By Ashvini Ranjan

A day after my article titled ‘Kumbh Mela: Beyond  the Holy Dip’ appeared in SOM dated February 27, 2025, I received a surprising phone call. A friend, with a hint of concern, asked if I had managed to find my wife at Prayagraj (UP). I chuckled, thinking it was a joke.  But when another caller posed a similar question, I realised my story-telling had led to unintended suspense.

During our visit to Kumbh Mela, my wife and I had to travel pillion a part of the distance, on two separate motorbikes to navigate the chaotic streets leading to our tent city — the place of our lodging. In the swirling sea of humanity, I lost sight of her.

However, my faith in her navigation skills using the Google maps — and the elaborate Police arrangements for the lost and found ‘spouses’— kept me at ease. I had simply forgotten to mention in my article that she had reached safely. In fact ahead of me.

Readers, ever hungry for a closure, assumed a dramatic sequel was in the offing. Alas, dear friends, she was neither lost nor did she subject the Police to test their skills of finding and restoring lost spouses !

If you think Kumbh Mela is all about Punya, Bhakti and Moksha, think again. It is also an economic juggernaut where morality and commerce coexist in an uneasy alliance. After the Mela concluded on February 26, the Uttar Pradesh Revenue Ministry revealed an astonishing statistic: the festival had generated a revenue of Rs. 3 lakh crore.

Having spent Rs. 5,000 to travel a mere 15 km, I felt like an unwilling patron of this divine marketplace. Airlines doubled their fares, rickshaw pullers charged astronomical sums  and even a humble roadside chaiwallah seemed to have discovered the secrets of dynamic pricing. Faith, as I learned, is not just an equaliser but a lucrative business model.

Further more, if you were under the impression that water from the sacred river Ganga belonged to all mankind, you couldn’t be more wrong. At the Mela, Ganga jal had become a commodity for sale. Streetside vendors did brisk business selling the holy water in plastic containers as takeaways.  Not to be left out, Amazon online shopping too was offering Ganga jal at Rs. 550 per litre, claiming it as ‘pure’ and bottled at the place of confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati.  I was told that water tankers were transporting the holy nectar to far away Delhi for those who wished to bathe in divinity without braving the crowds.

By the time we arrived at the Kumbh Mela on the 19th February, the real ascetics, the sadhus from the Himalayas, had long departed. In their place, a legion of ash-smeared impostors flourished, bestowing blessings upon gullible devotees for a small but non-negotiable fee. The sheer ingenuity on display could make a corporate strategist blush.

Navigating the Kumbh Mela was an experience unto itself. The term ‘traffic jam’ seemed inadequate for the situation. Walking was an extreme sport, requiring agility and courage, especially when dodging VIP convoys. Ministers, Judges and bureaucrats descended with sirens, flashing lights and, in some cases, escorted by horse mounted Police. Apparently, the holy dip offered them a one-time-only opportunity for spiritual and moral cleansing — perhaps even absolution from long- pending corruption charges!

Despite the chaos, there was something profoundly divine about the Mela. Official figures stated that 66 crore people —nearly 45% of India’s population — participated in the festival. Representatives from over 3,000 castes of the Hindu religion and 25,000 sub-castes stood shoulder to shoulder, bound by a larger common belief. Personal space was beyond possible. If faith could momentarily erase centuries of social divisions, maybe there was some magic in the waters of Ganga after all.

As I stood at the river’s edge, watching the waves of faith ripple through the multitudes, I felt the undeniable power of collective devotion. Even as a skeptic, I could not ignore the energy that surged through the air, uniting millions in a shared spiritual experience. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I too should take the sacred dip — but that thought soon faded.

My true moment of awakening at the Kumbh was not in the waters of the Ganga but in a simple act of kindness. Amidst the sea of pilgrims seeking divine blessings, an elderly woman, weak and parched, pleaded for water. Instinctively, I offered her my bottle, steadying her trembling hands as she drank. When she was done, she looked into my eyes with profound gratitude and placed her hand on my head in silent blessing. At that moment, I felt something far greater than ritualistic purification — I felt the essence of true spirituality.

It was then that I realised: Divinity is not just found in sacred waters or elaborate rituals but in compassion, in service and in the touch of a grateful soul. If there is a path to God, it surely begins with serving humanity.

[Concluded]