High in the Himalayas, at roughly 14,000 feet above sea level, tucked into the Chamoli district of Uttarakhand, lies a village where one of the most beloved names in all of Hinduism is never spoken. No Jai Bajrangbali echoes through these lanes, no saffron flags snap in the mountain wind. No temples rise in his honour, no idols catch the morning light, and no devotees chant his name. In Dronagiri village, the name of Hanuman, the mighty, the devoted, the remover of obstacles, is simply not welcome. And the reason stretches back over two thousand years.
It was the battlefield of Lanka where the war between Lord Ram and Ravana was raging in all its terrible glory. Then, the unthinkable happens, Lakshmana, Ram's beloved brother, falls. An arrow brings him down, and as Ram cradles his brother, the physicians deliver a verdict that chills even the gods: only the Sanjivani herb, growing somewhere in the Himalayas, can save him. And it must be brought before dawn.
Hanuman, fuelled by devotion and urgency that no mortal can fathom, tears through the sky. He reaches the Himalayas to this very region now called Dronagiri. He searches, looks, and tries his best, but he cannot recognise the plant among the thousands of sacred herbs that blanket this holy mountain. Time was running out and Lakshmana's life was hanging by a thread. An elderly woman of the village, seeing his desperation, points him toward the mountain. Grateful but still unable to identify the herb, Hanuman makes the only decision he believes he can, he lifts the entire mountain and carries it back to Lanka to save Lakshmana. Lakshmana is treated and Ram weeps with relief, here in Lanka, the war is eventually won and the gods rejoice. But in Dronagiri, nobody is happy.
Hanuman Ji Taking Sanjeevani Parvat (Credits: This image is AI generated)
Dronagiri Parvat (Credits: Instagram)
Locals believe that before removing the mountain, Hanuman did not seek the permission of the local deity, Latu Devta, who was in deep meditation on that very mountain. In doing so, he inadvertently uprooted the deity's right arm, a mythological reference to violating a sacred site without consent. Their sacred mountain, worshipped, revered, lived beside, was torn from the earth by a god in a hurry. To this day, the Dronagiri mountain carries a scar: it has a flat top, and the villagers believe this is where Hanuman broke off the summit. Every time a villager looks up at that mountain, they see the evidence of what was taken. And so the grudge endures. Since then, villagers feel betrayed and have not forgiven Hanuman for the act, despite acknowledging his role in saving Lord Ram's brother.
What makes Dronagiri extraordinary is beyond just the legend, it is the lived, breathing commitment to it. Names like Hanuman, Bajrang, Sankatmochan, and Maruti are all shunned. Even red flags, the traditional symbol of Hanuman, are prohibited in the village.
The primary deity worshipped here is Latu Devta, the very god whose sacred meditation was disturbed that fateful night. The community gathers around this local deity, and special prayers are held in his honour. There's also a bittersweet justice served to the old woman of the legend. She was cast out of society for having unknowingly helped Hanuman find his way — and it is said that women of the village still carry the weight of her mistake, as they are not permitted to enter the main deity temple.
The history of Dronagiri spans entire yugas. Many rishis meditated here in the Vedic age, and it is said that some of the Upanishads were first heard in this very place. This is not a place that takes its mythology lightly. And that, perhaps, is the most spiritually stirring thing about Dronagiri. In a world where ancient stories are increasingly treated as metaphor or museum pieces, here is a village of real people who look at a flat-topped mountain, remember what happened, and choose — generation after generation, to honour that memory.
They do not hate Hanuman. They understand his devotion to Ram. But they believe that even divine urgency does not excuse a failure to ask permission. Even a god, in their reckoning, must be held accountable. There is something profound in that. Something that echoes far beyond these Himalayan peaks, the idea that love for one person does not justify harm to another. That even the most sacred mission requires consent. That myth, when it lives in the hearts of people, never truly becomes the past.
Source: India Latest News, Breaking News Today, Top News Headlines | Times Now
