You knew as you approached the doorway that beyond would lie the tomb chamber. You were right. Between Vishnu's legs the doorway runs through a very short passage - only a metre or two - before emerging into a squat but magnificent chamber.
The room is about six metres square, and three or four high. On the three other walls blaze torches like those before, magical in origin and never exhausting. The walls themselves are covered with minute detailed carvings; from this distance they look like people of some kind, but it is difficult to tell.
But it is the floor and its contents that draw your attention. The tomb itself, a massive sarcophagus at least nine feet long, is butted against the far wall. On its surface are carved not gods or people, but monsters with interlinking arms, arranged in a ring around the lid. In the centre is not an image of the occupant, as you would have expected, but a raised carving of some kind of organic tubular thing you do not recognise.
Around the tomb are stacked, rather unceremoniously considering they are not within a separate chamber, various accoutrements. Sri Lankan urns, scrolls which you know will crumble if you so much as approach them, some kind of mould which must be the remains of food from centuries ago, more pots...