YUMDASI: a Lament of Longing, Loss and Lingering Questions

The ballad of Yumdasi, a young woman from Shaung village in Kinnaur of Himachal Pradesh, still echoes in the hearts of the region’s people. Cast out as a bride, she was forced to live alone with her young children as a shepherdess on the desolate slopes of Jisti Pabang. She found solace in the eagles soaring above and strength in her defiance. Her struggles and unyielding spirit are immortalized in a lament that remains beloved in Kinnaur. But was her suffering in vain, or did she leave a legacy that continues to inspire generations of women? In her visit to Shaung, the author grapples with the question: What does Yumdasi’s legacy mean for the women today?

Read this story in Hindi

“Have you ever heard of the song Yumdasi?” my maternal grandmother Prem Pyari Mathus asked one autumn afternoon as I sat in her warm wooden panthang (kitchen) in Shaung village located in  the Himalayan range of Kinnaur district, in the north-eastern corner of Himachal Pradesh, bordering Tibet.

The aroma of namkeen chai filled the panthang mixing with melodies of Kinnauri songs playing softly in the background. Grandma was sitting next to the stove, in the centre of the kitchen, busy stirring the namkeen chai, and I was seated to its left, watching her. I’ve always loved these traditional tunes—their rich melodies carrying the weight of history and emotion. But that day, when Yumdasi played, something was different.

“This song speaks of love, pain, and resilience,” my grandmother began, her voice heavy with reverence, “It is not just a melody but a story—a true one — about a woman who endured unimaginable hardships in her life.”

My grandmother’s eyes softened as she continued, “However, Yumdasi isn’t just a tale of one woman’s struggles but reflects the lives of so many women in our society. Yumdasi may not have found the freedom she sought in her lifetime, but her courage became a beacon for generations of women after her,” she said.

“Her strength,” she continued, “was like the mountains themselves—unyielding and eternal.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. I felt an undeniable pull to learn more about Yumdasi.

Who was she? What were the struggles that inspired such a powerful legacy?

Of Struggles and Resilienumdasi’s story

My grandmother told me that Yumdasi’s story dates back to almost 80 years, when Kinnaur served as the capital of the Bushahr princely state ruled by the Rajput Bhati Dynasty.

“Bushahr was not just one of the oldest hill principalities,” she said, her voice filled with pride, “but it was also considered to be one of the wealthiest – a vital hub for trade between Tibet, Kinnaur, and the lower regions of Himachal.”

In this small, mountainous land lived a young woman named Yumdasi.

My quest to understand Yumdasi’s story had taken me to Shaung, aHimalayanvillage situated 32 km away from Sangla valley in Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh. It is the village where Yumdasi had been married, a place steeped in history, its narrow paths and ancient homes holding secrets of the past. As I spoke to the villagers, seeking fragments of her story, I quickly realized that Yumdasi’s legacy was as varied as the terrain itself. It was complex and deeply rooted in the culture and memory of Kinnaur. Every person I met had their own interpretation, their own version of her life.

Yet, in those varying accounts, one truth shone clearly: Yumdasi’s spirit had left an indelible mark on the lives of the people who remembered her.

Yumdasi– a Kinnauri folksong that tells of a real life story  | Voice of Vimal Negi | Music Prabhu Negi

Yumdasi’s song. Voice of Vimal Negi

Yumdasi was born into the Meban family in Brua, a small village in Kinnaur, where she was raised with the values of hard work, loyalty, and respect for elders. When still a teenager, she was married off to Ratan Singh of the prominent Mathus family from Shaung village. The Mathus family was, and still remains, highly regarded for their wealth, influence, and significant contributions to society—most notably having given Kinnaur its MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly). As was customary, Yumdasi’s arranged marriage  marked a turning point that transformed her life overnight.

In the early years of her marriage, Yumdasi worked tirelessly to earn the approval of her new family. Despite her youth, she took on the all the demanding responsibilities expected of a wife and daughter-in-law.

Alongside her household duties, she managed the farm work, navigating the many hardships of life in a tribal region like Kinnaur. The farm was far from home, requiring her to walk long distances daily. She tended to cows and sheep— collecting dung, preparing the farmyard manure, milking the cows, and stall feeding them grass that she would cut from steep, rugged mountain slopes. During winters, she gathered dried leaves from the forest to spread as bedding on the floor of the cowshed. She also fetched water from a nearby source – all of which required incredible strength and endurance.

