Dandalaga Sila Village, Pauri Gharwal
Pauri Garhwal,
Uttarakhand
Introduction – When the Village Comes Back to Me
Dandalaga Sila village in Jakhanikhal tehsil of
Pauri Garhwal district comes back to me quietly, like a breath I forgot I turned into retaining. Terraced fields step down the hills, forests stand close without crowding, and small streams slip over stones with a smooth murmur. The morning breeze carried birds, livestock bells, and distant voices. Missing Dandalaga Sila feels like a gentle warmth that lingers in the chest.
How I Reach the Village without Thinking Too Much
I usually reached Dandalaga Sila through
Kotdwar railway station, around 90–95 kilometers away, then followed the slow winding hill road. The nearest bus leaves you on the main road, and after that, locals manage shared jeeps or simple lifts. Curved roads saved folding into every other, pine odor filling the air, daylight flashing in brief on bends. By the time I arrived, my mind had already softened.
Daily Life I Watched Slowly Unfold
Life in Dandalaga Sila never demanded attention. Terraced fields grew wheat, mandua, paddy, pulses, veggies, and some fruit timber tucked near homes. Farming stayed conventional and basically organic, formed by rain, soil, and long dependence. Cattle rearing blended naturally into the day—milking, grazing, and fodder collection, moving quietly.
One morning, I watched an old man sharpening his sickle near a stone wall, sparks catching briefly in sunlight. Nearby, a woman winnowed grain, lifting it into the breeze and letting the lighter husks drift away. Fodder bundles leaned against slate walls, and dairy cans rested in the shade. These small moments lingered longer than entire conversations.
Festivals and Quiet Traditions That Stay With Me
Festivals in Dandalaga Sila never felt staged or loud.
Harela arrived with green shoots and calm smiles, Ghughutiya carried children’s laughter across courtyards, and
Makar Sankranti softened cold mornings. Stories of
Nanda Devi Jaat surfaced during evening gatherings, shared slowly 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 old shrines appeared along footpaths and near fields, some barely marked, some worn smooth by time. I often paused there without thinking, standing quietly for a moment. Bells rang only when someone truly felt like ringing one.
Natural springs dotted the edges of Dandalaga Sila. The water was cold enough to numb fingers and clear enough to trust instantly. Forest trails moved gently through oak and pine, sometimes opening into hidden viewpoints no one spoke of. The hills revealed themselves only to those who waited.
Food in Dandalaga Sila 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 through slim stone pathways worn clean by the way of many years of footsteps. Walking there at nightfall, I felt the cool stone beneath my feet. Doors closed lightly, voices softened, and the village settled itself.
A Slow Goodbye I Still Carry
Dandalaga Sila 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.
