(Over 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.)
A few days before Kumbh Mela began, some sadhu leaders announced that nobody would go hungry at Kumbh. When reporters asked, “Who pays for this food?” they replied, “One out of ten people donate. Typically, that covers the total cost.”
I have experienced this concept of free food in the past. I cooked food myself at the Sikh Golden Temple in Amritsar. Since Varanasi was established by the Goddess Annapurna (Goddess of food), I personally benefited from the free distribution of sweet kheer on one of the crowded city roads during Diwali. In a small, remote village in the Himalayan mountains called Raithal, I had to literally hide myself to avoid families approaching me with excessive amounts of sweet halwa on Dussehra day. And how can I forget the 4-year-old Pigtail (her trail name)? While helping her mommy bring food to the shelter, she came to me and told me, “There is trail magic nearby. Please do visit. My trail name is Pigtail.” That was the most elaborate free breakfast I have had on the Appalachian Trail. (1)
But food for 600+ million people? Even if one-tenth of these people decided to have free food, that would be 5,000 tons of rice, never mind the huge quantities of cooking gas, vessels, and spices required for this endeavor. How would that supply chain work, especially when big trucks cannot enter these sandy, temporary roads in the Kumbh area? I had no freaking clue.
But I saw an unbelievable amount of free food in this huge area of 50 sq. km. during my walk on the day of Basant Panchami. There was rice and daal, fried rice, khichadi, sweet halwa, vegetables, chai, and all kinds of tasty, healthy, hygienic, awesome food everywhere. Some random person would appear from nowhere with a huge vessel full of khichadi and would start distributing it right on the street. This person would persuade passersby and implore them to have a meal. It totally defies both the ruthless capitalistic business model and the impassioned equitability of socialistic inclinations.
While my left brain was estimating the rice required in Kumbh, my stomach started feeling hungry at about 8:00 a.m. I had been walking for four hours by then. Of course, there were vendors selling all kinds of fresh food. But my destiny brought me to a small crowd just outside one of the hundreds of pavilions. Who knew that I would have an ordinary, yet one of the most profound experiences there?
They were distributing spicy poha (flattened rice). I took a paper dish and extended my hand into the crowd. There were many hands with empty dishes and only one person distributing the poha. I waited, I hustled, and I begged. Finally, I got that poha. Hot poha with the aroma of fresh curry leaves was exhilarating. While looking at the poha, I was thinking about how begging thrashes one’s ego quickly. And exactly at that time, a young girl of probably 8-10 years old came to me and offered 10 rupees (equivalent to 12 US cents) from a stack of notes in her hand. My recently hurt ego and I slightly jumped backward and said, “No, no.” She looked at me innocently and said, “साब, ये आपके लिये ही है!” (“Sir, this is especially for you.”) She almost pushed the ten-rupee note into my hand, and I reluctantly took it.
That’s it. It must have been a one-and-a-half-second interaction. In the middle of that hungry crowd, I kept staring at the poha in one hand and the note in the other, and was not sure what to feel. And the first thought that came to my mind was, “OMG, she has thrust so much responsibility on me and she is gone. How can I pay back to the world? What is my multiplier?”
After 38 days, my wallet still feels weighty. That inadvertent, sacrosanct contract with the most innocent, anonymous, faceless girl still haunts me. When will I act? What will I do? Am I breaking the clause of anonymity in that contract just by mentioning it here in this article?
Is this what faith is all about? Is this what washing away all sins in the Ganga means? Is this what provides tactical tangibility to that probably illogical, so-called “blind” faith? I have had free food in the past. Why did I feel that responsibility of giving back now, right here in Kumbh? I do not know the answers to any of these questions. But I suspect that the answers lie in my fine-tuned, peaceful, serene mindset that I described in my previous article (2). Such a mindset may be sensitive to the surroundings, may be filled with pure thoughts about everything around me, and may go beyond transactions. If it is my mindset, then the credit goes to millions of people around me.
