Kumbh Mela is a gargantuan religious spectacle steeped in Hindu mythology, held every three years in rotation at four sacred cities in India. These are — Prayagraj (the confluence of the Ganges and Yamuna), Haridwar (on the banks of the Ganges), Ujjain (on the banks of the Kshipra), and Nashik (on the banks of the Godavari). Among these sacred events, the Maha Kumbh Mela, held every twelve years in Prayagraj, holds the greatest significance.
The 2025 Prayagraj ‘Maha Kumbh’ started for six weeks from January 13th to February 26th. Government made elaborate efforts to make the event smooth and memorable for the attendees. Authorities established a temporary city covering 4,000 hectares (40 square kilometers) along the river banks to accommodate millions of visitors. This temporary city featured extensive facilities such as tent accommodations, sanitation services, and medical centers. Thirty pontoons bridges criss-crossed the rivers. Ninety-eight special trains were arranged to improve transportation. Three hospitals were set up along National Highway, to address pilgrims’ health needs. Security measures were robust, with 40,000 police personnel and AI-powered surveillance systems in place. A reduced-cost helicopter ride option gave a unique aerial view of the Mela. Officials designated the area a no-vehicle zone for crowd control, encouraging residents to use two-wheelers.
Once the event began, mixed reports started emerging. Media hype emphasized the event’s spiritual importance and flawless organization. Conversely, social media platforms shared less flattering stories. On January 29th in Prayagraj campsite and February 14th at a Delhi Railway platform, stampedes claimed multiple lives.
Flight prices surged for routes to Prayagraj, with nearby cities of Lucknow and Varanasi also seeing increased demand, prompting government intervention. Additional trains were run to accommodate pilgrims, but demand often exceeded supply. Flight and train schedules became chaotic, and road travel unpredictable. Officials halted larger vehicles and buses 15 to 20 km outside the city, leaving visitors to walk the remaining distance. Freelance motorbikes and auto rickshaws charged exorbitant fares for short trips, making last-mile travel a challenge.
The price of luxury tents was outrageous, ranging from INR 45K to 70K ($550-$850) per night, although many akharas and ashrams offered free stays in their tents. Although multiple camps distributed free food via Bhandaras or Langars, many individuals were forced to pay inflated prices for simple items such as water.
We were hesitant to commit to the event, given the contradictory reports and the challenges of traveling to such a crowded location. Yet, when a friend offered us a place in his group, having pre-arranged transportation and accommodation, we gratefully accepted the invitation. FOMO was playing up, and this serendipity looked like Bholenath’s beckoning!
Who could resist such a unique chance?
Below is a brief account of the 36 hours we spent at Prayagraj.
14th February — 4 AM — Our 30-person group’s Volvo journey began on February 13th at 3 PM from Lucknow. Heavy traffic forced us to skip our plans for Ayodhya’s Ram Mandir and head straight to Prayagraj. The 200 km journey stretched to 13 hours, and the police halted us 15 km outside the city. Five Scorpios SUVs then raced us towards the camp. At the final police checkpoint before the camp, our driver told us to pretend we were a local wedding party (and not tourists), a pantomime we readily agreed to. We were tired and desperately wanted chai and a warm bed. Our initial group bombast of “Bhole Nath will take care of everything” had by now turned into “Jaise Ram rakha!”
As we arrived at the temporary city, we crossed a pontoon bridge onto grid streets lit by yellow lights. Pilgrims walked in the dim light, singing folk songs. Roadside shops sold tea, biscuits, water and such essentials. The contrast between tourists like us zipping in SUVs and pilgrims who walked long distances without complaint was striking.
The area was divided into 25 sectors along the banks of two rivers. We stayed at Guru Ramanandacharya’s Ashram in Sector 20, a 10-minute walk from the Triveni Sangam.
10 AM — The major thoroughfares to the Triveni Sangam were lined with hawkers selling trinkets, rudraksha malas and snacks, while fake Sadhus and Naga Babas offered selfie for a small donation. This was after all, the Maha-Mela, a carnival of spirituality! The police were firm but polite, and traffic was well-regulated. The riverfront was packed with pilgrims. Wooden barricades kept people from venturing too far into the water, which reached knee high. Pilgrims squatted and dipped their heads in the murky water, undeterred. The chants of “Har Har Mahadev” filled the air.
