Mahakumbh: A Testament to Spiritual Grandeur and Global Double Standards
By Gajanan Khergamker
The tragic stampede at the Maha Kumbh 2025 in Prayagraj has, predictably, become a global headline. While no one disputes the gravity of the incident, the international media's response once again reveals a deep-seated bias—where calamities at Indian religious gatherings are framed as a consequence of mismanagement and chaos, but similar tragedies at global sporting events, concerts, or political rallies are seen as unfortunate accidents, devoid of any cultural judgment.
Compare this with FIFA World Cups or the Olympic Games, which have witnessed infrastructural collapses, security breaches, stampedes, and even terrorist attacks. Yet, these are rarely scrutinised as systemic failures. Instead, the focus is on learning from mistakes and ensuring better preparedness in the future. Why, then, is a centuries-old event like the Kumbh Mela—which successfully manages the pilgrimage of over 400 million people in 44 days—not acknowledged for its unparalleled scale and organisation?
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| Calamities at Indian religious gatherings are, conveniently, framed as a consequence of mismanagement and chaos |
Interestingly, even Pakistan-born barrister and writer Khalid Umar, couldn't help but admire the Kumbh Mela’s spiritual and logistical magnificence. Calling it “the biggest gathering of humanity on the planet,” he remarked:
It’s pure joy and ecstasy. No animal sacrifices, no bloodshed, no uniform, no violence, no politics, no conversions, no sects, no segregation, no trade, no business. It’s Hinduism.
At a time when mainstream narratives attempt to paint Hinduism as rigid or exclusionary, the Kumbh Mela shatters stereotypes, standing as a spontaneous, self-sustaining confluence of faith, devotion, and universal consciousness. There is no political authority, no central power, no forced conversions—just a spiritual gathering driven by an ancient understanding of humanity’s connection with the universe.
It’s not about size or numbers. What amazes me is the knowledge of humanity’s connection with the universe. The meditating Sadhus’ consciousness is able to reach frontiers beyond space and time. It breaks the illusion of duality of me and the universe.
In an age where materialistic progress is mistaken for civilisational superiority, the Kumbh Mela reminds the world of an ancient truth—that human consciousness extends beyond the visible, beyond science, and beyond the limitations of time and space.
The 2025 Maha Kumbh stampede, while tragic, should not overshadow the remarkable feat of organising a temporary city spanning 4,000 hectares, with 1,50,000 tents, 3,000 kitchens, 1,45,000 restrooms, AI-enabled security, and over 40,000 personnel maintaining order. Yet, media outlets choose to highlight the stampede rather than the scale of success.
Contrast this with disasters at global events:
2010 Love Parade (Germany): A stampede killed 21 people and injured over 500. The event was called a miscalculation, not a failure of Western civilisation.
2015 Hajj (Saudi Arabia): Over 2,400 pilgrims died in a crowd crush, but it was reported as a logistical challenge rather than a flaw in Islamic governance.
1989 Hillsborough Disaster (UK): 96 football fans lost their lives, yet the focus was on improving stadium safety, not on questioning the country's ability to manage events.
When an accident occurs at the Kumbh, the narrative is subtly laced with orientalist undertones—depicting it as an event of superstitious mobs and overcrowded chaos. Yet, its logistical brilliance, cultural significance, and spiritual magnitude are rarely given the same recognition that other large-scale events receive.
The Maha Kumbh is not just an event; it is a civilisational marvel. It is older than every modern nation-state and stands as a testament to India’s spiritual endurance. While nations build stadiums and cities for a single event that lasts a few weeks, Prayagraj transforms into the world’s largest city for 44 days—only to dissolve seamlessly, leaving no trace behind.
"Nature is Hindu,” Khalid Umar poetically remarked, acknowledging that the Kumbh represents an unbroken spiritual heritage that defies materialist interpretations.
If there is a lesson here, it is this: the Kumbh Mela must be understood beyond the Western framework of event management or tourism. It is a phenomenon beyond materialism, where faith and the cosmos intertwine in an ancient, unbroken dance of devotion.
A single incident cannot define an event of such magnitude. The international media’s selective focus on tragedy while ignoring the marvel of Kumbh’s scale and success reflects a deeper bias. If global events like the FIFA World Cup and the Olympics are symbols of human unity, then the Kumbh Mela stands unparalleled—a cosmic congregation rooted in dharma, harmony, and the eternal flow of Sanatan civilisation.
The Mahakumbh, a spectacle of faith, tradition, and spiritual fervour, has long been a testament to India’s deep-rooted cultural ethos. Yet, in the hands of modern-day social media influencers, it has been reduced to a grotesque caricature, stripped of its sanctity and repackaged for mindless consumption. What should have been a discourse on faith, devotion, and the sheer logistical marvel of hosting millions at a single location has instead been hijacked by opportunists eager to milk every oddity, every eccentric sight, and every unconventional practice for views, likes, and shares.
The recent hysteria over a vendor—dubbed the ‘Mona Lisa of the Mahakumbh’—is a glaring example of how these so-called content creators operate. A woman, selling trinkets, became an overnight sensation, not for her trade or her struggle but because of a vague resemblance to a centuries-old portrait. The frenzy was immediate, the internet ablaze with memes, speculations, and jokes, as influencers jostled to spin their own narratives around her.
