The Untold

A plateau formed on the sloping terrain of BayYuel Pangthang; I was raised among cattle, horses, pigs, hens, and cocks. Far from the mountain of Haila, my village seemed the heavenly table for ecstasy and happiness. Confined in the thick forest and decorated with the seasonal cereals, lively and energetic roosters in the village alarmed the people. The roosters served as an alarm to remind the villagers of the time—to wake up and prepare meals.

I am from BayYuel Pangthang, the village that taught me and brought me up to care about the happenings, which are the history, the future, and the present. I have my history, future, and present to share with you. 

Once upon a time, my village was the least developed. Far away, I could only hear and see little white vehicles plying through the Trashigang-Samdrup Jongkhar National Highway. Telephones and mobile phones were seen in pictures and were news. Only the lorries of the locality and the horses and mules were there for transportation of any sort of goods and materials. People had to walk half a day to reach the road at Tokarong. No matter how harsh the condition was, people struggled to increase their income through Mandarin business. 

There was only one school, and my friends and I had to walk three to four hours to get there and the same amount of time to return home. The scars on my knees and below my chin are still vivid as a result of my mischief and the jagged path I took. 

Monastic schools showed their significance brightly, but suddenly everything went off. The light to the path of religious learning was all in vain when the government closed the religious institutes that were built for the monks with the hard work of the locality. And now I can see only the lone Lhakhangs (monasteries). One peculiar phenomenon is that a statue in one monastery changes its position repeatedly, indicating that disaster is imminent; if precautions are not taken, catastrophe will occur. 

 

Pangthang as you see on Google earth

The misery of the girls, disturbance of the parents, and preference of the boys at night for so-called night hunting were rampant. The mastery to open the door, seduce girls, and run away when parents knew, and the technique to cover up the mischief in the name of village consensus, has left many scars on the girls of the village.

I have seen government officials, including constables, act like Dasho whenever they visited the village; even plumbers, masons, and electricians presented themselves as engineers. They came with the intention of fulfilling their official duties, but their actions left lasting trauma that remains as scars for some girls and women of the heavenly plateau. 

Modern facilities now adorn the beautiful plateau of Pangthang. A winding motor road now traverses the thick, hard terrain; everyone is equipped with a cell phone, and electricity has become a reliable power source that has subdued the rampant night hunting to some extent. 

My little brother and sister now have to walk only half an hour to school. They no longer have to walk for long hours in the rain and sun, cross rivers that become dangerous in the summer, or frequently encounter venomous snakes. 

Monasteries and stupas are renovated and taken care of. I can see children who have been left behind, as many cowherders have become monks, and a few have become adult students who receive double promotions for their distinguished results compared to younger children.  

The future of the village looks good and organized. People started growing vegetables on a large scale for the preparation of future supplies for the project. A reconnaissance survey is going on for the upcoming hydropower plant in Ngyera Amachu. People were informed that the project will be in two phases, one in Gomdar gewog and another in Wangphu gewog.