11 AM — 5 PM — Later, we visited akhadas and ashrams, where havans were being performed in a quieter atmosphere. Time spent with knowledgeable gurus provided a more profound experience. Some Akhadas served free food through Langars and Bhandaras. At our ashram, we did seva, and Swamiji performed a havan.
8 PM — After a long day (27,000 steps) and a simple but tasty meal, I stepped out for a smoke. From a nearby camp, a pitch perfect aalap stopped me in my tracks. The singer launched into a sonorous hymn, with pilgrims joining in. The moment felt divine, a stark contrast to the day’s dust and din.
We slept early and left for Varanasi early the next morning.
Maha Kumbh is an intense experience, and those afraid of swarms of humanity need not apply.
The endless crowds comprise devotees and gawkers — pilgrims and tourists in hundreds of thousands. The sacred and the silly walk side by side at this spiritual traffic jam.
The place is spectacle, a scream, a Mela on steroids, to celebrate the rockstar of Indian Gods–Lord Shiva. Here you can befriend fake babas with phoney rudraksh malas, offering deliverance with a chilam, for a handful of currency. Or, a deep conversation at an ashram with a genuine guru could change the way you look at life.
Everyone we met had an experience that was unique, shaped by the date and time of their visit, mode of transport, and their access (or lack thereof) to VIP protocols. And the paramount question was: were they visiting Maha Kumbh as a pilgrim or a tourist?
The pilgrims
For centuries, the Kumbh Mela has drawn countless devotees from different corners of India. They walk for miles, with luggage on their heads, faith in their hearts and sacred hymns upon their lips. Men carry puja supplies. Women tie their sarees together to avoid getting lost. They sleep by the riverbank, waiting for hours until the police open the Ghats for the sacred bath. They fill small plastic jerry cans with Gangajal and carry home the blessed river’s soil — not only for themselves but also for their relatives, friends and neighbors.
In truth, they are following a time-honored ritual, passed down through generations, when their forefathers stood on the same banks, whispering the same ancient mantras. The sacredness of bathing overwhelms them — a moment that represents the culmination of a lifetime of devotion and aspiration. In that moment, Ganga Maiya cleanses them, reassures them, and elevates them; much like a mother does for her children.
I watch an elderly woman, accompanied by a younger one— perhaps a daughter or daughter-in-law — wade knee-deep into the river, trembling as the cold water touches their skin in the early morning hours. They bend to scoop a handful of water, offering it to the rising sun, faces radiant with its first light. This is likely the most sacred moments of their lives, and it becomes my first keeper frame. It is impossible not to be humbled by this sight, even as an onlooker.
We stand at the confluence, known as the ‘Nose.’ At this moment, this scene, with subtle variations, is playing out a million times within a square kilometer or two. The rivers continue to flow lazily by.
There is a perceptible shift in my inner world, a transformation that alters perspective and understanding. It is a chastening experience, one that reveals just how insignificant we are and how little our world matters in the grand scheme of things. Despite the hardships of life, despite the challenges that pilgrims endure, their faith in something greater than themselves remains unshaken. Their belief and spiritual practices provide them with strength and resilience. Their deep connection to this experience evokes envy.
They say that Sangam is a confluence of three rivers — Ganga, Yamuna, and the mythical Saraswati. Saraswati is invisible now, but I think it’s an apt metaphor for the invisible faith that draws those millions of devotees to the spot.
…& the Tourists
And then there were the gawkers — those uninitiated souls who flocked to witness these ancient rituals, suffering from FOMO. They were more interested in capturing reels for their WhatsApp groups and Instagram feeds than in the event’s essence. I must admit, I was part of this crowd.
Bholenath catered to the tourists as well, and with flair. The Kumbh Carnival was filled with saffron clad Sadhus and ash smeared Nagas (the naked fakirs) who offered faux spirituality and posed for selfie for a small donation. A villager next to me at the ghat remarked upon seeing a Naga Sadhu donning Ray-Ban aviators, “jab yeh moh-maya aur kapde tak tyaag diye hain, to yeh chashma kyun chada rakha hai?” (If he has renounced worldly desires and clothes, why is he sporting those trendy shades?) I thought of asking the Naga Baba, but he was too busy on his iPhone — communicating with the divine.
In the River of Hype
In the river of faith, where the masses converge,
With selfies and hashtags, their spirits emerge.
Holy waters flow, but oh, what a sight!
Devotees and influencers, all vying for light.
