Dhangar Village, Pauri Gharwal
Pauri Garhwal,
Uttarakhand
Introduction – When the Village Comes Back to Me
Dhangar village in Jakhanikhal tehsil of
Pauri Garhwal district comes back to me softly, like a quiet echo. Terraced fields step lightly down the hills, forests stand close without urgency, and small streams slip over stones with a tender murmur. The morning breeze carried birds, farm animals' bells, and remote voices. Missing Dhangar feels like a warmth that lingers quietly, without demand.
How I Reach the Village without Thinking Too Much
I usually came through
Kotdwar railway station, around 90–95 kilometers away, and then followed the winding hill road upward. The nearest bus drops you on the main road, after which locals manage shared jeeps or simple lifts. Curved roads kept turning, pine smell filling the air, sunlight catching briefly on bends. By the time I arrived, my thoughts had already slowed.
Daily Life I Watched Slowly Unfold
Life in Dhangar moved without hurry. Terraced fields grew wheat, mandua, paddy, pulses, veggies, and some fruit timber tucked near homes. Farming stayed conventional and ordinarily natural, guided by way of soil, rain, and memory. Cattle rearing blended naturally into the day—milking early, grazing through daylight, and fodder collection by evening.
One afternoon, I watched a vintage man sharpening his sickle close to a stone wall, sparks catching in the brief daylight. Nearby, a lady winnowed grain, lifting it into the breeze and letting the husks go with the flow away. Fodder bundles leaned against slate walls, and dairy cans rested quietly in the corner. These moments lingered longer than conversations.
Festivals and Quiet Traditions That Stay With Me
Festivals in Dhangar never announced themselves loudly.
Harela arrived with fresh green shoots and calm smiles, Ghughutiya filled courtyards with children’s laughter, and
Makar Sankranti softened cold mornings. Stories of
Nanda Devi Jaat surfaced during evenings, 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 old shrines appeared along footpaths and near fields, some barely marked, some worn smooth by touch. I often paused there without planning to, standing quietly for a moment. Bells rang only when someone truly felt like ringing one.
Natural springs dotted Dhangar’s edges. 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 about. The hills revealed themselves only if I stayed still.
Food in Dhangar 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 homes stood close together, linked via narrow stone pathways worn smooth by many years of footsteps. Walking there at nightfall, I felt the cool stone under my feet. Doors closed gently, voices softened, and the village settled itself.
A Slow Goodbye I Still Carry
Dhangar stays with me because it never hurried 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 mark the moment—just carried a quiet goodbye that still walks beside me.
