Dhansi Village, Pauri Gharwal
Pauri Garhwal,
Uttarakhand
Introduction – When the Village Comes Back to Me
Dhansi village in Jakhanikhal tehsil of
Pauri Garhwal district comes back to me quietly, in snapshots I didn’t take. Terraced fields cling to the hills, forests stand close without pressing, and small streams slip over stones with soft murmurs. The morning breeze carried birds, cattle bells, and distant voices. Missing Dhansi feels like a calm warmth that lingers gently, without asking.
How I Reach the Village without Thinking Too Much
I usually reached Dhansi through
Kotdwar railway station, roughly 90–95 kilometers away, then followed the familiar hill road upward. The nearest bus drops you on the main road, and after that, locals manage shared jeeps or simple lifts. Curved roads kept unfolding, pine scent thick in the air, sunlight landing briefly on bends. Somewhere along the way, I stopped checking the time.
Daily Life I Watched Slowly Unfold
Life in Dhansi moved without demand. Terraced fields grew wheat, mandua, paddy, pulses, vegetables, and a few fruit trees tucked near homes. Farming stayed traditional and mostly organic, guided by rain, soil, and long habit. Cattle rearing blended naturally into the daily rhythm—milking early, grazing through light, and fodder collection by evening.
One morning, I watched a vintage guy sprucing his sickle near a stone wall, sparks catching in sunlight. Nearby, a woman winnowed grain, lifting it into the breeze and letting the lighter husks flow away. Fodder bundles leaned against slate partitions, and dairy cans rested quietly within the colour. These small scenes stayed with me longer than full conversations.
Festivals and Quiet Traditions That Stay With Me
Festivals in Dhansi never arrived loudly.
Harela came with fresh 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 years of touch. I often paused there without thinking, standing quietly for a moment. Bells rang only when someone truly felt like ringing one.
Natural springs dotted Dhansi’s edges. The water becomes bloodless enough to numb palms and clean enough to drink without hesitation. Forest trails snaked through o.K.And pine, occasionally commencing into hidden viewpoints that nobody had mentioned. The hills revealed themselves only if I stayed still.
Food in Dhansi 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, related by means of slender stone pathways worn easily by way of decades of footsteps. Walking there at nightfall, I felt the cool stone under my feet. Doors closed gently, voices softened, and the village appeared to settle itself.
A Slow Goodbye I Still Carry
Dhansi 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 mark the moment—just carried a quiet goodbye that still walks beside me.
