Article by Keshav Nautiyal
Edited by Kamna Shastri & Harsh Haldonkar
Welcome Home
In a distant Himalayan village, the sound of ceremonial drums echoes across the valley. Every now and then, the exclaiming melody of a bagpipe rises above the commotion. Women in bright sarees and traditional jewellery slowly make their way through narrow village paths, greeting cousins and childhood friends. It has only been a couple of hours since many of them returned to their native nest.
Welcome to the village of Upradi, in Uttarkashi district of the Himalayan state of Uttarakhand and also the place I call my maternal home.
In Upradi, married daughters are ceremonially invited to visit their natal homes in the ceremony of Dhiyani Sammaan. This piece follows one such week and explores how ritual music helps sustain relationships between daughters and deities in the Central Himalayas.
Dhiyani Sammaan is primarily a celebration of the married daughters of Upradi and their enduring bond with their natal village or Maita (मैत). The married daughters of the village, known as Dhiyani (or Dhyaanton), are welcomed back to their village of birth. The return of the Dhiyani is both a celebration of the daughters and a reminder that marriage does not sever their relationship with their home.
Much like family and friends, this reunion is also one between the daughters and the clan guardian deities, who have watched over them since childhood and will be taking this ceremony forward.
Besides generous and delicious community feasts, this homecoming is celebrated in the most Pahari way possible — live music and dancing. From the first call of the Ransingha to the rhythms of the Dhol-Damau, Pahari music becomes another participant in the gathering. It welcomes the daughters home, accompanies the deities through the village and slowly pulls everyone else into the celebration. Perhaps that is why Dhiyani Sammaan still endures. It survives because it continues to be lived and longed to be experienced.
Listen Closely
Before the procession comes into view, it can already be heard. The sound of the Ransingha (the Himalayan brass pipe) carries across the slopes of Upradi, followed by the steady rhythms of the Dhol and Damau (Himalayan Percussion drums). These sounds announce to all surrounding villages that Upradi is preparing to receive its daughters. In a day or two, the neighbouring villagers would start pouring in to mark their presence and receive blessings of Upradi’s local deities.
Music is a central part of all Himalayan rituals and practices. The terraced slopes and hilly geography make for a perfect large-scale amphitheatre for all neighbouring villages. Traditional Himalayan music is collective in nature. The final harmony emerges from the way multiple sounds come together to accompany community life
Local music and local folk instruments are revered alike. Layers of complementing instruments create a musical language that locals learn to recognise from childhood. A wedding, a deity procession, or even a local celebratory gathering each carries its own rhythm, tempo and emotional register.
Long before a procession comes into view, the sound itself tells people what is happening.
Look Closer
Five folk instruments shape the soundscape of this event (and practically every single event in the Garhwal-Kumaon Himalayas).
Ransingha: A curved brass horn whose deep call can travel across entire valleys, announcing the arrival and movement of a procession. The sound triggers a reflex to stand up as something sacred approaches.
Masakbeen: The Himalayan bagpipe, powered by an air-filled leather bag and known for its complementary, deep, ceremonious melody. Most commonly associated with weddings and village gatherings.
Dhol: A large double-sided drum carved from wood and stretched with animal hide. Better described as the literal heartbeat of the procession. The deep beats of the Garhwali Dhol anchor the pace and agenda of the event. The beats of the Dhol are felt more than heard.
Damau: A copper kettle drum that adds bass depth to the music. Damau is the Dhol’s inseparable companion. Together, the Dhol-Damau pair act as the conductor of the procession, guiding its movement, energy and emotional tone from beginning to end.
Hudka: A small hourglass-shaped drum played by hand. Its quick and crisp beats are intimate and conversational. The Hudka, hence, is a natural companion to folk songs and storytelling.
Together, these instruments create a musical language that villagers learn to recognise from childhood.
A wedding, a deity procession, or even a funeral each carries its own rhythm, tempo and emotional register. Long before a procession comes into view, the sound itself tells people what is happening.
Look Who’s Playing
Spend enough time at a Garhwali gathering, and you begin to realise that you start missing the Dhol-Damau’s non-verbal commentary of the event. Within Garhwali tradition, rhythm functions as cultural language.
The Dhol-Damau pair occupies a central place in ritual life across Garhwal. They accompany weddings, Paandav traditions and seasonal festivals. These instruments do far more than provide rhythm. For generations, these rhythms have accompanied life-cycle events across the region, including ceremonies such as this one for the daughters of the village.
Their patterns are traditionally understood through the Dhol Sagar, an extensive body of oral/semi-written knowledge passed down through generations of hereditary drummers (Aujis). The Dhol Sagar associates specific beats and sequences with particular moods and moments within a procession. Unlike classical Indian percussion traditions such as the Tabla or Mridangam, which primarily emphasise fixed rhythmic cycles (taals), Garhwali drumming is deeply situational. Rhythms change according to whether a deity is being invoked, a procession is moving through the village, a Jagar is underway, or a wedding party is arriving.
Walking with God
As the procession moves, villagers break into spontaneous dance. There is no designated stage or audience. Children, elders, musicians and the returning Dhiyāṇī all become part of the same moving celebration. Folk songs fill the air. Some recount episodes from the lives of their Patron gods and Clan goddesses, while others celebrate their victories over evil.
But who exactly is everyone dancing with? At the heart of the procession are the village’s deities themselves.
For a couple of hundred years, Himalayan deities have been travelling via their designated palanquins or Dolis. These Dolis are as revered as the deities sitting inside them.
