A pilgrim’s diary from the Mahakumbh Mela
By Hurditya Deva
All Photos: Hurditya Deva
From an early age, i have been captivated by the vibrant religions, languages, art and culture of India. Attending the Kumbh Mela had always been a wild dream. But this year was different. This wasn’t just any Kumbh—it was touted as the Purnakumbh, a once-in-144-years convergence of celestial alignments, making the pilgrimage historically momentous. Now, as a postdoctoral researcher specializing in the material and visual cultures of South and Southeast Asia under the PURANA Project at Leiden University, I had the perfect reason to witness the world’s largest religious gathering at Prayagraj.
Experiencing the Kumbh Mela was no simple feat. With millions of pilgrims flocking to the Triveni Sangam, accommodations were scarce. I reached out to ashrams and friends, but by the time I had committed to the journey, every place was booked solid. Determined not to miss the Sahi Snan on Mauni Amavasya on January 29, I explored tented camps, but learned those luxurious options were far beyond my researcher’s budget. Just when it seemed impossible, I secured an Airbnb a few kilometers from the Sangam—a modest yet practical base. Little did I know that this journey would be far more than just a research trip; it would be an experience of a lifetime.
On January 27, I luckily secured one of the last seats on a direct flight from Delhi to Prayagraj. That evening, I joined a long procession of pilgrims from all over India making our way toward the parade ground, where the main events took place and other official sites were located. My first goal was to get my bearings and locate the akharas I wanted to see, as well as the Naga Sadhus.
The area was bustling with activity—not just with pilgrims but also a massive media and press center, an exhibition hall and a variety of food outlets, including cafes and even pizza joints! I learned the Kumbh was divided into three areas: the main site, where the information center was located; the eastern Arail Ghat, home to luxurious tented accommodations and international ashrams, where many Western devotees stayed; and the tented city on the Jhusi side (east side of the Ganga), where major akharas from across India were based.
On the 28th, I woke up just before Brahma Muhurta (hour and a half before dawn). The streets were quiet, with only a few pilgrims walking toward the Sangam. My prearranged motorcycle and driver were nowhere to be seen, so I hailed a random one passing by. However, when we reached the pontoon bridge, it was closed, and every shortcut we attempted was blocked. Frustrated but undeterred, the driver led me on foot to the main bridge where vehicles crossed, only to find it closed as well. The crowd was growing, and movement seemed impossible. Then, without a word, the driver guided me under a restricted area, climbing under barbed wires, jumping over puddles and eventually dropping me off beneath the bridge. Ahead of me was a small group of young men and a Baba wearing a real human skull around his neck. Without hesitation, I followed them down a narrow path, keeping close to the Baba. His swinging skull nearly hit me a few times. At the foot of the bridge, we reached a fence just a few meters away from the police barricade. One by one, we climbed over—first the Baba, then me—until, at last, we made it onto the bridge and walked across to Jhusi.
Upon arriving, I made my way south to Sector 19. Passing a familiar ashram, the Ramakrishna Mission, I stepped inside for a brief darshan and unexpectedly ran into T. S. Mohan, a longtime friend. We had met more than a decade ago, during the Kailasa-Manasarovara Yatra. It felt like destiny—reuniting on yet another pilgrimage. We made plans to meet later in the afternoon.
Arriving at Sector 19, I found the small, scattered camps of Naga Sadhus, starkly contrasting with the imposing, gilded facades of the well-established akharas. Some sadhus were completely naked, others half-clad, most sitting around their dhunis (sacred fires), attended by Indian devotees. A few sadhus playfully struck me on the head with peacock feathers as a blessing, while others demanded money. Speaking Hindi often led people to assume I was from Northeast India, which made things easier. I had expected the Naga Sadhu camps to be exotic, as in a National Geographic documentary, but the reality was much more ordinary.
By afternoon, the crowds thickened as pilgrims gathered for the upcoming Mauni Amavasya Snan. Many of them seemed to be from villages. They walked in a line, tying themselves to a rope like schoolchildren.
Returning to the RK Mission, I realized that unregistered guests were not allowed to stay, and every available sleeping spot was already taken. The massive crowd prevented me from crossing back to the other side, so I had little choice but to hide inside the main temple. Finding a spot among the volunteers, I lay on a bed of hay and wrapped myself tightly in a blanket as the temperature dropped to 5°C.
