Maha Kumbh Mela : Prayagraj, India

This was no ordinary Kumbh. It was the Maha Kumbh Mela, held only once every 12 years, and considered the most sacred of all—the site of the original cosmic blessing, where myth says a drop of amrita, the nectar of immortality, fell during a battle between gods and demons. Every twelve years, under specific astrological alignments, the faithful return here, to bathe in the sacred confluence and cleanse themselves of sin.

The scale was staggering: a city of tents, saffron robes, smoke, chants, and dust. Naga sadhus, naked and ash-covered, proceeded toward the river at dawn. Some smoked cannabis, others bore painful signs of self-sacrifice. Devotion came in every form.

Steve and I watched and photographed the masses of sadhus as they praised Shiva and paraded to the rivers.

We stood at the edge of the Ganges surrounded by millions seeking redemption. At dawn, the Shahi Snan began. Naga sadhus charged the river, shouting praises to Shiva. Millions followed, wading into the water like it was salvation.

Loudspeakers crackled, directing the crowd. Sanitation teams scrambled. Somewhere near the train station, we heard that a stampede had occurred. People trampled in panic—dozens injured, some dead.This was India distilled to its rawest spiritual essence: beauty beside decay, faith beside spectacle, divinity beside madness.

Later that day, we passed the compound of a wealthy guru, walled off from the dust and crowds. His followers lined up to receive blessings; his tent had air conditioning, velvet carpets, LED screens showing his face in real time. Across the same road, children bathed from buckets filled with muddy water.

Contradictions define the Maha Kumbh: extreme poverty beside divine wealth, quiet solitude within crushing crowds, raw devotion alongside pageantry.

And yet, as the fires died and the river shimmered, I began to understand: the Maha Kumbh Mela is not an event. It’s a living myth

You don’t witness the Maha Kumbh Mela.

You survive it.