Yumdasi was also responsible for cooking and cleaning, ensuring that the household ran smoothly despite the never-ending demands placed upon her. Her mother-in-law, a stern woman deeply rooted in traditional beliefs and rigid gender roles, offered neither compassion nor support. Yumdasi was left to shoulder these burdens alone, with no help from either her mother-in-law or husband.

Not long after her marriage, Yumdasi’s husband took another wife. In an effort to prevent conflict between the two women, her mother-in-law gave Yumdasi a harsh instruction –

“Ang tem aa li yumdalasi yaali paalas beema gaya yalitok, paalas beema gaya yalitok yaali jisti cha li  pabango palilaang “
(“My daughter-in-law Yumdasi, you will have to go to Jisti Pabang to graze the sheep.”)

These words were not just lyrics—they carried the weight of a harsh reality. In Kinnaur, under every mountain peak is a village settlement, and the higher reaches of these villages are called Pabang. The highest peaks are referred to as Jisti Pabang– desolate and remote locations that serve as temporary settlements for people of Kinnaur to send their cows and sheep to graze during the summer months to ensure they receive good nutrition.

In response to her mother-in-law’s cruel decision, Yumdasi retorted in bitter lament-

“Ho bhgwan thalakur yume taali kuton tonema”
(Oh my God, my mother-in-law is so clever!”)

It was believed that at the time Yumdasi was pregnant and had hoped for some respite from her burdens. But instead of relief, she found herself living in exile in an unforgiving landscape with her young children, tending to her livestock alone, far from the comforts of home. This melody, once just a folksong, became a haunting reminder of the injustice she endured.

“Khokcho taali tiklak haaye chang  raang . Shalango yumsi haaye puvaan .shalango yumsi haaye puvaan shalango ho ha kuyalido”
(While tending to her herd of sheep, Yumdasi cradles her newborm child in her lap. Alone in Pabang, she lives as a shepherdess, her voice echoing through the valley as she calls out to the flock—“Hoo haa!”)

Yumdasi gradually felt her strength ebb away, but her mother-in-law remained unyielding, indifferent to her condition, and insistent that she fulfil her duty. The task was gruelling and ill-suited for a woman who had recently given birth. Yumdasi felt she had no voice, no choice— only the weight of silent compliance. She knew that speaking out could mean risking everything: the scorn of society, the rejection of her own family. If she took a stand, she feared that would no longer be seen as a respectable woman in society, leaving her adrift in a world that offered no refuge. So, she swallowed her words and bore the brunt of her mother-in-law’s wrath.

The cold winds of Jisti Pabang cut through her frail body as she struggled to tend the sheep in the desolate wilderness. Her shelter was a ramshackle hut with a leaky roof, offering little protection from harsh natural elements and stocked with barely any provisions. Nights were sleepless, filled with hunger pangs and the haunting cries of solitude. In those moments of isolation, she often wondered if anyone truly cared for her suffering, or if her life was destined to be just another silent thread in the tapestry of women’s unspoken endurance.

When Yumdasi eventually returned home, she carried with her two children: a daughter named Vidyapoti and a son named Rampal Singh. Her husband, Ratan Singh had grown distant and cold. For Yumdasi, this emotional abandonment cut deeper than the hardships she had faced, leaving her with a sense of heartbreak and disillusionment.

The revelation shattered her. Years of sacrifice, loyalty, and silent endurance felt like ashes in the wind. How could a life of such devotion result in such rejection? Yet, in a society that demanded women accept their fate without question, Yumdasi found the courage to defy tradition. She took a bold decision- this time for herself. She returned to her parents’ home—a choice that defied every expectation and shook the foundations of her community.

In those times, women were expected to stand with their husbands, to accept whatever life threw at them without complaint. But Yumdasi refused to stay in a marriage where she was neither respected nor valued. When she returned to her parental family, however, her courage was met with disdain. Her relatives were horrified, urging her to go back to her husband. They argued that her duty as a wife and mother was to accept her husband’s choices, to live alongside his new wife, and to continue serving him.

This wrenched Yumdasi heart and her voice rang out with these words –

“Yumdasi’s lolitosh aang mnbon palapi baliku berang  gorchaang Baliku beerang gorchaang aali jawanichu berang dulukhang”

(I feel that my parents are sinners. They got me married when I was too young and now, I have to face hardships in my youth.)

