Dusk is falling as we descend into the valley through a disfigured highway negotiating muddy troughs, looking for the signposts of the quake that had hit 7.6 on the Richter: the carcasses of the vehicles that were caught unawares as the road beneath them slid, the concrete structures that were thrown hundreds of feet down like rag dolls. But today, the stark landscape is bare. Unlike last year, the narrow strips are not packed with relief vehicles or agitated villagers. On the surface, Tangdhar looks calm. Circles of rocks around former tent sites, black craters dug in the earth for community kitchens . But as we dig in, we realise quake and the pain inflicted by this calamity has become the only reality for thousands of residents. A brief reality check:

Tangdhar had lost 273 villagers in the quake while 3,500 were injured. The government estimates said 8,943 houses were completely destroyed; 540 were partially damaged. The government had recently claimed that 70 per cent of the reconstruction had already been completed. On the ground, reconstruction comprises a few houses and 1,545 plinths. Seventy per cent of the quake-hit population is gearing up to spend another winter in temporary shelters.

Of the 85 schools of Tangdhar valley where 7,000 students of the area would study, 80 were flattened. And a year after the devastating tremors, the schools still run in makeshift tents and community halls.The quake had destroyed every health centre in the valley, leaving just two medical aid centre buildings intact. The government has not managed to even repair the damage done to the sub-district hospital building.

The story of 25 displaced families of Gundi Gujran village reflects just how long Tangdhar has waited to get back on track. The families were asked to shift from their village soon after the quake and put in a colony of one-room shelters on the Tangdhar-Teetwal Road built by non-governmental organisations. “We lost everything in the quake, our homes, our cattle, everything. We had hoped the government will rehabilitate us properly,” said Shabir Ahmad Khwaja. “But they put us in these one-room shelters and everybody forgot us.”

The only village, where the scars of the quake seem to have healed despite the loss of 22 lives and total destruction is Teetwal on the banks of Neelam river that bisects Kashmir between India and Pakistan. Teetwal was adopted by the Army. And today, this remote village has a modern community centre, a gymnasium, a well-equipped primary health centre, a new building for school, an amphitheatre, a public library and solar lights for the villagers who hadn’t seen electricity.

As the morning sun shines over the distant snow-capped peaks, we start a treacherous journey to a village which has always suffered for being right on the faultline. Divided between India and Pakistan by a narrow gorge Chatkadiyan is an unwanted hamlet that lies too close to Pakistan. We trek 2 km up a mountain ridge, cross the Army’s LoC fence, walk another 500 metres down the hill to arrive in Chatkadiyan. Here, each one of its 22 families lost their homes. And are still living in tents and tin shelters.

“Our dreams of a home too died with the quake,” says Mohamamd Fareed (35), a carpenter. “First, we don’t have the resources. And then, it is impossible to bring material for reconstruction to this village.”

The villagers know they live in no man’s land. “When the shelling stopped, life had eased. Then nature turned our lives upside down. It’s our fate to live in this misery. It’s God’s wish,’’ says Abdul Raheem, the village numberdar. From across, the Pakistani army men watch us. The sun is setting as the leaves of the walnut trees flutter by. “Please remember us,” says Raheem before he bids goodbye.