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Khumb Mela
One of my favorite memories in India, also happens to be one of my last. Just for a moment, imagine sitting at a cafe and watching the entire population of Omaha, Nebraska walk past the window in the time it takes you to finish your latte and the morning paper. Well, thats exactly what Ive been doing...all week. Considered not only the largest human gathering on the planet, but also one of the oldest (dating back to 10,000 B.C.), Khumb Mela draws millions of devout Hindus on a country-wide pilgrimage for the opportunity to bathe in Indias most sacred rivers. What make these rivers so sacred? Well, that depends on who you ask. Shrouded in thousands of years of mystery and speculation, the most common belief emerges from a combination of astrology and mythology.

As the story goes, the gods and demons of a time long ago found a jar containing amrita, the nectar of immortality, and for the 12 days and 12 nights following, waged a tremendous war for its possession. During the battle, four drops of the precious nectar fell to the earth at four river convergences in, what is now, present day India, and only during the same astrological periods when the nectar struck the earth, will the waters transform into portals of

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immortality. Portals that will offer amrita to only the purest and most pious of Hindu bathers, extracting them from their human chains and moving them into nirvana. Bare in mind, there are no verifiable accounts of these heavenly transfigurations, only stories and legends, but true or not, just bathing in these divine locations on these most auspicious dates, is said to cleanse both body and spirit of sin and evil, and is an achievement of incomprehensible importance for all Hindus. In accordance with the strict astrological dates, the Khumb Mela cycle spans 12 years (the human equivalent of the 12 days and 12 nights fought in god time), rotating the ceremonial bathings every three years between the four cities where the immortal nectar fell. Celebrated over the course of a few months, on a handful of those months most propitious days, this years Khumb Mela spanned from February to mid-April in Northern Indias holy city of Haridwar. Already based in the nearby town of Rishikesh, my pilgrimage to Haridwar only required 100 Rupees and a 20-minute rickshaw ride. For others, the pilgrimage could have easily taken days, weeks, even months of train travel, bus rides, and more often then not, walking. Like a cloud of locusts descending on a vulnerable patch of green, pilgrims swarmed into Haridwar. Pouring over every stretch of road, sidewalk, park, and river bank, one city block could have easily housed tens of thousands of people. Vehicle traffic ground to a complete halt still dozens of miles short of the city and any form of order was placed in the hands of a few hundred police officers with batons. There was no such thing as personal space in a crowd of this magnitude, nor was there any escape. Once swallowed by the enormous gyration of humanity, the only way out was hours of shoulder rubbing, body bumping and extreme patience.

