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23-Jan, 8.00 am | In the train. Somewhere between
Jabalpur and Allahabad
The train looks like a Mela train. It was quite empty
when I boarded at Chennai yesterday. The transformation
happened in a quite sudden and dramatic manner this
morning first at Jabalpur and then at Katni, both
in MP.
 After
40 hours of journey from Chennai came Jabalpur and
with it came swarms of people. The masses. The real
people. Those who grow food for us. And those who
make our homes, sew our clothes and ply our rickshaws
when we force them into our cities submerging their
villages from the dams that give us electricity. The
REAL people, from the villages that Gandhi so loved.
Carrying their gatharies on top of their heads
and the nylon thelas in their hands, they sit
wherever they find space. A big bearded baba takes
out his ektara, and starts singing a soft,
melodious bhajan. Others of his entourage join in
with dholak. All oblivious to the fact that hardly
anybody in the compartment pays any attention except
the village folk sitting around him.
The baba was only in his third or fourth Bhajan when
Katni station arrived. All hell breaks loose as the
passengers keep the doors locked, not allowing the
crowd outside to board the reserved compartment. The
crowd on the station builds into a mob and the cries
to open the door tun into threats. Tempers flare as
they begin to bang the door ferociously, fearing that
the train might depart leaving them on the station.
At last we are forced to let them in as the policemen
stationed on the platform intervene.
Its utter chaos for the first few minutes as people
trip over one another to find a foothold. Just when
it seemed that it couldn't get anymore crowded came
Satna and more people hop into the compartment. Its
amazing to see how accommodating the train could be
when it came to desperation. The train moves on slowly,
people settle down and start chatting.
23-Jan, 9.30pm | Allahabad City
THE Allahabad-Special Mela train reached its destination
precisely 18 hours later than scheduled. The scene
on the station resembles one inside the train only
the scale is huge, its people everywhere. Most of
them are already sleeping, others are on their way
to take bath.
 Outside,
Allahabad is bustling with activity even at this hour.
The city clearly looks poised for a grand event. There
are banners and posters for the Satsangs and Ramayana
Path. What one immediately notices are the Bhojanalayas,
the eating joints. The boys are seen shouting for
customers offering complete non-vegetarian meals though
most of the restaurants are not going full as one
would expect seeing the crowd of this magnitude. I
later hear a similar complain of slow business from
a tea stall guy surprised that this is when millions
are thronging the place everyday.
The reason gradually dawns upon me - nine out of
ten people visiting the Kumbh are from the rural belt
of the nation who cannot afford the luxury of spending
money on their trips, many even carry foodgrains with
them which they cook on the kerosene stove.
Earlier, while in the train I heard somebody remark
that true faith is only with the villager and that
the city dweller is just a visiting tourist. I find
that completely true when I apply to myself. I know
I'm not going there as a pilgrim, I'm there to witness
the spectacle of the largest ever human gathering
on the face of earth.
While I enter the Kumbh sandwiched between two unconscious
thought demons, I'm reminded of another person who
shared a similar dilemma on his visit to the Mahakumbh
of 1915 held at Haridwar [incidentally, I share his
day of birth too] - Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.
On the eve of the day of Kumbh, Gandhi lay in his
bed unable to sleep, torn into pieces inside. The
thought attacking his self was this - he had not visited
the Kumbh as a pilgrim and he seriously doubted the
importance of the festival. Now, if the event was
nothing but a big sham, he ought to immediately leave
the mela and protest against such vulgar display of
hypocrisy, on the other hand, if the event was indeed
pious and holy, he needs to go through some kind of
atonement for the enquiry prevailing upon his mind.
For a person whose thoughts were as tangible as his
right hand - even a negative spark of such thinking
needed redemption and this was not a small thought
indeed, Gandhi had questioned faith of such mass of
devoted people. The night passed and the Mahatma stayed
after punishing himself with another of his strict
vows that he kept for the rest of his life.
24-Jan, 12.01am | On way to Sangam
 AS
I walk towards Prayag, I wonder if the estimates of
3 crore people scheduled to take the holy dip on this
day were indeed true. There are all but a few hundred
people walking along with me. What I don't know at
that moment is that this is only one among the dozens
of roads that lead to Sangam. As we progress further,
the thin stream is joined by other such streams coming
from all directions until we leave the roads behind
and enter the sandy grounds of the Sangam area as
one thick river with thousands and thousands of people.
