmoving, yet full of presence.

Their expressions are fierce with bulging eyes, bared fangs, and muscular bodies gripping a heavy mace referred to as the Gada. At first glance, they seem almost intimidating. But I came to understand that this is their purpose.

They are not there to frighten.

They are there to remind.

To pause.

To leave something behind before entering.

Standing before them, I often felt an unexpected stillness, as though they were not guarding the space from the outside world, but asking something of those who wished to enter it. A quiet invitation to step forward with a clearer mind.

Photo by Jess English – Statue in temple with offerings.

Photo by Julia Volk – A monkey at a Balinese Hindu temple in Ubud sits near offerings.

They are often placed in pairs, embodying balance. My friend explained that in Balinese belief, good and bad are not opposites to be eliminated, but forces to be held in equilibrium. Without one, the other cannot exist. The guardians do not destroy imbalance, they absorb it, soften it, keep it from crossing the threshold.

Once I began noticing them, I saw that this idea extended far beyond temples.

In South Sulawesi, I learned about the Tau-tau. Wooden figures carved in the likeness of the deceased. They stand on balconies carved into cliffs, watching over the land and their families below. Not as relics, but as continuing presences.

Tau-tau figures on cliff balconies in South Sulawesi.

In Nias Island, there are great stone forms called Batu Dakon. They sit in quiet authority, markers of ancestry and status, holding stories far older than any written record.

And in the remote Bada Valley, I found something even more mysterious, ancient figures known as Arca. With their large, circular eyes and human-like forms, they stand scattered across the landscape, their origins uncertain, their presence undeniable. Locals still treat them with reverence, believing they hold protective powers.

Stone figure in Bada Valley Central Sulawesi.

Across islands, cultures, and across centuries, the forms change, but the feeling remains the same.

These figures are not simply art.

They are part of a living belief.

A quiet, constant reminder that the world is not only what we see, but also what we feel, what we carry, and what we leave behind.

And now, wherever I go in Indonesia, I no longer just notice the statues.

I acknowledge them.

Small statues at doorway.

Photo by Farah Sayyed

And sometimes, as I pass them, I can’t help but wonder… what have they quietly taken from me that I no longer carry?