Last week, my friend and video journalist Pooja Arya and I trekked along the Sangam at the Mahakumbh in Prayagraj, attempting to capture the essence of the largest gathering on Earth. We also interviewed two policemen diligently manning one of the Khoya-Paaya (lost and found) centres. These centres are the most active at Mahakumbh, buzzing with anxious people and proactive officials and volunteers, trying broken Assamese, Telugu, and other languages with gestures, asking the lost person to remain calm and remember as much as they can about their family members.
I asked one of the cops if the challenge was bigger with lost children or senior pilgrims, and he promptly replied, "always the buzurg (senior people). They are invariably from other states, and the language is difficult to understand. They are tense about whether their family members will come or not. When kids get lost, parents search frantically and eventually find them."
British economist Joan Robinson once remarked: "The frustrating thing about India is that whatever you can rightly say about India, the opposite is also true." This insight has often helped me understand the country better. It applies not only to India at different times but also to us as Indians.
I am glad my country is full of paradoxes, and I'll tell you why. While the policeman's experience was significant, in the very same Mahakumbh, I also witnessed something truly heartwarming.
There was a large family from Hubbali in Karnataka that had come to Mahakumbh with 21 members, after visiting Ayodhya. One of the older members had gone missing in Ayodhya and was found after six hours. Terrified, the family had made a long rope of at least a dozen dupattas that all of them would hold on to while walking.
"The oldest member is 89 and the youngest we have is 3. We will never take a risk again," a woman in the group told me. Her commitment to her family's safety was admirable-an assurance that, even in the vast ocean of humanity at the Kumbh, those who are lost eventually find their way back to their loved ones.
Read: Over 1.3 Crore Take Holy Dip On Final Day Of Maha Kumbh In Prayagraj
In Mahakumbh, almost every pilgrim I met talked about a relative they had lost. A doctor from Gujarat even brought a photo of her deceased grandparents who had taken her to her first Kumbh several years ago. A social worker from Delhi brought her 83-year-old father to the Kumbh in what she described as an impulsive decision. "I lost my mother last year. Papa had become quiet since then. He doesn't hear or speak. But we drove for 12 hours. I decided to do this just two days ago, as I don't want to have any regrets," he told me.
I used to grapple with questions about my faith and how it has to be projected, especially having been raised in a conservative household with deeply religious parents. Temple visits were an integral part of my life-spaces that provided my family with solace and a strong sense of cultural identity. So, if I was going to the Kumbh, there was never any doubt on whether I would take a dip.
As a female journalist, I have spent years traveling through villages and towns, where the people of this country have humbled me with their insights on politics, social dynamics, traditions, and folklore. Their knowledge has shaped my understanding, and yet, I have often never had the chance to thank them for these lessons.
If millions of them go to the Sangam for what they believe in, who am I to question them? I was grateful to spend two days among them, listening to their aspirations and struggles, reflecting on how much the country has changed, and how much of it remains the same.
India's glorious diversity in full display
While we were at Mahakumbh, we had no VIP access. I saw largely regulated crowds, with people from different parts of the country - each group distinctly different. The Bengalis and Gujaratis were far more organized. Rajasthani pilgrims arrived in buses, often with more women than men, who would break into delightful renditions of Krishna and Sudama songs and perform Ghoomar dances at the drop of a hat.
I frequently encountered people from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, some from Jammu and Kashmir, and large groups from Assam, who diligently carried home cans of Gangajal. The pontoon bridges built over the Ganga, along with bike riders navigating the area, made movement easier for the pilgrims.
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Youngsters discussed Instagram reels and stories, while others focused on performing pujas correctly without exceeding their budgets. An NRI was constantly on a video call, showing his children in Texas the magic of India, while a bangle seller played peekaboo with her infant, reassuring him that they would soon return home.
Those with VIP access undoubtedly had an easier time reaching well-managed areas. Across the river from Arail Ghat, newer, swanky ashrams had sprung up in the past ten months. I also found the police exceptionally helpful in providing directions and answering general queries.
Mahashivaratri brought unprecedented traffic snarls, but at the ghats, the crowd remained well-regulated. The Mauni Amavasya stampede, which claimed over 30 lives, had taught the police important lessons: The dip-or dubki-in the Sangam is the sole expectation of pilgrims. Ensuring that the bathing areas remained supervised was crucial. A senior police official explained that, in the past, bathing was restricted to specific time slots. However, this time, people were taking dips throughout the day and even at night. "The bath makes everything right. After that, all complaints about unclean toilets or the long walk to the ghats are forgotten," a police officer told me.
I have always believed that faith and its expression are deeply personal. Patriarchal norms in religion remain deeply entrenched. However, social events and gatherings that are inclusive and free from hierarchical structures are always a joy to witness.
Shiva is an all-encompassing deity, the lord of the masses who form the soul of this country. His wedding procession is one where everyone is invited, and the Kumbh, in many ways, mirrors that inclusivity. I have often lauded the concept of one well, one temple, one crematorium as a means of fostering social cohesion-and there is no greater unifying force than a river.
I don't engage in debates over science versus faith because, to me, society and people are greater forces. I do not believe that taking a dip in the Ganga at a specific time can wash away all sins. A scientific temper is essential for any society to progress, as are quality education and skill development. Yet, I was wrong to assume that Mahakumbh is merely about aastha (faith) and vyavastha (arrangements). It is much more than that.
Read: This 45-Day Festival Of Faith Has Set Multiple Guinness World Records
The Mahakumbh is an ode to the warmth and wisdom of the people of this country - people who have learned to live with the fundamental fear of loss, who may not always have the right tools but have found ways to heal themselves from life's uncertainties. It is an ode to those who may remain bound by social and cultural structures but refuse to be diminished by them. Faith and belief serve as powerful anchors for such resilience.
It is an ode to the mother from Sangli who proudly told me that her daughter, who works in a big company in Pune, brought her to the Kumbh. To the man who, after taking multiple dips in the Ganga, will return to fighting his case in a lower court. To the woman who carefully wheeled her husband to the river between his dialysis sessions.
It is an ode to Indians who revere their parents but often struggle to express it, to those who believe their ancestors got many things right - and some things wrong. To the boatman who taught me that the Yamuna's waters are a deeper hue than the Ganga's. And, above all, to the countless individuals who made the Mahakumbh what it was-a celebration of the eternal wonder and humility of India.
(Vasudha Venugopal is an Anchor and Political Editor at NDTV)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