In this Dhiyani Sammaan ceremony, the centre of this procession is Upradi’s presiding deities — Bhagwati, the village Kul-Devi ( clan goddess), and Baukh Nag, the village Ishta-Devta (Patron God). Baukh Nag is a revered Nagaraja (Serpent Deity) and the protector of the mountains in the Garhwal region of Uttarakhand. Bhagwati represents the local protective manifestation of the divine female energy who watches over the tribe as her own children. Throughout the gathering, the presence of Bhagwati and Baukh Nag remains central. For families, these deities are active members of village life, consulted during important decisions, celebrations and periods of difficulty. Their Dolis move through the village accompanied by musicians and the returning daughters. This journey is both ritual and literal.
And did I mention? There is a lot of dancing involved in this procession. As the procession moves, villagers break into spontaneous dance. There is no designated stage or audience. Children, elders, musicians and the returning Dhiyāṇī all become part of the same moving celebration, stopping frequently as the Dolis pause to bless households and receive offerings.
However, as many would admit, the rhythms of the Dhol-Damau keep the procession in motion, making it almost impossible to stand still.
There is something particularly beautiful about witnessing generations reunite amidst this music. Every few steps, someone asks, “तू कैकू नौना / नौनी छौ?” / “Tu kaiku nauna/nauni cho” (“Whose son/daughter are you?”). The question is asked for identification but also for belonging. More often than not, the conversation ends with both the questioner and the answerer joining the dance.
Nobody Stands Still
The ultimate rule of a Garhwali event:
No procession is complete without dancing.
As the Dolis move, musicians play continuously, and participants join the procession in their own way. Some dance in groups, others move alongside the deities, while elders watch from courtyards and village paths. The performer, the audience and the music become one. Almost everyone becomes part of the event.
Additionally, this procession is not only about honouring the village’s deities. It is also about honouring the women who have returned home. The deities lead the journey, but the Dhiyāṇī are the reason the village gathers in the first place.
Back to Maita
If Bhagwati and Baukh Nag are the spiritual centre of the gathering, the Dhiyani are its emotional centre.
In India, we are all aware that marriage often means a woman leaving her natal village permanently. Yet in Upradi, a woman’s relationship with her parental home or Maita (मैत ) never truly ends. This gathering is a public reminder of that bond.
Families welcome their daughters home, blessings are exchanged, and old relationships are renewed. For many women, it is also an opportunity to revisit the friendships and memories that shaped their childhood.
The Dhiyani Samman ceremony centres around the sense of self that patriarchy slowly fades out of women’s lives once they get married.
The Dhiyani are not merely honoured guests. If we look at it, they are the reason the ceremony exists. As the Dhiyani move through the village, they sing, dance, receive blessings from Bhagwati and Baukh Nag, and reconnect with women across generations. Grandmothers, mothers, daughters and young girls all become active participants in the celebration, turning the procession into a shared expression of female kinship. In a striking departure from the gendered hierarchies, the Dhiyani are given precedence throughout the ceremony. They are served the festive meal first, receive the deities’ blessings before anyone else, and are honoured with a traditional Angra (full-sleeved Pahadi blouse), a saree, and a commemorative memento. For one day, the social order of the village consciously centres its daughters.
Dhiyani Sammaan reminds every daughter that while she may build another home, she never ceases to belong to the one she was born into. Her children, too, inherit this relationship with their mother’s village. Just like I have. Perhaps the greatest gift of the ceremony is not the saree or the blessings. It is the reassurance that no matter how far life takes a daughter, there will always be a village waiting to dance with her again.
Over the years, the Dhiyani returning home have changed. The village itself has changed. Even the celebration sounds a little different today. But the reason everyone gathers remains exactly the same.
Traditions, but make it 21st Century
Mobile phones now document moments that previous generations preserved only through memory and storytelling.
The soundscape of the celebration has evolved as well. Alongside the Dhol, Damau, Masakbeen, Hudka and Ransingha, one now finds microphones, loudspeakers and electronic keyboards accompanying processions and community gatherings. Traditional folk musicians often perform alongside modern sound systems, creating a layered musical experience that reflects both continuity and change.
Rather than replacing older traditions, these technologies have largely been absorbed into the celebration, allowing rituals to remain relevant to younger generations while retaining their cultural character
Traditions survive by adapting to new technologies and new generations while preserving the relationships and values at their core.
Until Next Year
As the procession concludes, the sounds of the festivities gradually fade into the valley. By the next morning, Upradi will see many of her visitors begin their journey back home.
The significance of such gatherings extends beyond a single village or ceremony. They reveal how ritual practices mould relationships between community and tradition across the Central Himalayas. Rituals endure because they are continually performed and reinterpreted. Documenting them helps ensure that the sounds, stories and cultural knowledge of Himalayan communities remain part of the living record for future generations. Embodying ‘change is the only constant’, indigenous cultures in India continue exemplifying how the balance between modernity and traditions can give cultures the teeth to move into the future without losing its relevance.
For me, documenting this gathering is also an act of cultural remembrance. Garhwali, my mother tongue, has been identified by UNESCO as a vulnerable language. As younger generations increasingly move away from their ancestral villages, traditions such as these become important archives of memory, carrying stories, sounds and ways of life that seldom find space in written records.
The sounds of the procession therefore carry more than music. They carry belonging, continuity and a living connection between people, place and culture.
Perhaps that is why these sounds matter so much. They are among the few things that still know the way home.
BIO: Keshav Nautiyal is a climate communications practitioner from the Himalayas, keenly interested in documenting communities and what they carry across generations. As a speaker of a vulnerable language, he is particularly drawn to preserving regional languages for those who will inherit them.
Author’s Note: Thank you to all the people of Upradi for exemplifying what ‘sense of possibility’ looks like in the most adverse situations.