South Bay Travels: See Photos Of Kumbh Mela Pilgrimage In India

REDONDO BEACH, CA – Editor's Note: This story is part of an ongoing series detailing South Bay local Alison Clay-Duboff's travels to witness a Hindi pilgrimage. The post below was written by Clay-Duboff. To read more about her experiences, click here.

Thousands of miles have now separated us from the Kumbh Mela but its impact, visual and physical remains in eternal close proximity.

To recap, the Kumba Mela is a Hindu pilgrimage held every 12 years (see previous posts for more detail).

Setback: We got sick. Sick before arriving in Allahabad the festival site, maybe because the air in India is a thick soup of smoke, diesel, incense, animal and human byproducts. Our upper respiratory infections took a hit, which evolved into a major set back for me. I had been trying to win a race with a low grade fever since Delhi but I lost on the day of departure making for a challenging flight.

Arriving in Varanasi and the subsequent drive to Allahabad should have been straight forward. Our driver met us at the airport and off we went; but this was THE Kumbh; the largest gathering of humanity on the planet ever recorded. The traffic was at a standstill. What should have been a two-hour drive at most took forever. Almost 7 hours. Village after village crawled by outside my window. It seemed to never end.

Suddenly out of the darkness there it was, the rivers, the lights, the bridges - the MAGIC. Our eyes were large, seeking. We were silent, filled with anticipation for an emotional experience of a magnitude that we were yet unprepared for.

We arrived at our tent village. It was exotic, dimly lit and our tent was freezing. No heat but electric blankets were a godsend. The air was smokey and I heaved with a relentless cough. We slept to the sounds of prayers, chants and neighbors coughing. The tents were close, the canvass thin. No hiding anything.

Day one we were united with our friends from California and the most wonderful Raju and Dev (the owner of the travel company and his business partner). This journey was different from last year. This year we traveled as friends, bound together by ancient customs and our curiosity. There was much to see and to explore, so we all set off.

Firstly there is the constant motion, the movement of pilgrims in all directions, from all directions, heading in various directions. They are carrying wood on their heads, blankets around them. The atmosphere feels like refugees on the move. It’s dusty. The colors are alive. The pilgrims move silently in hushed groups.

Secondly, there is a constant never ceasing cacophony of prayers, announcements and chants coming across 15 square miles of loud speakers. There is much repetition. I am compelled to hum a familiar chant. Some are mystical, some are annoying as hell.

Our small posse couldn’t cross the river to the main festival areas that first day as the pontoon bridges were closed. Not even a fast talking Sadhu (holy man) could gain access from the security personnel . This was extreme crowd control and great respect and reverence is due to the security teams as crowd control in these astonishing numbers is not a task taken lightly. There is a military, police and local authority presence. But this is a peaceful event. One of joy, dedication and love.

Even though we were not allowed to cross the river, there was much to witness on this side of the river. We made our way to the banks of the holy Ganges where the atmosphere changed to palpably joy, renewal, devotion and play. There was an air of light harmony tinged with laughter. We were obvious outsiders however we were greeted with love and a certain element of curiosity. We posed for endless selfies. Couples walked hand in hand into the water to seek their ritualistic holy dip. They have traveled far. Children splash and frolic. Men strip to their undergarments and proceed to wash away their sins. The women bathe in lily pads of floating colorful saris. Each sari is more spectacular in its audacity; I am awestruck by the grace and elegance that even the poorest women wear the sari.

One of the most meaningful parts of this ritual is to set sail upon the Ganges a flotilla of flowers in a small paper vessel. But this Kumbh is the first “Green” eco friendly Kumbh; the clean patrol scoop up your flower vessel with a pool skimmer the moment it sets sail on the Ganges. Needless to say the effect was slightly less spiritual but the intent was deeply felt.

Back at our camp we have lunch. The menu is Vegetarian. Ken is not adventuresome and barely eats. I find plenty to amuse my stomach. I’m happy. We eat with guests from all corners: Italy, France, Germany and even Hermosa Beach!!!

The luxury tents have toilets, sinks and a shower sluicing tap and bucket but the promised hot water never appeared. Always the entrepreneurial spirit, I found a work around. Electric kettle, bucket, soap and voila, hot mini bath!

After a very quick rest, Ken and the group headed out again to find an open bridge to cross over to the main area at 4 pm. The air was hot, heavy and filled with smoke. The loud speakers rained out a continual litany of Hindu messages for lost individuals, songs and chants. My gang didn't return till almost midnight. Ken was sick and exhausted.

I was wobbly. I stayed in bed with my coat on. It was so cold. My fever had a new friend; insane sweating. My cough brought tears to my eyes. There was no way I could make the trek to the event we had been planning for half a year. But nothing could, would stop Ken. Sick or not this was his moment, his 10 out of 10 moment. It was finally here. And just like that, he was gone.

I received very few communiques from the group during this time. I was worried for Ken. He was sick. I was worried for our friends. 50 Million souls crushed together to witness the Naga Sadhus is nothing to take lightly. There could be life threatening consequences. I had no idea how they were, where they were. I slept fitfully, waiting for their safe return anxious for richly descriptive stories. My fevered dreams were peppered with helicopters circling, noise from every direction and it felt like a weird scene from Blade Runner.

At 1 pm we were reunited. They hadn’t slept, they hadn’t had a meal for 24 hours. They were visibly spent and their stories didn’t flow, or spill forth as I expected, as I had hoped. They were unable to describe what they had experienced. They parsed out snippets of images, feelings and I tried to sew them together into the fabric of a story, their story, to pour into the giant hole I had in my center. I tried to visualize, to physically imagine what they felt, but I could not. How could I when they themselves could not. Their internalized processing was not able to compartmentalize adequately to share verbally what they experienced.

So you see Kumb Mela 2019 is an indescribable, inexplicable experience even for those who lived it, lived through it. I thought I’d be the vessel of Kumbh expression, but who am I, how can I ever do it justice?

I hope Ken’s photography will shed some light, some color on this most amazing of human experiences.
PS Because of potential sensitivity, some of the most iconic photos of the even may not be appropriate for all readers.

This trip (and our first India trip last year) could not have been possible without the dedication, professionalism, care, concern, and highest level of service that Raju Singh, owner of Incredible Real India Tours and Travel, and his ever joyful and competent business partner, Dev.

Other articles in this series:

• South Bay Travels Part 1: India, The Back Story
• South Bay Travels Part 2: When Journey Gets Tough, Travelers Get Tougher
• South Bay Travels Part 3: Culture Shock And Preparing For Kumbh Mela