The shear amount of people overwhelming such a small area was incredible enough, but how the people traveled to the festival and continued to sustain themselves while there, was mind-boggling. Only bringing the bare essentials, one single bag was enough to house an entire families necessities. Its contents usually nothing more then a few tin cups for drinking, a singular canister of dried lentils and rice, a small cast iron hot plate for cooking meals, and maybe a blanket or two. The head of the household, a wife, mother, or teenage girl, bearing the burden by balancing the luggage atop her head every step of the way. Nightly accommodations, eating areas and bathrooms became indistinguishable, the side of the road providing all the "comfort" pilgrims needed. Tents forged from random articles of clothing, picnics of rice and chapati spread forth over the tarmac, and bushes, trees and ravines employed as natural latrines. There were no luxuries to be had, yet these believers made the journey appear
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effortless. Many laughing and enjoying the ever-changing company of those met along the way, while others remained silent and withdrawn, stuck in a blissful trance, fixated on their ultimate goal of bathing for salvation. Young or old, rich or poor, lay person or guru, all walks of life were represented in the seamless stream of humanity. The suit and tie business men of New Delhi, the poor farmers of Indias interior wearing the traditional mens kuta pajama (long cotton shirt and baggy pant), the easily distinguishable orange hair and colored eye South Indians, and the less easily classified, bands of female pilgrims, all wearing their best and brightest sarees along with layers of glittery bangles, flashy anklets and ornate gold nose rings. The more the better it seemed and even after days of less then comfortable, clean, or ideal travel, not one woman failed to look beautifully put together. All equal during Khumb Mela, the only pilgrims deemed higher then the rest, are Indias, holy men, or, sadhus. Sadhus are to Hindus, what Saints are to Christians. Offering their lives to the devotion of a chosen Hindu deity, sadhus spend their days in austerity, relying on the kindness of others for their next meal or place to rest their head. Recognized by their long, unkept hair, beaded necklaces, and either bright orange or stark white cotton outfits, most sadhus own nothing more then the clothes on their back, a small tin pale for food offerings, and a walking stick. Some sadhus choosing to fade into the shadows of humanity, focused in deep meditation and non-public devotion of their chosen deity, while other sadhus formalize the sect to which they belong, entering a more public sadhu community. The Standing Babas (baba is another name for sadhu), for instance, not only take the unwritten vows of poverty and devotion, they also vow to never sit or lie down...for the rest of their lives. Or, how about the Silent Babas, who, as you can probably deduce, give up their ability to speak in exchange for, what they consider, a better chance at nirvana. And even still, there are the Naga Babas. By far the most well known and highly anticipated holy men, naga babas live in caves, smoke marijuana religiously (no really, they believe it awakens their spirituality) but most shockingly, do not believe in clothing. They roam the earth as naked as the day they were born. Slathering their bodies in ash and refusing to cut their hair, about the only decoration nagas display are orange and yellow flower arrangements or prayer beads hung around their necks.

Due to their strict lifestyles, these sadhus intentions are obvious and overall respected, but other, less defined sadhus, fall under much more skepticism. Basically, any Tom, Dick or Harry wearing orange, offering prayers and asking for food and money, could appear a sadhu but in reality, they could be nothing more then an impostor using the holy garments to reap the benefits they bring. Namely, food and money. This is why many Hindus have all but stopped their once plentiful handouts and replaced them with a huge loss of respect for sadhus.

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Whether true or not, an estimated 4-5 million sadhus live in India, in which a small percentage have pursued more public routes of devotion, attracting large followings of believers and launching them into, what I like to call, Superstar Sadhu Status (S.S.S.). Celebrated at Khumbh Mela more as gods, then people, S.S.s (Superstar Sadhus) are hoisted up on parade-style floats, adorned in flowers, and prayed to by hundreds of thousands of believers as they are carried down to the waters edge for their publicly anticipated ceremonial baths. Bathings which I, unfortunately, could not see. The religious mob proved too formidable, forced to settle alongside the main parade route leading to the bathing ghats. From this vantage point, I watched float after float ramble by with their Superstar Sadhu seated comfortably atop, offering glamorous Miss America waves and Movie Star wind kisses for the masses. Like a fan trying to touch the hand of a lead guitarists, or a devout Catholic reaching out for the hand of the Pope, so too did the pilgrims reach for that one moment of potentially life altering contact with an S.S. I also watched the undisputed crowd favorite, Naga Babas, strut their stuff (all their stuff mind you), dancing, chanting, and smoking large hash pipes all the way to the main bathing ghats.

6 million people were reported to bathe on Haridwars holy banks on this years most auspicious day, April 14th (the day I attended) with a grand total of some 60 million pilgrims over the course of the entire festival. A peaceful gathering that unfortunately, does not always end peacefully. Dozens, often hundreds, of people are killed every festival by either drowning during their ceremonial dip or being literally crushed in the masses of people. This years death toll thankfully low compared to most. 2 drowning related fatalities and 7 more in a car accident turned human stampede. Before attending Khumb Mela, I could only wonder how and why so many people continued these seemingly outdated pilgrimages, but now I understand why...faith. A faith deeply rooted in superstition and karma. A faith that transcends time and spits in the face of modern day change. A faith and an energy strong enough to replenish not only the strength of Hindu believers, but also that of outsiders, tourists like myself, who left the festival feeling awakened, renewed and 100% alive!

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