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. Alarm to remind of time—to wake up and to 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. 

The least developed was my village once upon a time. 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, which my friends and I had to walk three to four hours to and the same hours back home. The scars on my knees and below my chin are still vivid, which is the result of my mischief and jagged path. 

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). And one peculiar wonder is that a statue in one monastery changes its position time and again, indicating disaster is at the doorstep; if not careful, catastrophe will befall. 

 

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 the constables, become Dasho whenever they came for a visit in the village; even plumbers, masons, and electricians became engineers. They came for the purpose, the purpose to fulfill their official duty but not to leave permanent shock, which remains as scars forever to a few girls and ladies of the heavenly plateau. 

Now the beautiful plateau of Pangthang is all set with modern facilities. A motor wavy road made its way through thick, hard terrains; everyone is equipped with a cell phone, and the electricity became real power that 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 more have to walk long hours in rain and sun and have to cross rivers, which become dangerous in summer, and frequently encounter venomous snakes. 

Monasteries and stupas are renovated and taken care of. I can see left-out children as cowherders are now monks, and a few are adult students, for which they are given double promotion for their distinguished results amid other little kids.  

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.