What happens to the other 600 million people? How will their tangible “faith” materialize? Who knows? Everybody’s life, experiences, surrounding ecosystem, daily learning from parents, education—everything is different. Everybody’s perceptions of पाप (sins), पुण्य (virtues), and faith are different. This is what I said a few years ago in my article called “Tramily.” (3). I wrote, “Tim prayed and thanked God for the food on the table. Tim said, “Do you know something? For me, faith is the anchor.” That sentence from my fellow Michigander, whom I met just one hour ago in the middle of the Virginia wilderness on the Appalachian Trail, is stuck in my head! Yes, faith can be in any religion, faith can be in nature, in science, in oneself, in your parents, in teachers, in your friends, in your nation. Faith can be in anything. But faith matters! It provides an anchor in your life! It makes our lives meaningful, happy, enjoyable, and desirable!” There were 600 million faiths in Kumbh. Who knows what everybody was thinking?
I vow to execute my contract. And when I execute it, I will remember those one-and-a-half seconds again!
-Nitin ”Dadhi” Anturkar (March 14, 2025)
- A story about cute Pigtail.
2. My previous article, that I recommend you to read to appreciate this article
3. My article on people I met on the trail. I called them my trail family. “Tramily”
Your take on faith is quite something….
I am adding anonymous feedback below, with that person’s permission. Super details that I never knew.
The Ten Rupees phenomenon is something I have experienced time and again in a variety of settings. It goes with the name Prabhavana (प्रभावना). Bhavana (भावना) is related to emotions, inner experiences, feelings, convictions, faith. The prefix Pra (प्र) adds strength to it. You can find a variety of meanings for this word in the web page https://www.wisdomlib.org/definition/prabhavana.
Prabhavana is not just offering money (I have received amounts ranging from just 10 Paise to Rs. 50), but also food (ranging from one small piece of sweet/snack/candy to a full course meal), and gift items (ranging from a small trinket to items like a thermos or umbrella or shawl or any of the useful household items). It is offered to whoever is an attendee at the occasion regardless of their caste, creed, membership etc.
Regarding the burden (to society) you felt after receiving the Prabhavana from an unknown young girl in the vast crowd, yes, I have been through phases. I have witnessed receiving Prabhavana since my childhood. There was a time when I would attend some functions for the lure of Prabhavana. I never knew what would be offered, but had some inkling that the occasion warranted that some donors would definitely offer some Prabhavana. Having multiple individuals doing Prabhavana was not infrequent. Then there was a time when I started feeling the kind of burden you felt, that taking such freebies was indeed a responsibility, and, at times, I even refused to take them. As I started earning, I could also be on the other side offering Prabhavana.
Of course, I have touched प्रभावना only in the context of some tangible thing offered to attendees of a function. However, the concept goes far beyond. For example, the web page I referenced above mentions 8 types of प्रभावना in the section that describes the meaning of the word in Jainism. The web page is just the tip of an iceberg. There are elaborate discourses and concepts underneath.
Here comes the interesting point. In most cases, the givers of Prabhavana are publicly recognized in the congregation. Their names are printed on banners or announced in the functions. The way names of donors are advertised in fundraising for our alma mater, kind of, resonates here. Many givers do want, and insist on, such publicity. Often, the givers are themselves present to offer the Prabhavana. This, in some way, lets the receiver know who the giver is even if the giver does not want publicity.
Whether to take public credit for such giving is a matter of debate. Frequently, the givers would insist upon advertisement of their names when giving. Many times, the organizers of fundraising justify such public acknowledgment by taking a stance that it will motivate others to contribute. Some givers do not want such publicity and there may be a variety of reasons for it.
My personal view for myself is to keep private, as much as possible, any of my acts that may be construed as acts of charity or generosity by others.
Why do I strive to stay away from taking public credit? I am deeply aware that the only way I could be in a state of being worthy of such purported credit is because I am standing on the shoulders of countless others in this life, not to mention the support of the non-living (जड) world around me that is always there to help without asking for anything in return. The credit goes to the universe, including the ones who are receiving.
The receiver is also giving something, and the giver is also receiving something in this flow of nature.
That incident of the 10 Rupee note made me think. Long back, a lady who was taking Bridge lessons from me sent a check with an extra 0 at the end. Thus, I was looking at a gift of more than £10000. I told her about the mistake. She was aware of it! Guruji, keep the money, she said, but my ego could not get out of the way. I returned that extra money.
I suspect she would have been happier if I took the money. Once in a while, I feel bad about returning that money. This article should be teaching me a lesson. I should be ok with begging. At the very least, I should not hide behind the excuse that ‘I don’t need much money’. There is an ‘I’ there.
Good you accepted that 10 Rupee note. Would you have accepted $10000?