Somewhere high in the gentle slopes of the Syaldey block, in the Almora district of Uttarakhand, lies Ekoraula, a small village with a big heart. Walking its winding paths, among stone walls and terraced fields, you feel time stretch just a little … giving space to feel, breathe, and belong.
Ekoraula is home to around 44 families, with a total population of approximately 269 people 125 men and 144 women. The sex ratio at around 1,152 women per 1,000 men stands above many rural averages.
The village covers about 136.6 hectares of land, terraces, forest edges, and homes carved carefully into hilly slopes. Here, each terrace, each path, and each home carries a legacy of soil, sweat, and shared stories.
Morning in Ekoraula begins without fanfare. Mist lingers in fields, dew glistens on stone steps, women fill water lottas, and men tend cattle or check fields. The forest murmurs behind them, and the hills wake slowly.
Most villagers are cultivators, out of the workforce, about 147 own or co-own land and work it throughout the year, while another 90 work part-time in margins. It’s more than labour. It’s connection to land, season, and tradition.
The literacy rate in Ekoraula is around 77.16%, slightly under the state average, but showing strength nonetheless. Male literacy is strong (~90%), while female literacy is catching up (~65.6%).
Young folk carry books in their backpacks and hopes in their hearts. Some plan to study in nearby towns, others remain and plant the crops with their families, bridging modern ambitions with ancestral rhythms.
In Ekoraula, nature isn’t something you visit; it’s everything you live with. Terraced slopes rise gently, forests hug the village, seasons come heavy and leave soft feelings behind.
Rain brings new green, winters bring crisp air and stillness, and summers glow quietly under clear skies. Each day is shaped by the land, and each life is shaped by the hills.
For a village of under 300 souls, Ekoraula’s spirit runs deep. Festivals unify rather than divide, neighbours help each other even in silence, and the hearthside stories carry generations. Here, tradition isn’t preserved for show. It breathes in every conversation, every stone path, every field planted and harvest shared.
Visitors arrive seeking views, but they leave with feelings. The sound of wind through pine, the raw scent of earth after rain, the hush of dawn over a terrace, these stay. In a world full of speed, Ekoraula reminds you: slowing down doesn’t mean losing out. Sometimes it means feeling more.
Ekoraula isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t sparkle with lights or roar with crowds. What it offers is quieter: presence, belonging, a chance to remember what matters. In the curve of terraces, the hush of morning, the warmth of shared smiles, Ekoraula whispers: Here is land. Here is the time. Here is you.
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...