Mahakumbh 2025- A calling fulfilled - Dr Yogita Chaudhuri

Mahakhumbh 2025

28-30 Jan 

1-A Calling Fulfilled: My Journey to Maha Kumbh Mela on Mauni Amavasya

The year 2021 left a void in my heart. The Ardh Kumbh in Haridwar had come and gone, but the pandemic had kept me away. I had longed to be there, to immerse myself in the sacred Ganga, but fate had other plans. So, when Maha Kumbh was announced, an unshakable voice within me whispered, You have to make this happen.

Determined, I chose the most auspicious day—Mauni Amavasya. The significance of this tithi in the Hindu calendar was immense. It was believed that on this day, a dip in the Ganga could cleanse lifetimes of karma. I knew this was the moment I had been waiting for.

When I shared my decision, my nephew Varun didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Maushi, I am with you,” he said, his words filled with a quiet conviction that mirrored my own. And so, our journey began.

On January 27, we set off from Ratnagiri, our excitement and anticipation building with every passing mile. From Mumbai, we flew to Lucknow, and from there, we took a bus to Prayagraj. The road stretched ahead like a sacred path guiding us toward something far greater than ourselves.

The first sight of Prayagraj took my breath away. The city was alive with devotion, a sea of pilgrims moving as one toward the holy confluence. The air was thick with the scent of incense and camphor, the chants of saints and devotees rising like waves. As we approached the Kumbh grounds, I felt a surge of energy—an invisible force that seemed to pull me forward, as if the river itself was calling me home. 

2-A Tsunami of Faith: Navigating the Path to the Sacred Waters

We knew crores of devotees were expected at Maha Kumbh, but what we witnessed was beyond imagination. It wasn’t just a crowd—it was a tsunami of pilgrims, a river of humanity flowing toward the sacred confluence. The roads were blocked, traffic was diverted, and movement became nearly impossible.

Our bus, which was supposed to take us to Phaphamau stop, had to halt long before reaching its destination. There was no choice—we had to continue on foot. Thankfully, we had anticipated this and packed lightly. Slinging our backpacks over our shoulders, Varun and I joined the endless procession of seekers marching toward our destination—Anand Bhavan, where we had booked our stay.

The distance was around 8-9 km, and the journey was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The roads were layered in dust, kicked up by the footsteps of lakhs walking alongside us. Conversations in different languages merged with the chants of “Har Har Gange.” Some walked barefoot, some carried belongings on their heads, and others held onto family members, ensuring no one got lost in the sea of people.

After a few kilometers, a kind biker stopped and offered us a ride for about 3 km, a brief but welcome relief. But beyond that point, vehicles were not allowed. Once again, we walked—our feet aching, yet our spirits unwavering. A few kilometers later, fortune smiled upon us again, and we managed to get into a car that took us the rest of the way to our hotel.

Reaching Anand Bhavan felt like an achievement in itself, but we knew this was just the beginning. Ahead of us lay the heart of the Kumbh, the sacred ghats, and the moment we had come for—the holy dip on Mauni Amavasya. 

3-A Night of Determination: Reaching the Sacred Sangam

After finally checking into our hotel, a humble but comfortable room, we allowed ourselves a brief moment of rest. A warm cup of tea revived us, and soon, our minds turned to the next step—reaching the Sangam. We first thought of taking a boat from the Boat Club, but to our disappointment, the service had closed by 6 PM. With no other option, we decided to make our way on foot.

Unsure of the best route, we reached out to Anurag Anandji, the mausaji of my trekker friend Ayush, who had spent years in Prayagraj. He suggested we first visit the Naag Vasuki Temple, an ancient shrine with deep Vedic significance. Eager for guidance and blessings, we set off, but the maze of the Mela led us astray. The roads were lined with vibrant pandals, each showcasing different spiritual sects, discourses, and devotional music. Though lost, we soaked in the sights and sounds, allowing the spirit of the Kumbh to guide us.

Eventually, we found our way to the Naag Vasuki Temple, where we learned about its powerful history—how Lord Vasuki rested here after the great churning of the ocean, and how, even during Aurangzeb’s reign, the temple had remained untouched. The idol of Vasuki Maharaj, established by Lord Brahma’s son, stood as a silent witness to centuries of devotion. We bowed our heads, taking blessings from Naag Vasuki Maharaj and the adjacent Shivaling, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

By now, hunger gnawed at us. The day’s journey had drained us, and when we spotted a vendor selling hot samosas with chutney, we didn’t think twice. The crispy, steaming snack tasted divine, fueling us for the final stretch toward the Sangam.

