Usually drapped down Dunagiri's jagged face is a white casting of silk, but it is spring so her veil has melted and flooded the range with joyous green things. Her eyes are stuck in the middle of a blink, lids hanging sleepily over her cavernous eyes. Deep in her roots, underneath rotting soil and precious gems, is the memory of her life as a woman. That mortal body, much like Nanda Devi, has turned into the rock of the Devi's range. Dunagiri has stood, sat, slept, wept, and laughed in the same spot for thousands of years - ever since Dhanvantari had placed her between the twin peaks of Nanda and Sunanda. She feels herself is part of the Earth now, in a bond unbreakable and yet fragile as the Gods fight amongst themselves.

She did not know how the fight would come to her, or if it would come at all. Dunagiri knew that the humans had heard the rumors of her powers, of the gifts from the of Medicine himself. From what she heard of the battles, they seemed unlikely to win without divine aid. Nevertheless, she was a mountain and she remained where she was - until the war came to the snow-capped thrush of Nanda and Sunanda.

It was a peaceful morning. Steam rises from between the oaks, the pines whispering secrets and sightings of Hanuman racing across the ocean. Dunagiri adored the gossiping trees and how the wind carried their hushed words from one branch to the next. But this morning, underneath the peaceful song of birds, was a lurking fear of the war which approached with the bounding of Hanuman towards the mountain’s range. When the Wind-God’s son arrived, Nanda Devi greeted him with the flowing rivers and bursting fruit from the trees in the valley. He did not stay within her range for long, stepping into the one hidden from mortal view. Instead, Hanuman rushed into the secret valley of Dunagiri.

“Friend, I welcome you to the Himalayan Range.” Hanuman was not interested in pleasantries and he scowled at the mountain’s soft voice. Dunagiri sighed, breath resonating deep in her earthen bones, for she could see the war-sick color of Hanuman’s eyes. She had known it as a woman, when her own family fought for Death. The love which Rama fought for was costing a heavy price of gentleness.

“I seek not pleasures, but of will to defeat Ravana. I need the herbs which return life to those slain in battle with the rakshasas.”

Hanuman impatiently searched the mountain. He swept through the valley, dashed through the trees, and left many rocks unturned. Finally, the son of the Wind-God shouted his anger and announced he would look no longer. Dunagiri was glad to hear Hanuman was planning to leave for his presence brought the mountain great distress. Then, the most astounding thing happened.

Hanuman placed his hands on either side of the mountain and pulled. Dunagiri tore from the Earth. Hanuman lifting her felt like an itch finally being scratched as an emptiness overtook the mountain’s connection with the ground. She tried to protest but Hanuman was already leaping away from the mountain’s range. Nanda Devi looked out from her own peak, the snow melting there as her rage grew.