Dhunar Gaon, Pauri Garhwal
Pauri Garhwal,
Uttarakhand
Introduction – When the Village Comes Back to Me
Dhunar Gaon in Jakhanikhal tehsil of
Pauri Garhwal district comes back to me like a quiet sigh. Terraced fields step down the hills, forests lean close without crowding, and small streams trickle over stones with a gentle murmur. The morning breeze carried birds, cattle bells, and remote voices. Missing Dhunar Gaon feels like a gentle warmth that stays quietly in the chest.
How I Reach the Village without Thinking Too Much
I usually reached Dhunar Gaon through
Kotdwar railway station, around 90–95 kilometers away, then followed the winding 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 folding into each other, pine fragrance thick in the air, daylight catching in short on bends. By the time I arrived, my thoughts had already slowed.
Daily Life I Watched Slowly Unfold
Life in Dhunar Gaon unfolded naturally, without hurry. Terraced fields carried wheat, mandua, paddy, pulses, vegetables, and a few fruit trees growing close to homes. Farming stayed traditional and mostly organic, shaped by rain, soil, and memory. Cattle rearing blended into the day—milking early, grazing during sunlight hours, and fodder series inside the evening.
One morning, I watched a vintage man sprucing his sickle near a stone wall, sparks catching softly in daylight. Nearby, a woman winnowed grain, lifting it into the breeze and letting the lighter husks float away. Fodder bundles leaned towards slate walls, and dairy cans rested quietly within the colour. The smell of o.K.Timber smoke settled into the evenings.
Festivals and Quiet Traditions That Stay With Me
Festivals in Dhunar Gaon never arrived loudly.
Harela brought 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 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 old shrines appeared along footpaths and near fields, some barely marked, some worn smooth by years of 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 Dhunar Gaon’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 Dhunar Gaon 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 way of narrow stone pathways worn smooth by decades of footsteps. Walking there at dusk, I felt the cool stone beneath my feet. Doors closed lightly, voices softened, and the village settled itself.
A Slow Goodbye I Still Carry
Dhunar Gaon 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.
