A journey through faith, mysticism and the unexpected at the world’s largest spiritual gathering.
I’ve never been the archetypal religious person. Although I identify as a Hindu, my understanding of it is quite limited. I grew up learning a few shlokas and aartis, mostly the ones that my parents used to recite. I often prayed, sometimes even trying to bargain with God for good marks or a crush’s attention.
My view of Hinduism was shaped by my family and surroundings. I followed the rituals they did and prayed to the Gods I saw in my home. This covered a total of 10- 15 Gods from the massive repository of 330 million. I am not entirely sure what drew me to the Maha Kumbh. There were claims about it being a myth, a political masterstroke or a way to absolve one’s past misdeeds.
I’m neither politically inclined nor overly ritualistic, but curiosity got the best of me. After all, why would a third of India’s population gather at the confluence of rivers during peak winters for a mere dip!?
I had planned to spend two days in Prayag - one for the holy dip and one to visit the akharas. On the first, the only goal was reaching the Sangam. With vehicles banned from the inner city, the walk through the Kumbh Mela’s throng became an experience in itself. A vast, surging crowd moved in unison - young and old, rich and poor - towards the sacred confluence. Despite the crush, hospitality flourished. Locals distributed food and tea, helped the elderly on scooters, and reunited lost pilgrims via loudspeakers.
The Sangam was more than the meeting of rivers; it was a confluence of cultures. South Indians in veshtis, Rajasthanis in bright lehengas and pagdis, Bengalis in red-and-white sarees, and people like me, more comfortable in cargo pants - all drawn towards the same sacred waters regardless of attire. VIP boats floated nearby, but the real pilgrimage was here, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, bound by faith and the pull of something greater than themselves.
Everyone was absorbed in their own version of devotion. Some filmed vlogs and clicked pictures, others filled bottles with holy water. Some performed puja, while others tossed coins into the river - only for a few to dive in and collect them. There were those playfully splashing around, claiming they were now ‘sin-free’ and ready for fresh ones, while others kept immersing themselves over and over - perhaps as insurance for future misdeeds.
There was no single right way to dress, pray, or even behave at the Sangam. Each person followed their own belief, doing what felt right in that moment, in that sacred space.
On my way back, I saw a massive gathering of ascetics from various akharas lining up for their holy bat. Although I knew little about them, I couldn’t help but admire the striking diversity. Some were completely naked, covered in ash, and carrying weapons; others dressed in all-black, while many wore the familiar saffron robes, radiating warmth with their bright smiles.
On my way back, I saw stalls catering to every income segment - vendors sold chana and puri for as little as Rs. 10, while Domino’s offered pan pizzas for Rs. 100.
There were free tent accommodations, hundreds of mobile toilets, and water dispensers along the way. Yet, despite these arrangements, filth was inevitable. Some toilets were so foul-smelling that I wouldn’t dare to use them.
But with a third of India’s population descending upon a small city, no amount of cleaning would ever be enough without civic responsibility from the masses. It wasn’t surprising, just a stark reminder of the scale of this grand gathering.
Day two began without a clear plan. I didn’t know the names of the akharas or where to find them, and even if I did, I had no set agenda or burning questions.
Still, I made my way to the other side, where the akharas housed ascetics during the Kumbh. Being a digital native, I was familiar with some of the ‘celebrities’ of the Kumbh - the IIT Baba, the Baba with a pigeon on his head and so on.
With no specific goal, I decided to track one of them down and soon found the Baba with a pigeon on his head. He was moving swiftly from one lane to another, and a small group of us instinctively followed, trying to keep up.
We were so fixated on him that we didn’t notice shards of glass on the road. Ironically, he was the one to stop, point them out, clean them, and scold us for being too absorbed in ourselves to see potential harm to others.
Along the way, I came across many ascetics smoking marijuana and performing rituals unfamiliar to me but seemingly normal to others. Having grown up in an environment where smoking was a strict no, it was both shocking and fascinating to see a religion embrace practices that might seem unconventional but are accepted as long as they aid in the pursuit of the ultimate truth.
The next akhara I visited was one often linked to the mysterious and the unknown - the Aghor Akhara. Men dressed in black, rudraksha malas around their necks, kohl-rimmed eyes, and skulls placed around their sacred space. Despite their intimidating appearance, they sat patiently, answering every question posed by curious visitors. Even those associated with so-called ‘dark sciences’ welcomed open conversations with anyone willing to engage. I was lucky to witness a small music event inside the akhara, where men and women sang an aarti dedicated to Lord Shiva. Music and dance have always been an integral part of our culture, but seeing this fusion of melodious devotion intertwined with what I had previously perceived as ‘dark sciences’ helped shatter my long-held stereotypes.
Right next to this akhara was ISKCON, known for the bhakti pathway and its global following. Their setup was entirely dedicated to Krishna, complete with life-like statues of the God to enhance the experience. Here too, people were singing and dancing, but in a more public, celebratory manner. Finally, I visited the Nath akhara which was filled with ascetics dressed in saffron, each minding their own. I even received an appy juice as prasad and had some enlightening conversation with one of the ascetics who patiently answered every question I posed.
Each akhara I visited had its own traditions, distinct ways of praying, dressing, and even different chosen deities. Shiva, Vishnu, Krishna, Kali, Guru Gobind Singh - all had dedicated akharas. Yet, despite their differences, they coexisted peacefully, without debates over whose God or method was superior.
Not every ascetic isolated themselves in a Himalayan cave for years, meditating until they re-emerge at the Kumbh to observe the world. Some travelled across India, organizing fairs to uplift local economies, engaging in charity, or even taking on roles of social and political leadership. Many had advanced degrees, Instagram accounts and active WhatsApp numbers. They were ordinary people who had chosen a spiritual life over a conventional one.
Shashi Tharoor described Hinduism as a henotheistic religion, one that focuses on a supreme principle while respecting the existence of multiple deities and pathways. The Kumbh is a celebration of this diversity - where every path is respected, every seeker accepted and every sincere contribution to understanding the ultimate truth is celebrated. Hinduism isn’t a one-size-fits-all faith; it offers the freedom to choose the path that resonates most with an individual. The foundation remains the same, but the paths are many and within them lies the essence of true spiritual liberty.
(The author is an MBA from IIM Calcutta. She is currently working at Boston Consulting Group, Mumbai. A dedicated dancer for over 14 years she is passionate about exploring new places and experiences.)
Comments