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Last Man died, so did his PHAYUL

This is a village located on the mountain lap, overlooking the Wangchu River (as it copiously flows in its southward journey) and the glistering Gelli Gompa. As I stood on the rock, the river in the south reminded me the huge economic proliferation (development) the country have achieved as the river spins the fortune wheel of CHPC and THPA. The solitary temple standing so peaceful and tranquil within the bluepine thickets just opposite to the village provided me enough evidence of country’s success in the preservation of the religion and custom. No place would have been perfect for the settlement. But everyone didn’t share the same notion.

Everything was perfect, the location, the view, the fertility of the soil, the harmony among the community members. The people lived in harmony with nature, with closely-knitted community. They lived for each other, making everyone available for everyone in needs and problems. Every season, villagers enjoyed the bountiful potato harvest from the fertile field. The dense forest circumambulating the village not only provided enough pasture land for their cattle which in turn gave them enough dairy products for household consumption but met all the requirements for timbers and other needs from the forest.

Every losar, thrue, ngenpa gusom, loleg and other Bhutanese festivals were celebrated in reverberating howls of exults with coming of villagers together. There used to be archery matches among the young and elder populace while the females came to watch the game with packed lunch and tea for their fathers and sons. In the evening, the group would go around the houses singing and dancing, enjoying the festivities.

This is the picture of the village twenty years ago. Now all that remains are the ruins, with the mud-wall made to test the brunt of rain and sun. The one corner of the wall here and the other part of the wall there, still standing bold enough to carry the history in it is what is left of the village. The potatoes fields are now all overgrown with artemesia and other weeds. The history and the charm of the past remains buried among the rubbles of the fallen houses. The village itself looks very deserted.

So, where and what did went wrong? I am told the village had everything but not the access to road. Soon people found the life more comforting and easy in towns and cities and moved near the road looking for greener pastures. The younger ones moved to the towns and cities only to starve while their farmland could have fed them for centuries.

The grey-haired, old and aged could no more work in the field and had no choice than to leave it fallow. The weeds and other unwanted plants overtook the field while the houses demanded for quicker repair or renovation. The last man in the house died, so did the village died with him.

This is one ugly impact of rural-urban drift calling for immediate action.

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