A version of this essay, originally titled "Rumah in the woods: Resurrection of the Nanga Sumpa Longhouse," reached the top 8 in this year's Berkeley Prize. It was shared with ArchDaily by the authors.

Construction of the split roof beside closed roof by the chief carpenter. Image © Josh Wallace

A version of this essay, originally titled "Rumah in the woods: Resurrection of the Nanga Sumpa Longhouse," reached the top 8 in this year's Berkeley Prize. It was shared with ArchDaily by the authors. These bodies are perishable, but the dwellers in these are indestructible and impenetrable. This verse from Bhagavad Gita (a Hindu religious scripture) speaks about the human body and soul. For me, even a piece of architecture has a soul which rests in its place. We can feel its presence even when the building is no longer there.
I stand now at the entrance of the rumah panjai (rumah means house and panjai means long i.e. a longhouse), looking at a line of dwellings, interconnected. The human skull looking down balefully at me through a wicker framework suspended from the rafters, the ruai (communal gallery) seems to stretch a long, long way to the far end. The slatted wooden floor is perched on stilts and the area below, glimpsed between the planks, boasts a clutch of hens and a vociferously crowing cockerel. As I walk further along the gallery, women smile as they carry out their...