Kumbh Mela: 7. Om Shanti (Peace)

(600+ million people gathered at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This 45-day festival is called the Kumbh Mela. I visited this festival from February 1-5, 2025.)

Describing what I experienced at the Kumbh Mela is an impossible task. I struggle for words. There were no sightseeing visits, no temple prayers, no extraordinary interactions with brilliant individuals, no emotional outbursts, no drama, no thrills, no logistical challenges, nothing at all.

And yet, it was the most profound and once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. Let me try to explain.

It was the day of Basant Panchami, one of the six auspicious days in this 45-day mega celebration. I was supposed to start my day at 3:00 am, also called Brahma Muhurta, the quietest time of the day when everyone attempts to take the holy bath. But I was late by one hour. I already knew that the administration had banned all vehicles in this entire 50 sq km area, not even manual bicycles were allowed. The sky was clear, the roads were brightly lit, and the weather was crisp and a little chilly at 8-10°C. At the far end of the tent city where I stayed, there were only a few people walking briskly on the dusty road with anticipation. It was all quiet around here.

About 150 meters away, I saw a huge 4-5 story tall decorated arch on the road. As I entered the arch, I saw a massive temporary pavilion on the right side. 200-300 people were brushing their teeth in an open area using traditional datun (chewing a twig of a neem tree) outside the pavilion. They told me that 35,000 people were sleeping in this hall. I was shocked. I just could not believe it! As I peeped through the brightly lit huge door, sure enough, there were long rows and rows of people, many of them just getting up. On the other side of the road, there was a kitchen for all these 35,000 people and a huge number of portable toilets. Slowly, the massive scale of the Kumbh was sinking into my sleepy brain.

I was walking parallel to the Ganga, heading upstream to the confluence. Steadily, the crowd kept increasing. One could see elderly people with walking sticks, young enthusiasts, dozed-off small children on the shoulders of their fathers, and women in red sarees carrying luggage in ragged jute bags. Many women had wrapped shawls around themselves, while men were wearing sweaters. Some young people carried their parents or other disabled people on their backs. Sometimes, a group of 40-50 people, probably from a small village, would be walking together. There was no crying of babies, no shouting, no pushing, no chest-beating slogans. There was just a hushed murmur in the air, accentuating the silence.

Many had walked hundreds of kilometers. Many came by trains and cars, and a few, like me, traveled from 10,000 miles away by planes. Occasionally, I would come across 10-15 tribal women with elaborate, colorful stone jewelry on brightly colored draped clothes. Suddenly, a tour operator would march from the front with his agency flag leading 20-25 foreigners. Sometimes, a group of lustrous dark-brown-skinned men in distinct white lungis (wrap-around clothes below the waist) and tripunda on their foreheads (three horizontal white lines of sacred ash, signifying devotion to Shiva) would walk next to me. I could instantly recognize warkari (devotees) Marathi group from my own birthplace with white Gandhi topi (white cap), Zabba, and Lenga. I saw beggars, sadhus carrying snakes, and countless vendors selling all kinds of products from vermilion, flowers, and rudraksha prayer beads to toys, food, and herbal medicines.

Over a few kilometers, I started noticing back-to-back hundreds and hundreds of pavilions of various religious organizations on both sides. There were chants of “Har Har Gange” (Hail to Ganga), “Har Har Mahadeo” (Hail to Lord Shiva) on their speakers. Some were chanting Kirtans (devotional songs), some were requesting people to keep roads and Mother Ganga clean, and some were urging others to respect brothers and sisters cleaning the roads. And of course, there were 24/7 announcements about people separated from their families in this huge crowd. All these announcements were coming from all directions. It was chaos. The hushed murmur had faded away. But people continued to maintain a demeanor of relaxed walking with smiling faces. Apparently, the enchanted cacophony wasn’t bothering anyone around me. I saw a masked cleaner with a traditional broom. He readily accepted my hug. He smiled and said that he was from a small village about 50 miles away. We both said “Har Har Gange,” and moved on. Not sure why, but I was slightly emotional.

I stopped at a crossroad for tea. The setup was simple: a small kerosene stove, a boiling teapot with lots of milk and sugar, and very small paper or clay cups. I told the chaiwallah that I didn’t have change for a 10-rupee cup of tea. He smiled. He said, “साब, चाय तो पी लिजिये! पैसे का बाद में सोचेंगे!” (At least have tea first, we’ll worry about money later!). I sat next to him on my foldable stool. His wife sat next to the stove on the dusty floor, cradling their small baby. They told me about their blissful life several miles away in a small village, their thriving chai business in Kumbh, their farming, and their relatives. I told them about my American life, my wife, and my kids.

Finally, I reached Arail Ghat (a constructed bank of the river) at the confluence. It was a huge area jam-packed with people. A large number of steps climbed up the bank. I took a dip in the Ganga (which I will explain in another article) and sat at a vantage point watching the huge crowd. More than 5,000 boats were ferrying people to the confluence and bringing them back. A large number of families were performing candle-lit prayers in the sand, while others were taking a holy dip. There were six to seven police officers here, guiding pedestrian traffic in a one-way direction. From a distance, I could see their smiling faces and polite Namaste gestures to the many inquiring devotees.

There were 500 kilometers of temporary roads, 30 bridges, 9 new railway stations, 100,000 police, 200,000 cleaners—the list goes on. You’ve heard all of this on social media and even in my previous article. Do you really think that such resources can oversee 500 million people? Can you imagine this scale? Can India really allocate one-third of its resources for one-third of its population just for this 45-day Kumbh Mela? Of course not. This was a self-managed festival, where each of the 100 million people that day was doing exactly what they were supposed to do.

Did you get it? Did you walk with me? Can you close your eyes and imagine what I experienced? Did you sense that overwhelming force of peace among millions of people? I was overcome with emotions watching that sea of serenity. I was just a speck, just a proud nobody, being part of this eternal festival, experiencing this fleeting yet profound moment. I cried on those steps, before the quiet confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers, surrounded by 100 million people peacefully performing the seemingly mundane act of bathing.

Wars rage across the world; terrorism, rape, corruption, and theft are rampant; the USA alone experienced 500 mass shootings in 2024; and India continues to bear its own share of this violence. But Kumbh Mela is one place where it all melted away. There was no checking by police, no metal detectors, no screening, no arrests anywhere. Even then, there was no violence, no harassment even when women were changing their clothes in the open, no shouting of ugly slogans, not even yelling at each other. Police told me that people rarely reported a stolen mobile. One sadhu approached me for money. He lingered a little longer, and another sadhu instantly told him, “Do not pressurize!” There was no separate area for rich people or arrogant politicians; everybody bathed in the same river anywhere, irrespective of caste, creed, and gender.

How is this utopia possible? Credit goes not only to Hindu devotees but to all of India. It would have taken just one disturbed person, one miscreant, to destroy the entire fabric of this unbelievable festival. There was none. Terrorists, Naxalite revolutionaries, small-time goons, religious zealots, political ruffians—none of these people showed up. Peace overpowered everything else; peace prevailed.

I have been reciting this prayer of ॐ शान्तिः शान्तिः शान्तिः (om, let peace prevail, prevail, prevail) since I was born. I never thought that I would actually see it in practice on such a massive scale.

What an event it was!

-Nitin “Dadhi” Anturkar (March 11, 2025)