Figuring Out Why You are There
I was not expecting it. But the call was picked. On the eve of start of Kumbh in 2013, District Magistrate (Kumbh Mela) was on the other side of the phone. I had met him earlier, when the preparations for Kumbh-2013 were still in its early stages. He had been a typically friendly-but-distant official with me at that point. I had not hoped for a long discussion or chat over the phone. I put to him the very basic question: “Sir, now that Kumbh is going to start tomorrow, and lot of hard work has gone into its planning and preparations, how are you feeling?”
The voice on the other side first let out a huge sigh—it certainly did not sound like that of relief. And he muttered, almost inaudibly: “Pata nahin kya kahoon (Don’t know what to say)!” I realised that the officer, who had been taking acupressure treatment and was towards the fag end of his career, was too drained to talk.
Of course, the scale and the razzmatazz, thanks in large part also to the social media, coupled with willingness of the government of the day to ensure that the Mahakumbh underway now becomes a landmark in every sense of the term, was not there in 2013. Yet, when you are expecting people in excess of several crores over a 54-day period, no preparation can be small.
Even as my boss had asked me to do a feature story on the initiatives being taken by the government for Kumbh-2013, and I had filed that story, I had not yet been able to figure out what to expect of it. By that time, I already had 12-year experience in the profession. But nothing prepares you for Kumbh. In hindsight, there is little point in even trying.
Myths & Misconceptions Shattered
The myths had begun shattering right since the beginning of my reporting task for Kumbh-2013. I had thought that, with Kumbh approaching, the city area of Prayagraj area would be so full of people that the only thing I expected for traffic jams. Also, I thought that the hotels of the city would be full choc-a-bloc and room tariffs would shoot through the sky.
So, with an intention to file a report, I called up a few top hotels to find out about the room rents. They laughed at me. The general refrain was: “Nobody comes to live in hotels during Kumbh; they will also live on the banks of Sangam.” I was, sort of, intrigued by it.
A year ago, I had seen the camps along the Sangam banks in the month of January 2012—that was the annual Magh Mela. But I had not had an opportunity to go into those camps—neither had I felt a professional need, nor did I find somebody in my personal circle interested in going there. So, I felt that with so many people expected to come in, it must be the hotels and dharamshalas where they would put up.
I did require to go into the Mela area. Again, I was expecting lot of congestion, impossibility of taking one’s vehicle inside the “Mela area”. This, in particular, was an image that got drilled in my mind because Kumbh meant a picture of innumerable sadhus standing cheek-by-jowl on a rickety pontoon bridge. Or the quintessential “Kumbh ke mele mein bichhde hue bhai (brothers separated in Kumbh)”.
When I went into the Mela area, I was told that I could take my Maruti Alto inside the Mela area. It was a pleasant surprise, because, again, the feeling was that there would be no place to even walk easily, let alone having a vehicle run through.
But then, another fear got hold of me: What if my vehicle gets stuck in the sand, which seemed to stretch for miles? There were rectangular iron plates—called chequered plates—laid down parallel, with some distance in between them; and you were supposed to take your vehicle on it. Again, I had seen chequered plates and pontoon bridges in a different context—while crossing Ganga River during summers to reach my ancestral village in Ballia, Uttar Pradesh, during my childhood. The possibility of the vehicle getting stuck in the sand was still there. And I was apprehensive.
And then a thought flashed: There are so many people going to and fro—working feverishly to set up their camps, or fix up the poles to ensure electricity supply, or install the taps that would not run dry. Even if my vehicle gets stuck, there were just too many people; they would just pull up my vehicle (it being light) and put it back on the chequered plates.
With that fear gone, I started enjoying those rides inside the Mela area. When the vehicle would stop on a pontoon bridge, I could feel the swaying movement (up and down) and, I felt good about it. Under normal circumstances, if you feel that a bridge is swaying like that and your vehicle has stopped in the middle of it, you would start panicking.
But there was something—something, that cannot be put into words—about Kumbh: Once inside the Mela area, I forgot all worries. During the entire period, I did not hear one angry word anywhere in the Mela—and I really do not recall anybody not having a smile on the face. This is not to say that people did not have to worry about sundry things—to manage one camp, where everything is makeshift, is not an easy task. But everybody seemed to be doing it with a hint of smile, even grins. The magic had begun taking me over.
“Pahile Snaan; Pher Dekhal Jaai”
In 2025, on Makar Sankranti, nearly 3.5 crores people took a dip. In 2013, the administration had put those numbers to 82 lakh. I was completely at sea as to how to approach the whole thing—from a journalistic perspective. Truth to tell, I got lost and, sort of, allowed the event to take me through whatever it wanted to show me.
Along the way to the River, I spotted a group of four to five people. There was a woman, and four males. They were a family. The woman, probably in her 30s, was wearing a saree; while the seemingly eldest one was wearing a kurta-dhoti, with a half-jacket over the kurta. The others wore kurta-pyjama, with inner thermals, and all had shawls wrapped around them. Almost all of them had tied up their woollen mufflers around their heads, to prevent getting cold. The morning mist had given way to full-blown Sun; the cold had eased for the time being.
When I approached them, they greeted me with wide grins. I felt that they were from some place in Purvanchal (eastern Uttar Pradesh). It turned out to be true. I do not really recall their native place. But they were talking in Bhojpuri, with a typical accent indicating they were from the Ghazipur, Ballia-region. Bhojpuri is spoken over a huge region, including several districts in Bihar and eastern Uttar Pradesh; but accents differ.
Following initial pleasantries, they informed me that some of their belongings had got lost on their way to the snan (ritual bathing). Were they stolen? Probably; but they were not sure. I suggested that they should go to the police and lodge an FIR. After all, the administration had opened eight police stations and six more outposts to keep law and order in check.
One of them replied: “Ab maai ke darshan ho gayeel… ab pahile snaan… pher dekhal jaai (We have had the darshan of Mother Ganges, now, let us bathe first; rest of the things can be taken care of after that).” I still remember the grin and the satisfaction—and a deep sense of gratitude—on their faces. I had to move on to talk to as many people as possible.
The other day I saw a small clip from the current Mahakumbh in which a woman was complaining that they had to walk several kilometres both ways—that is to and from the bathing ghat.
While the administration has left no stone unturned to ensure as much comfort and ease as possible in such a huge congregation, I could not help remember the smile on the people mentioned above: They had actually faced a loss; but they were still at ease. They were focussed on meeting their maai. I am sure had the same people been in any other setting, they would have panicked.
But Kumbh does that to you—and, if it has not, then perhaps there is little place for you there. In the Sanatan scheme of things, it is always said that you need to deserve to be able to be at a Teertha. A sojourn at Kumbh shatters many of your myths that is often the doing of our rather stubborn rational minds. Expect more myth busting and soaking in the experience of spiritual magnificence.