I know now why the lost brother theme was so compelling
for our filmmakers of yesteryears in those movies.
Indeed. The constant public address for lost &
found acknowledges that there has been a sudden increase
in such reports because of the unprecedented crowds
gathered for the Mauni Amavasya bath.
 For
miles, the ground is flat and sandy strewn with hay,
apparently to prevent the sand from flying when walked
upon. Though the only vegetation here are the electricity
poles and the machines put up by authorities to monitor
the crowd. The path taking us to the ghats [banks]
is so wide that even though thousands are on their
way, the crowd is evenly spaced and occupies less
than 1/3rd of width. When one of the ghats becomes
too crowded, police cordon off the area leading to
that ghat and the unsuspecting public is automatically
taken to another ghat. When all the ghats are full,
the crowd is made to move around in circles for hours
until they clear up.
As I reach the ghat, the crowd becomes extremely
dense. The sand is wet and so is the hay, filling
the air with sweet smell of wet hay, inviting one
to take off his shoes and rub the feet on it. We spot
people who have just taken the bath, are completely
drenched from head to toes wearing minimal clothing
and walking briskly towards their kith and kin. Smiling
people and shivering people. There's so much energy
in the air, surrounded by thousands of faces, surrounded
by their faith, the noise, the rubbing of shoulders,
the sudden push from behind, the flood lights, whistles
of volunteer guards, the blaring loudspeakers; that
it becomes almost impossible to believe that its 2''O
clock in the night. The Kumbh in its full glory on
24th January, a Mauni Amavasya that'll come next only
after 144 years!
The area for bathing is separated by bamboo sticks
from rest of the river and the maximum water level
is maintained at not more than knee depth. One of
the problems for the bathers is that each group cannot
bathe together, one person has to stay behind to look
after the clothes etc. Those who take the dip have
to come back to the exact spot where the last person
is standing. Locating your friend who may be a hundred
yards away from the banks is not always easy. The
experienced have devised a creative solution though.
Here, the last one with clothes stands with a thin,
long bamboo flag, which acts as a differentiator in
the crowd. Those who don't have a readymade flag,
attach their shirts or some other piece of clothing
on top of a bamboo stick. The chances of losing one's
brother thus are reduced to negligible, as these flags
are prominently visible from a long distance. I have
a different problem though - since I don't have anybody
with me, I'm looking for a favourable person to hand
over my bag and clothes while I take a quick dip.
The loudspeakers are screaming warnings against leaving
luggage to a stranger but I don't have a plan B. A
family from UP heartily accepts my request and brings
to my attention their position vis-a-vis two big electricity
poles for my return.
The water seems quite acceptably cold when I enter.
It's colder as I move away from the crowd to find
a deeper spot to take the dip. I realise that its
equally shallow everywhere and settle for a spot to
perform the ceremony. I had not prepared a prayer
or thought of things I'd say when I take the dip.
As I splashed the first gush of water upon me, my
mind went completely blank, numb, paralysed. It's
as if somebody just squeezed the air out of my lungs
that instant. I repeat a few more splashes frantically
and slowly the senses return. Then, to complete the
experience, I completely immerse myself, lying stomach
down on the riverbed, half expecting somebody to trip
over me. Thankfully nobody does and I head straight
to the place I had left my clothes. Its 2.35 am. I
later learn that at 3 am authorities block entry to
the ghats because of excess crowd.
After taking a few pictures I head back. Since, I
hadn't checked into a hotel at Allahabad, I spend
the night on a temple roof and manage a few hours
of sleep.
24-Jan 9am | Allahabad city
The next day is spent searching the city for an Internet
cafe, not finding one I take a quick trip to the actual
Mela area, which is on the other side of river Ganges.
This is the place with the sea of tents as seen on
TV. The crowd is immense. In the mela you can buy
or sell anything from a sturdy tava for your
kitchen to silver jewellery and mineral water to export
surplus T-shirts. I roam around clicking a few pictures
before heading to the station where I have to jump
over a fence to enter discreetly as police have blocked
all entry, leaving stranded hundreds of people returning
after taking the dip. I feel lucky.
- Manu Sharma
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1:59:43 PM 