Yet, beneath the glitz of viral fame, her story—her reality—was lost. The larger truth of thousands of vendors eking out a living at the Mahakumbh, the complex ecosystem of commerce that thrives during the festival, was cast aside in favour of a fleeting spectacle, a moment of internet amusement that did nothing to add to the discourse and everything to trivialise it.
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| Media outlets choose to highlight the stampede rather than the scale of success |
Then there are the Aghoris, shrouded in mystery, their practices steeped in esoteric philosophy, their presence at the Mahakumbh an undeniable part of its spiritual vibrance. For centuries, they have walked the thin line between renunciation and the forbidden, challenging conventional notions of purity and detachment. But what does the digital generation see? Not the depth of their philosophy, not their pursuit of moksha through unorthodox means, but a macabre, distorted narrative of cannibalistic rituals, curses, and eerie chants designed to send shivers down spines.
Clipped videos of an Aghori smearing ash on his body, sitting in a meditative trance with a human skull in his lap, or engaging in practices too alien for the common mind are manipulated, edited, and repackaged as horror stories for a thrill-seeking audience. The spiritual journey of these ascetics, their centuries-old traditions, and their deeply held beliefs are sidelined in favour of a storyline that suits the influencers’ thirst for engagement.
The Mahakumbh, in its grandeur, is a marvel of organisation, an event that brings together millions in an extraordinary display of faith and communal harmony. Yet, the influencer ecosystem thrives not on the success of this organisation but on manufactured fears of chaos, disorder, and catastrophe. Overhead drone shots of throngs of devotees, artfully overlaid with dramatic music and ominous voiceovers, scream of stampedes waiting to happen, unhygienic conditions spiralling out of control, and a system on the brink of collapse. Never mind that meticulous planning goes into ensuring safety, never mind that year after year, the event unfolds with astounding precision—such facts are inconvenient for those who profit from fear-mongering.
The obsession with the bizarre continues with the long-haired sadhus, the ascetics who have kept an arm raised for decades, the sadhus who have renounced speech, the fakirs with nails that have grown into gnarled, twisted forms. Instead of exploring the philosophy behind these acts, the influencers peddle them as nothing more than curiosities, framing them as absurd, unthinkable, and strange. “You won’t believe what this man has done for 30 years!” screams a viral caption. “The weirdest thing you’ll see today!” proclaims another. The seekers of divine truth become sideshow attractions in a digital circus, reduced to gimmicks for an audience that barely scratches the surface of their reality.
The damage caused by these influencers goes beyond mere misrepresentation. By painting the Mahakumbh as a place of disorder, fear, and outlandish spectacle, they deter genuine seekers, create paranoia among potential visitors, and reinforce harmful stereotypes about Hindu traditions. The West has long exoticised India as the land of mystics and snake charmers, and now, ironically, it is Indians themselves who are perpetuating these archaic caricatures for clout. Instead of using their reach to educate, inform, and enhance understanding, they have chosen the path of deception, distorting a centuries-old festival into mere clickbait.
The Mahakumbh deserves better. It is not a circus, not a horror show, not a breeding ground for sensationalism. It is a sacred confluence of devotion and discipline, a testament to the endurance of faith in a world constantly shifting. To treat it as anything less is not just ignorance—it is an act of wilful desecration, a mockery of a tradition that has withstood time, tide, and turmoil.
Yet, as long as algorithms reward the bizarre over the profound, as long as attention is currency, the vultures of virality will continue to descend, picking at the sacred until there is nothing left but a digital illusion of what once was.
And, while the Western media may often be accused of bias, but it is the commonplace Indian desi — caustic as ever —who takes it upon himself/herself to question the credentials of the Kumbh Mela and its organisers. Delighted, almost predictably, by the prospect of a catastrophe, they couch their cynicism in a veneer of curiosity, posing seemingly innocuous questions that barely conceal an underlying disdain.
Predictably too, s/he begins with an obligatory acknowledgment of the event’s spiritual significance, only to swiftly undercut it with scepticism. Without overtly dismissing the faith of millions, expresses a desire to probe into of what s/he calls the “more basic aspects” of the gathering.
The akharas and the spaces occupied by the Naga sadhus do not escape scrutiny either. Were these places clean? Was there an overpowering stench? Did posing with the sadhus feel unsettling? The questioning extends to the state of public toilets, laced with a conspicuous reference to Dalit workers who spend their days cleaning them. The insinuation is unmistakable — did attendees actually use these facilities, or did they choose to endure discomfort until they could return to the relative luxury of their private accommodations?
It is a performance as predictable as it is provocative. The questions are not meant to elicit thoughtful discourse but to stir a hornet’s nest—rhetoric disguised as inquiry, judgment masquerading as concern. The intent is clear: to highlight the flaws, to cast doubt, and to reduce one of the world’s grandest spiritual gatherings to a list of grievances, carefully curated for maximum derision.
The irony, of course, is lost on no one.