At 3am on the 29th, the sounds of excited devotees stirred me from sleep. A procession was forming, led by monks en route to another akhara. Mohan, his wife Vidya, and I joined in, but the monks walked so fast that at times we had to run to keep up. The crowd surged in all directions, and at a major intersection, chaos struck—a stampede had just occurred. Police intervened, cutting our group in half. The monks ahead were unaware, leaving behind a group of elderly Bengali devotees, along with us. Panic spread.
By the time we crossed the intersection, we had lost the monks entirely. Realizing there was no way to rejoin them, Mohan, Vidya and I decided to make our own way to the river. At that point, we abandoned the idea of bathing at the precise Triveni Sangam—anywhere along the river would suffice, as long as we took our dip at the auspicious muhurta, which would begin around 5am.
We reached the riverbank at 4am. Vidya, overwhelmed by the ordeal, refused to wait for the muhurta and insisted on bathing immediately. We found a safe spot to leave our belongings while she changed. Volunteers patrolled the area, warning people not to venture too far despite the floating barriers in place.
After assisting Mohan and Vidya, taking turns holding their belongings while they bathed, I chose to wait. I wanted to observe the crowd and their rituals, and to also take my bath according to tradition, which I had researched before coming.
The tradition dictates that one must submerge in the river five times, while facing different directions. First and second dips should be done facing east to obtain blessings from the sun. Then one should dip facing north, paying homage to Lord Siva and the Saptarshis. For the third, one should face west, honoring semi-divine beings such as yakshas, kinnaras and so on. The last should be done facing south, making offerings to the ancestors.
Each of the Sahi Snan days has its designated muhurta for bathing. For Mauni Amavasya in 2025, the first bath, the Brahma Muhurta bath, takes place from 5:24 to 6:18am. This is followed by Labha Kala, believed to bring prosperity, from 7:11 to 8:32am. The most auspicious time, Amrta Kala, occurs from 8:32 to 9:53am. Determined to partake in all three kalas, I waited on the riverbank and took two more dips at the designated times.
Standing there, witnessing this sacred moment unfold, I prepared myself for my own immersion into the waters of the Ganga, first at the auspicious hour of Brahma Muhurta. After paying homage to Surya by offering arghya (pouring out water from a cup while reciting mantras), I dipped into the river, which was so ice cold that I was unable to dip five times in different directions and jumped out of the river after the third dip. I waited around for another hour then took the Amrta Kala Snan. Having completed the ritual baths, I returned to my hotel and departed for Delhi the next morning.
Despite the stampede, which was unsurprisingly blamed on the organizers and the government, I must say the overall organization of the Mela exceeded my expectations. Having visited numerous pilgrimage centers across India, often on the busiest holy days, such as Mahasivaratri, I had anticipated the worst-case scenario. Unfortunately, the stampede fit that description—but given the sheer volume of devotees, such incidents seemed almost inevitable.
The scale of the crowd, as reported in the news, was immense. I witnessed villagers in tears, separated from their groups, children misplaced and elderly individuals struggling to navigate the sea of people. Certain areas of the tented city, especially at intersections, were particularly hazardous. Here, streams of people converged from multiple directions, and once at the center, any movement became almost impossible. The police attempted to manage the flow by closing some lanes, but in doing so, they unknowingly separated people from their groups, leading to panic and distress.
I also witnessed many positive aspects I had not expected. Street sweepers diligently carried out their work without supervision. Local boatmen played a crucial role in safeguarding the riverbanks, while volunteers assisted pilgrims at key locations. These were clearly locals who knew the city and the river well, working quietly behind the scenes to keep things running smoothly.
It is no exaggeration to say that the Kumbh Mela is truly the survival of the fittest. To participate in this grand and spiritual event, one must possess not only physical stamina and good health but, above all, an immense amount of courage, faith and devotion. Embarking on the Kumbh journey requires a readiness to endure the harsh conditions, the overwhelming crowds and the intense spiritual fervor that defines this remarkable festival. You must witness firsthand the devotion of the monks, the solemn rituals of the sadhus, and the unwavering faith of pilgrims who have journeyed from every corner of India and beyond. It is a transformative experience—one that demands courage, patience, and an open heart to embrace the sacred chaos unfolding around you.
About The Author
Hurditya Deva is an opera singer and scholar, with a Masters and PhD in Sanskrit Studies. He researches Sanskrit texts and epigraphy in India and Southeast Asia.