The priests chant their mantras, while cameras roll,
A spectacle grand, but who’s saving the soul?
With each splash and dip, they seek divine grace,
Yet drown in the noise of this bustling place.
Pilgrims and tourists, all jostling for space,
In search of salvation, or just a good place.
The sacred meets silly, in this grand carnival,
As faith takes a backseat to viral protocol.
So here’s to the Kumbh, a blend strange yet true,
Where devotion and drama dance in full view.
Let’s laugh at the chaos, the irony clear —
In the river of hype, we all disappear.
So what did one think of the adventure?
A lived experience helps separate fact from fiction, so these are my thoughts — first person, singular.
It’s difficult to grasp the enormity of an event where billions bathe at the Sangam over six weeks. The administration toiled to make it happen. We learned that daily, 125,000 police personnel guided, protected, and maintained order among the crowds. A 15,000-strong cleaning staff kept the area clean, while ambulances stood in readiness. Food from Bhandaras and Langars was readily available. The government kept hawker prices in check, ensuring tea, biscuits, and water were sold at normal rates.
The lack of free shuttle services was notable; instead, private auto-rickshaws and motorbikes were available, with fares adjusted according to demand. Taxis, buses and private vehicles were stopped 10–12 kilometers from the MahaKumbh city. Regardless of the mode of travel — train, air or road — everyone faced the challenge of the last mile. Many recounted stories of long walks, delays and expensive journeys using multiple motorbikes and auto-rickshaws.
Government’s claims of 65–70 crores people taking the bath is exaggerated. That’s every second person in the country of 140 crores! Less than 3–4% of my more than one thousand contacts attended; you can see where I’m going with this. As a friend wryly said, this was “Artful Intelligence” (AI) at its best — counting each dip at the sangam, as an individual bath.
Yet another piece of marketing claimed a rare event of multiple planets aligning, said to occur once in 144 years. The claim of a ‘once in 144 years’ event is not new, and has been used in the previous Kumbh Melas as well. A little fact-check revealed that Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune are visible every year in the night sky during January-February, but they never align.
When the CPCB (Country’s apex pollution body) reported alarming pollution levels at the Prayagraj Ghats, where millions were promised “Amrut Snan (Nectar Bath), the irony was complete. Government was offended — it promptly chided the agency for being “anti-religion.”
Glib comments like “Come with Aastha, not for Vyavastha” surfaced whenever the administration faltered. But these felt like weak excuses, especially after lives were lost in stampedes. Officials, predictably, downplayed the number of casualties.
Despite these challenges, the administration did a commendable job given the event’s magnitude. Any system when overloaded beyond capacity can break down. On certain days, at this gathering, this load factor was 3 to 4 times higher than usual, and it did break down.
Could it have been done better? Certainly — this is the endless debate of whether the glass is half full or half empty.
Post Script
On our flight back, a quiet lady in her late thirties occupied the seat next to us. The flight was long, so she started talking to Neeta, and what followed was a heartbreaking story.
She came from a well-to-do Rajput family in Bihar, where men are usually high achievers, and the women are educated, then married, and not expected to work. In her case, her husband was a fast-rising Director in one of the ‘Big Four’ accounting firms, while she spent her spare time giving music lessons to children. They lived in an upscale, gated community in Gurugram and had two lovely sons — she showed us their pictures. They are now in class 7 and class 4.
Tragedy struck when she lost her husband during the second wave of Covid. Not willing to move back to her parent’s home in Bihar, she chose to work. While her family provided financial assistance, she rejected support from her in-laws. Sharing her story, she became emotional — someone who had led a sheltered life in a patriarchal household, the harsh realities of the outside world suddenly overwhelmed her at a relatively late stage in life.
Her family’s male lineage comprises well-known doctors in Bihar. Her sister is married to a Colonel in the Army, and it was this sister who encouraged her to come for the Maha Kumbh Snan. She was grateful for the opportunity. Their snan, facilitated by Army jeeps and guards, proceeded without a hitch.
When I asked her how she felt after the snan, her response was:
“Bhaiya, pichle kuch saalon se hamare sar par jaise ek bhaar tha… woh chala gaya. Hamko aisa lagta hai, jaise hamara punarjanam hua hai.”
(Brother, for the last few years, it felt like there was a heavy weight on my head… that’s now lifted. I feel as if I have been reborn.)
See, I told you — no two experiences are the same at Maha Kumbh.
