On the day of my departure from New Delhi, I am sick. A sudden shift in weather has hit me with a cold. My mood is rather somber as the packed flight takes off for the city of Prayagraj by the banks of ‘s most holy river, the Ganges.
As minutes and miles fly by, my thoughts keep going back to , when dozens of pilgrims lost their lives in what was meant to be a once-in-a-lifetime religious experience.
Within an hour, my anxious thoughts are broken by chants echoing through the cabin: “Har har Gange! Har har Gange!” Hail to the Goddess Ganges! The flight erupts in celebration as the wheels touch down.
I have arrived at the Maha Kumbh Mela — — which is held at the confluence of the Ganges, Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati rivers.
According to official figures, more than 500 million visitors have already attended the festival, surpassing the government’s initial estimate of 450 million, or 10 million a day.
Hindu devotees believe that one dip in the confluence of the three rivers will cleanse their souls of earthly sins. Others just come for the sense of community, spirituality and fun.
This is my first visit. I venture to the festival ground, apprehensive but curious. My mantra for the next three days will be: “Stay calm! Take it all in.”
Day 1: Overwhelming, chaotic and uncomfortable
As I walk through the sprawling tent city at the Maha Kumbh Mela, among countless shops and snack bars and towards the banks of the Ganges, the sheer volume of people hits me like a truck.
The air is thick with dust and alive with the heavy breathing of tired devotees. A man’s voice is blaring from speakers at short intervals: “We request police officials to direct devotees away (…) after their holy dip due to excess crowd pressure.” The message repeats in a robotic tone.
For the next two hours, I walk hard and fast, searching for the evening prayer ceremony devoted to the river Indians call their mother — Mother Ganges.
The sun races to the horizon as I hurry along tent lanes. Gates and barricades make me feel like I’m navigating a labyrinth. “It’s for security, to regulate the flow,” one officer says, blocking the path ahead.
The sun has set by the time I catch the first glimpse of the Ganges. The bank is .
Closer to the banks, men roam free in wet underwear, their faces triumphant for having reached the river.
Navigating around them is some of the quickest footwork I have ever done. I am not used to such a sight, as most Indians are raised to be very modest.
“Where do the evening prayers take place?” I ask a food vendor in one last desperate attempt — only for him to point towards the water.
Mission not accomplished. I have missed the ceremony. Tired, thirsty and close to tears, I decide it’s best to retreat to my accommodation back in Prayagraj city, away from the festival.
Day 2: Weighing faith against danger on the banks of the Ganges
I venture our early the next morning with a more determined mindset, fueled partly by flu medicine and electrolytes. It takes me two bike rides, one expensive rickshaw ride and a 2-mile (over 3-kilometer) walk to reach the site amid an ever surging crowd.
As I walk, I wonder what drives millions to risk their safety and well-being to travel here.
Faith is the easy answer. But surely, they too know about this year’s stampedes — first at the Kumbh Mela grounds, which killed at least 30 and injured over 60, and then another at the New Delhi railway station, where 18 died and 15 were injured.
Most of the victims were women.
Women’s safety is another concern gnawing at my mind.
Far too many women have faced sexual harassment and inappropriate touching in crowded public spaces across India. Data shows that a woman is raped every 16 minutes in the country.
So at what point does faith overtake the need for personal safety?
Juna, owner of a metal jewelry stall close to the river bank, picks up a white baby goat and offers to take my picture with it for 200 rupees (€2.2, $2.3). She starts chatting, telling me the goat’s life story.
When I ask her if she feels safe here, she dismisses it with a wave of her hand.
“Once in a while a man makes lewd noises or passes a comment but we haven’t seen a major incident, by the grace of heaven,” she says.
“But we don’t want to take any chances since there’s no man with us. That’s why we don’t stay here at night.”
Manju Devi, a pilgrim from Bihar, tells me that she feels safe because the Maha Kumbh is a religious gathering.
“People come with a religious mindset,” she tells me. “Men have come to cleanse their sins, not sin even more.”
Overhearing my questions, an elderly lady cuts in: “We could die here, or in our beds back home. We could get harassed here, but we face harassment in our village too. What has to happen will happen. We’re blessed to be here.”
Further down the bank, I spot a group of women constables in a security booth under a sparse tree.
“We get roughly 15 to 20 complaints every day,” one says. “Mostly stalking or cat-calling. Considering the crowd, that’s not a lot.”
Day 3: What money can and cannot buy
Talking to other women has left me feeling more confident. This is my third day at the festival and I have not been harassed so far — a sharp contrast to New Delhi, where I live.
I loiter around the busy exhibitions on the festival grounds, where peddlers trade blankets, sarees, make-up, toys and saffron shirts, often sold to foreign tourists.
I take snapshots of children dressed as Hindu gods and goddesses, before heading towards one of the VIP jetties.
This year’s Maha Kumbh has seen an a big celebrity turnout — from to Coldplay’s frontman Chris Martin and Laurene Powell Jobs, , to name just a few. But their presence has infuriated many of the more ordinary devotees.
The road leading up to the jetty is lined with expensive SUVs. A police booth at the bank blocks access to it. One man is yelling at the top of his voice. “I am ready to pay, so what is your problem? Why can’t I get on a boat? This is VIP culture!” he argues. The constables dismiss him.
Meanwhile, down on the platform, some 40 people wait their turn to take a dip. The lucky ones. The chosen ones.
“These are all people with government connections,” Rahul Yadav tells me.
He is a student at the local university and acts as a guide. This is his 12th time escorting a local politician to the Mela.
With Indian parties deeply involved with the country’s students, his assistance is seen as simply paying his dues in university politics.
A few hundred meters from the VIP platform, packed crowds of people fight for every inch of space to enter a boat and complete their bathing rituals.
Reaching the Ganges for a new start
As the sun sinks lower, it’s my turn on one of the boats. I have somehow managed to talk my way in, and I am accompanied by a nuclear scientist, his guards and government escorts.
The ride was a quiet one, even tense, as one of the guards told me the brooding scientist had been made to wait for a helicopter for over four hours.
From our boat in the Ganges, the hundreds of thousands lining the banks look like ants.
The golden sunlight bathes the scene in a romantic hue, and I see why families at home, watching images like this on their TVs, would feel tempted to join.
From afar, the hardships of the devotees completely fade and all you see is a legion of believers emerging out of the holy river.
As I wash away my sins, leave the Ganges and the Maha Kumbh Mela, I feel a renewed sense of spirituality. I feel alive.
Edited by: Darko Janjevic
The post India: A woman’s dive into the Maha Kumbh Mela appeared first on Deutsche Welle.
