There’s a quiet bend off the Almora road that leads to Mirtola, a small village sitting softly in the hills of Dhauladevi block. If you’re not paying attention, you might even miss the turn. But if you do take it, you’ll find yourself in a place where time doesn’t really move, it just drifts.
Mirtola isn’t the kind of place you visit for fun or photos. It’s the kind you feel. The wind here carries a mix of pine scent and wood smoke, and even the birds sound a bit slower, calmer. Villagers walk at their own rhythm. The hills, covered with चीड़ (pine) and बुरांश (rhododendron), seem to hold on to stories older than memory.
The village sits quietly in the Almora district of Uttarakhand, surrounded by forest trails and terraced fields. There are only a few houses with stone walls, tin roofs, and wide verandas that catch the morning sun. In winter, people sit outside with चाय (chai), soaking up warmth, while kids chase each other around the courtyard.
The air feels pure here, like it’s untouched. You hear goats bleating somewhere in the distance, the crackle of someone lighting a fire, and the faint laughter of women washing clothes near a small naula (spring).
Life is slow, but it’s full. Villagers grow mandua, मकई (maize), and seasonal vegetables. They keep cows and hens, and their days revolve around the land, no rush, no noise, just rhythm.
If you ask anyone about Mirtola, they’ll tell you about the Mirtola Ashram, also known as Uttar Brindavan. It was founded decades ago by Sri Yashoda Mai and Sri Krishna Prem seekers who turned this quiet hill into a home for peace and reflection.
But this isn’t a tourist ashram. You won’t find queues or rituals. It’s a place of silence. You’ll see a few people sitting under trees, reading, meditating, or simply watching the clouds move. The sound of a bell from the ashram mixes with birdsong, and that’s all you hear for miles.
Locals say the ashram changed the way people saw the land. They treat it with deep respect — not just as a place of worship, but as a reminder that शांति (peace) doesn’t always need words.
In the evenings, when the hills turn orange and shadows stretch long, the village comes alive in small ways. Smoke rises from chimneys, the smell of मंडुवे की रोटी (madua roti) fills the air, and kids gather near the temple courtyard. Someone plays a flute, and the sound floats across the valley.
People here are warm. If you stop by, you’ll probably be offered chai without even asking. Conversations are simple about crops, weather, and old stories. An old man might tell you how the first road came here decades ago, or how the forest looked before electric poles arrived.
Festivals are quiet but full of life. Holi brings laughter and colored faces, while Diwali turns the stone walls into glowing lines of दीये (lamps). During local fairs, people from nearby villages walk for hours just to be part of it, carrying sweets, drums, and stories.
Getting to Mirtola takes patience. It’s about 30 kilometers from Almora town, and the road winds through pine forests and bends that seem endless. Somewhere along the way, you’ll notice the air shift cooler, softer, cleaner.
The last few kilometers are narrow. You’ll see small signboards, a few scattered homes, and then the path suddenly opens, hills spread out like folds of a giant green blanket. That’s Mirtola. No big gate, no crowd, just quiet.
When you leave Mirtola, you don’t really leave. Something about it stays, maybe the silence, maybe the smell of pine, or maybe the way people smile here without reason.
It’s hard to explain Mirtola in neat words. It’s not about sightseeing or plans. It’s about standing still and realising how little you need to feel full. Maybe that’s why visitors who come here once often return not to see more, but to feel less noise inside.
So if you ever find yourself near Almora, take that left turn toward Mirtola. Sit by the ashram, listen to the wind rustle through the pines, and let the quiet do its work.
कभी-कभी, शांति बोलने नहीं देती बस महसूस होती है।
Uttarakhand is not simply another country. People here name it Devbhoomi (देवभूमि), the Land of the Gods. And it feels that way. Rivers begin right here. Old temples sit on mountain tops. Morning dayl...