Just as we neared the ghats, we hit another roadblock—police barricades. The swelling crowd had forced authorities to control movement, and we were redirected through Peepa Pul No. 13, leading us to Shivala Gangolia Ghat. That’s when Anuragji called again, his voice cutting through the chaos—“You’re on the wrong route!” Frustration threatened to creep in, but there was no time to dwell on it. He gave us new directions, but maneuvering through the crushing crowd and relentless barricades was no easy feat.

For the next two hours, we walked, redirected from one checkpoint to another, pushed and pulled by the tides of humanity. With every step, exhaustion weighed us down, but the thought of the Sangam kept us going. Finally, at Kali Road, we spotted Anuragji. Relief washed over us as he led us through the final stretch, bringing us closer to our destination.

When I finally checked my Garmin watch, the number stunned me—30 kilometers. My body ached, but my heart was light. Every step, every detour, every challenge had led me to this moment. I was finally near the Sangam. 

4-The Sacred Dip: A Moment Beyond Words

Anuragji led us through the darkness to a small makeshift kutiya—a humble tent where a Babaji from Gorakhpur was staying. The air was frigid, and we were exhausted from walking, but Babaji’s warmth was immediate. Despite the late hour, he welcomed us inside, brewed hot tea himself, and made sure we were comfortable. The cold night outside seemed to disappear in the glow of this small refuge.

Around midnight, other devotees gathered, filling the kutiya with bhajans and prayers. The aches and fatigue of the day melted away as the divine vibrations filled the air. I closed my eyes, letting the voices surround me, and before I knew it, I had dozed off in the cozy warmth of the hut.

At 3:30 AM, I woke up shivering. My phone showed 8°C. The moment we had been waiting for had arrived—the Brahma Muhurta, the most auspicious time for the holy dip. Wrapping my shawl tightly, I stepped outside, joining the steady stream of pilgrims moving toward the overcrowded ghats.

The sight was overwhelming. Thousands were already there, pressing forward in hushed anticipation. We carefully made our way through the throng, finding a small space in the sacred waters. My heart pounded.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling the chill of the water against my skin. “No, it’s okay… it’s not that cold. I can manage,” I told myself. Slowly, I stepped deeper, waist-deep into the holy Ganga. And then, with a deep breath, I took the first dip.

“Om Namah Shivaya.”

I went under again.

“Om Namah Shivaya.”

And again.

“Om Namah Shivaya.”

Three dips. Tarpan offered.

As I emerged, dripping and breathless, something within me had shifted. I wasn’t shivering. I wasn’t feeling cold. Instead, I felt amused, amazed, and utterly at peace. A sense of relief, of deep fulfillment, coursed through me—something I couldn’t put into words. For nearly ten minutes, I stood there in my wet clothes, staring at the flowing Ganga, bewildered.

It was as if time had paused.

Finally, coming back to my senses, I changed into fresh, dry clothes and returned to Babaji’s kutiya. He had already prepared a fresh wood pyre to warm us up. Once again, he handed me a cup of hot tea, and as I sipped it, he silently walked toward the river to take his own dip.

That should have been the end of it. But something nagged at me. I had forgotten to take a Sankalp.

A Sankalp is more than just a vow—it’s a reaffirmation of spiritual ideals, a conscious decision to walk the path of Dharma, compassion, and wisdom. The holy bath is not just about cleansing the body; it is a soul’s renewal, a moment of letting go of past burdens and stepping into a life of greater purpose.

And so, I went again.

The second dip was different. This time, it was an act of dedication, a silent promise to myself and the universe.

By the time we bowed one last time to Maa Ganga, it was 5:30 AM. The night had passed in the blink of an eye.

As we walked back toward our hotel, we had to hitchhike again, covering the last stretch on foot. Hunger finally caught up with us, and we stopped at a street-side stall to savor the famous Bun Makkhan with Kulhad Chai. The rich, creamy butter melting into warm bread, the earthy aroma of chai—it was the perfect end to a perfect night.

Back at the hotel, sleep came instantly.

We had made it.

Amrit Snan on Mauni Amavasya—fulfilled.

5- A Day of Rest, Reflection, and Spiritual Encounters

The major act was done. Our sacred dip at Sangam, the culmination of our pilgrimage, had been fulfilled. Now, the body demanded what the soul had postponed—rest.

We slept like logs until 1 PM, waking up only when the gnawing hunger became impossible to ignore. After a hearty meal, we decided to explore Swaraj Bhavan, which stood just next door.

Once known as Anand Bhavan, this historic house was the ancestral home of the Nehru family and the birthplace of Indira Gandhi, India’s first female Prime Minister. Walking through its corridors, I could feel the weight of history—the echoes of voices that had once shaped India’s destiny.