At the time, society dictated that a woman’s worth was measured by her ability to compromise and sacrifice without question. But Yumdasi’s heart was heavy with hurt and anger. She had done all she could for her marriage and family, yet she had been discarded like an afterthought.

Determined to heal and start anew, Yumdasi still clung to the hope of reconciling with her husband, believing he might change his mind. But he rejected her efforts, shutting the door on any possibility of return. With nowhere to turn and the weight of society’s judgment pressing down on her, she reached a breaking point. Isolation engulfed her, the world closing in like an unrelenting tide.

When I visited Shaung village, the women there shared another version of Yumdasi’s story. They told me that during her time in Jisti Pabang, she would speak to a vulture to cope with her crushing loneliness. 

As the song goes-

“Ed kanshires  goldes batyotoch yumdasi losh – ya kanshires goldes ang manbon mataigeen aa”
(A vulture came to Jisti Pabang, and Yumdasi asked, ‘Have you seen my family’?)

The story goes that after this encounter, Yumdasi crossed the peaks of the Pabang, returned home to Brua, and tragically took her own life.

Are We Asking the Right Questions?

We’ve all heard this story in Kinnaur, but we can barely fathom the depth of her pain and despair. Only the one who endures such suffering can truly comprehend its weight. Yumdasi alone bore the burden of her anguish, a burden she could no longer carry. Yet, despite everything she faced, her story remains a testament to her resilience. Her bravery however, no matter how remarkable, could not triumph against the rigid and unforgiving constraints of society.

The song goes –

 “Yumdasichu bipda suncheneema yaali chech chaang chu li zuribaanaa  magyasho chech chaang chu li zuribaanaa magyasho yaali sodai taa li dukhi chu ko yalimo”
(Reflecting on Yumdasi’s life, one feels that one should not be born as a girl. I do not wish for a girl’s life— because I have lived it, endured it, and moved beyond it.)

While this sentence may have been born from genuine anger at what happened to Yumdasi, I do not agree with it—I am proud to be a woman. Yet, as I hear these words in the song, I find myself questioning: should one reject the life of a girl, or question the oppressive societal expectations that come with being one?

Yumdasi’s story did not end with her death. Her legacy lives on as a reminder that courage is not only in fighting battles but also in choosing to value oneself, even when society says otherwise. Her story reminds us that a woman’s worth is not defined by her ability to endure pain or her devotion to serving others, but by her right to freedom of choice and decision making. Her spirit lingers in the mountains of Kinnaur, in the songs sung by those who remember her, and in the hearts of everyone who hears her story, showing that every story of resistance has the potential to carve a path for those who follow.

During my visit to Shaung village, I found a curious silence among the locals regarding Ratan Singh and his family’s treatment of Yumdasi. No one, especially the women, raised any questions or criticisms about him. This silence suggests that he was perhaps seen as a powerful and respectable figure within the community, as no one spoke ill of him, even in light of his treatment of Yumdasi. Yet, while he may have been held in high regard, Yumdasi is remembered as a brave and strong woman who dared to confront societal expectations.

The contrasting legacies of Ratan Singh and Yumdasi speak to the deep-rooted societal norms, power and gender dynamics at play. While Yumdasi’s story of resilience has found a lasting place in Kinnauri folk songs—celebrating her courage—Ratan Singh’s legacy remains largely unquestioned, despite his role in her suffering. He went on to marry eight wives, a reflection of his deep-seated patriarchal values, and his legacy was preserved without critique. His mother’s cruelty towards Yumdasi and the strict gender roles that trapped her were never overtly challenged by the community.

Yumdasi’s story of resilience has found a lasting place
in Kinnauri folk songs

This raises important questions: Why is Yumdasi’s struggle celebrated as a symbol of strength, yet no one questions why she was subjected to such injustice in the first place? Why is Ratan Singh’s legacy upheld without scrutiny, while the circumstances that caused Yumdasi’s suffering remain shrouded in silence?

What continues to draw me back to this tale, to this song, is not just the story itself but the legacy it has left behind. Can we truly honour Yumdasi’s resilience without confronting those responsible for her pain? Can she be known for her bravery without questioning the societal norms and individuals that allowed her suffering to persist?