Dal Village, Pauri Garhwal
Pauri Garhwal,
Uttarakhand
Introduction – When the Village Comes Back to Me
Dal village in Jakhanikhal tehsil of
Pauri Garhwal district returns to me like a soft sigh. Terraced fields stretch along the hills, forests lean close without speaking, and small streams slip over stones quietly. The morning breeze carried birds, cattle bells, and far-off voices. Missing Dal feels like a warmth that sits gently, unnoticed but steady.
How I Reach the Village without Thinking Too Much
I usually came through
Kotdwar railway station, about 90–95 kilometers away, and then followed the winding climb into the hills. The nearest bus drops you on the main road, and after that, locals manage with shared jeeps or simple lifts. Curved roads kept turning, pine smell thick in the air, sunlight landing briefly on bends. Somewhere along the way, my thoughts began to slow naturally.
Daily Life I Watched Slowly Unfold
Life in Dal never demanded attention. Terraced fields carried wheat, mandua, paddy, pulses, vegetables, and a few fruit trees near homes. Farming followed conventional natural strategies, guided by the aid of the land and the seasons. Cattle rearing mixed into the day-to-day rhythm—milking early, grazing during the day, and fodder collection by means of night.
One afternoon, I watched an old guy polishing his sickle close to a stone wall, sparks catching in daylight. Not some distance away, a woman winnowed grain, lifting it into the breeze and letting the lighter husks flow away. Fodder bundles leaned towards slate walls, and dairy cans rested quietly inside the color. These small moments lingered longer than words.
Festivals and Quiet Traditions That Stay With Me
Festivals in Dal never announced themselves loudly.
Harela arrived with green shoots and quiet smiles, Ghughutiya filled courtyards with children’s laughter, and
Makar Sankranti softened winter mornings. Stories of
Nanda Devi Jaat surfaced in evening gatherings, shared gently among elders. Folk songs, rituals, and respect for elders held the community together naturally.
Small Things That Made the Village Feel Alive
Small temples and shrines appeared along footpaths and near fields, some barely marked, some worn smooth by time. I stopped there often without meaning to, standing quietly for a moment. Bells rang only when someone truly felt the need.
Natural springs dotted Dal’s edges. The water was cold enough to numb fingers and clear enough to trust instantly. Forest trails snaked through oak and pine, sometimes opening into hidden viewpoints that no one had pointed out. The hills revealed themselves only if I stayed still.
Food in Dal tasted grounded and honest. Mandua roti, seasonal vegetables, pulses, fresh milk, and herbs gathered from nearby slopes filled daily meals. I watched wool being spun in courtyards and small wooden tools shaped slowly by hand. The smell of oak wood smoke settled into the evenings.
Slate-roof houses stood close together, connected by narrow stone pathways worn smooth by decades of footsteps. Walking there at dusk, I felt the cool stone underfoot. Doors closed gently, voices softened, and the village seemed to settle itself.
A Slow Goodbye I Still Carry
Dal stays with me because it never rushed me. The slow mountain life, the silence between sounds, and the comfort of simplicity eased something inside me. Nature felt close and steady. When I left, I didn’t explain—just carried a quiet goodbye that still walks beside me.