As the afternoon wore on, we set out once again, walking and hitchhiking our way to Jhusi, where Anuragji awaited us. He had something special planned—a visit to Mouni Baba Ashram.

Upon arriving, I was introduced to a figure who seemed like he had stepped straight out of a different era—an ancient-looking, white-bearded Himalayan Sadhu, clad in nothing but a single piece of cloth despite the chilling cold. His presence was striking, his aura unmistakably that of someone who had transcended worldly comforts.

Anuragji introduced us, mentioning my Panch Kedar trek, which caught the Sadhu’s attention. His eyes lit up as he asked, “Have you been to Kailash Mansarovar?” When I shook my head, he smiled knowingly and began narrating his own Kailash Yatra experience from 20 years ago.

Listening to him, I felt blessed and humbled. His words carried the weight of experience, the depth of someone who had walked the sacred paths of the Himalayas—not just physically, but spiritually.

Nearby, Balak Baba, a dedicated sadhak and follower of Mouni Baba, watched over us with quiet affection. Soon, he brought us prasad, serving it with such warmth that it felt like a meal blessed by the divine.

As the night deepened, we gathered around a fire, engaging in conversations that transcended time—philosophy, spirituality, the mysteries of existence. The flames flickered, casting shadows that danced in rhythm with our thoughts.

It was late when we finally retired, sleeping in the ashram, the peace of Mauni Amavasya settling into our souls.

6-The Final Day – A Last Dip in the Sacred Waters

January 30, 2025. The pilgrimage was coming to an end. That night, we had our bus to Delhi, from where we would board a train back to Ratnagiri. But before leaving, we wanted to make the most of our remaining time.

Anuragji, Varun, Keshav, and I set out for the ghats once again. It was the first day of Gupt Navratri, an auspicious time, and we felt drawn to take one last holy dip.

As we approached the ghats, the scene was markedly different from the tsunami of pilgrims we had seen on Mauni Amavasya. The once-overflowing banks were now much quieter, making our walk pleasant. But there was an underlying somberness in the air.

We had heard of the stampede that occurred on Mauni Amavasya, just 300-400 meters from where we had been. The incident had led to the tragic loss of some devotees. Perhaps that explained the emptiness we felt today—an unspoken fear still lingered among the pilgrims.

Yet, the Ganges remained unchanged, flowing as serenely as ever. I purchased pooja samagri, lighted a diya, and let it float on the water, watching as it drifted away with the current. A silent prayer formed in my heart, a prayer of gratitude for this journey.

Then, I stepped into the river once more. But today, there was no rush, no time constraints. The sun shone brightly, yet the water was colder than before. I found myself playing like a child, completely lost in the moment. The sacred waters, which had felt overwhelming on Mauni Amavasya, now felt like a comforting embrace.

I let the experience sink in, clicking a few photos to etch this moment into my memory. After some time, I emerged from the river, changed into fresh clothes, and felt a sense of peace settle within me.

The Final Walk Through the Akharas

From the ghats, we made our way through the Mela Kshetra, where the major Akharas were situated. Naga Sadhus, Aghoris, and countless ascetics stood in their full spiritual splendor.

Unlike many visitors who sought pictures or interactions, we chose to observe in silence, nodding at them with respect before walking past. Some were deep in meditation, others engaged in philosophical discussions, and a few simply sat in their own stillness—completely detached from the world around them.

I reflected on the origins of these Akharas, which trace back to Adi Shankaracharya, who structured them into three main sects:

• Shaiva Akharas (folloLord Shiva)

• Vaishnava Akharas (followerof Lord Vishnu)

• Udaseen Akharas (a sect founded by Guru Nanak’s son)

Each of them played a critical role in the organization of Maha Kumbh, and their presence added a unique mystical energy to the pilgrimage.

The Journey Home – A Heart Full of Gratitude

Time passed quickly, and soon it was time to leave. We made our way to Sasoon Bypass to catch our bus to Delhi. Getting there turned into one last adventure, as we navigated the chaotic roads on a bike, weaving through the lingering remnants of the Mela.

We reached just in time and boarded our bus, thus marking the end of my Maha Kumbh journey—an event that occurs only once in 144 years. I felt truly blessed to have witnessed and experienced it firsthand, to be part of this largest spiritual gathering of Hindus.

As I settled into my seat, looking out at the fading lights of Prayagraj, a question lingered in my mind:

“Am I worthy of salvation? Of spiritual renewal? Of absolution?”

I had no answer. But what I did know was this—this journey had reconfirmed my faith in my culture, traditions, and deep-rooted astha (devotion). It had made me pause and reflect on my own existence and purpose in life.

Perhaps, someday, this experience would help me find my path to spiritual liberation.

Until then, I carry this journey in my heart.

Om Namah Shivaya. 🕉️