Last weekend, on the auspicious occasion of Maha Shivratri, I had the good fortune of visiting the Kumbh Mela and taking a dip in the Holy Ganges. I was told it was the largest human gathering ever on earth, and the sights at the Mela ground certainly supported this claim.
The scale of the event was immense; the temporary tent city was probably larger than Vatican City. Memories from my recent trip to the Vatican Museum were still fresh in my mind, and I couldn’t help but compare the two experiences. Although both places pursue spiritual gains, their approaches are starkly different.
The Kumbh Mela is characterized by a vibrant array of emotions, a sense of hope, and mystical chants, all embodied in diverse physical forms. It is much louder and more rustic compared to the elegant yet lifeless walkways of the Vatican Museum. I imagined if all of Bernini’s and Michelangelo’s masterpieces could come alive in their original, raw form—this would be the essence of the Kumbh.
It would be inaccurate to say the streets were full of people; their slow, unidirectional movement into packed columns provided the faintest sense of where the streets might have been amidst this sea of humanity. The air around me was thick with chants of “Har Har Gange.”
As I walked through the crowded streets, I was bewildered by some of the most unusual sights I had ever encountered. A clan of Naga Sadhus was rushing towards the river, their bodies drenched in ashes, engaged in strange postures reminiscent of ancient snake charmers or perhaps crude imitations of Lord Shiva. Meanwhile, others appeared to be deep in meditation and preaching.
SANKALP
As I walked further along the banks of the Yamuna, I noticed a row of individuals seated beside the fort wall, organized in a manner reminiscent of display stalls. They were engaged in a ritual known as ‘Sankalp,’ utilizing the limited resources available to them: a small rectangular mat, a handful of rice, a few stones, incense sticks, and some colored powders.
One person stood out to me—a man in his mid-twenties, with Chandan applied on his forehead and his body covered in dry ash. He was performing a ritual for an elderly woman, chanting mantras that were unfamiliar to me. I was intrigued and observed him closely. After he completed the ritual, he turned to me with a friendly smile and asked,
“Would you like to participate in Sankalp?”
Curious, I replied, “What is that?” Our conversation unfolded from there:
“Sankalp… You’re not familiar with it?…” he began, pausing for a moment. “… It’s a way to make a pledge to yourself or to the Gods. I can help sanctify that.”
“I have many personal pledges. Why would I share them with you, and what role do you play in this process?” I asked, a bit skeptical.
“I can sanctify your commitments using mantras, and you don’t even need to disclose your intentions,” he explained, encouragingly.
“And this comes at a cost, I assume?”
“Yes, you can decide the amount.”
“What’s the reason for me to pay you?”
“Why should I assist you if you’re not prepared to make any sacrifices? Why would the divine aid you in your endeavors?”
I challenged his confidence, “Do you really think you have a closer connection to God than I do?”
“I consider myself an agent of God, and I possess the mantras to communicate your pledges to Him,” he asserted confidently.
I remained skeptical, stating, “I see you as a fraud and a trickster. Do you even understand the significance of Kumbh?”
His response was thought-provoking, “Do you?”
I shared the mythological story with him, feeling a sense of pride in my knowledge. “Kumbh literally means ‘pot’…representing the vessel that holds the holy nectar of immortality.”
“So, you’ve come here to fill your pot with this nectar?” he asked, seemingly intrigued.
“What pot?”
“Your mind is like a pot filled with many transient things. What are you carrying in it?” he asked, challenging me to reflect. “Before you can fill it with something meaningful, you need to empty it first. And do you truly seek immortality in this world filled with suffering? I personally don’t…”
He took a moment to reflect before continuing, “And regarding this holy nectar, or Amrita, why should one desire something that symbolizes the age-old conflict among the Gods?”
His question struck a chord within me, creating a deep sense of introspection that I struggled to address. Just as our conversation was deepening, he began to hastily pack his belongings, and I noticed that the others beside him had already dispersed. A policeman approached, tapping his lathi against the ground.
“Sir, you seem educated. I advise you not to waste your time with them. They aren’t authorized by the Mela authorities, and this Ram Avtar isn’t even a qualified Pandit—just a sweeper hoping for some extra money.”
As I took a boat ferry from the Yamuna bank to reach ‘Sangam,’ the fundamental question he raised continued to echo in my mind, prompting me to reflect on the deeper meanings of my spiritual journey.
“What am I carrying in my pot of mind that I need to get rid of before I can adorn even a drop of spiritual awakening ?… The Amrit”
The crepuscular ray struck as a prelude to a new awakening as I went down into the darkness of the holy river hoping that the drop of holy nectar spilt thousands of years ago will have its sublime effect and wash all my sins away.
Was this dip into the sacred Ganges going to be a conscious submission of guilt or an unconditional surrender to the almighty remained an enigma to me?
