Kumbh Mela: How Religion Becomes A Spectacle Of Size And Scale

Religion and commerce have always been closely related and they feed each other as more and more human beings travel in pursuit of spiritual fulfillment and ritual needs. While religion can be practised privately in the domestic realm, there is most often an external, public and performativ꧟e side of it. Pilgrimage routes to sites considered sacred historically emerged with norms 🌱and regulatory mechanisms outside the arms of the state. But the state played along.

Monarchs and the elites would mingle with the ordinary folk without necessarily demanding preferential treatment. Yet, it would not be appropriate to term the circulation of the faithful in pre-modern times as ‘religious tourism’. This is a product of modernity shaped by market economy and the centralised state. Take the example of the recently concluded Maha Kumbh at Prayagraj. It was advertised as a big marketing opportunity with official claims about the boost it would give to the economy and the GDP of the state of Uttar Pradesh. The mela became a big state event with a staggering budget and AI-assisted management of the mammoth congregation of devotees for a once in a lifetime sꦦpiritual experience. But all this ha🎐s a precedent going back to British times.

Historians like Kama Maclean have researched the origins of the modern organisation of the Kumbh Mela in what was earlier known as the city of Allahabad. It unravels the compulsions of the colonial state to monitor and regulate it. Over time an annual gathering of pilgrims known as the Magh mela♏ acquired the contours of the modern Kumbh fair. Several factors coalesced to draw the colonial state into the mela after the revolt of 1857: suspicion of large gatherings that could nurture and spread seditious ideas among the subjects of the empire or the fear of epidemics like cholera. This, combined with enduring orientalist perceptions of ‘natives’ steeped in spirituality and superstitions requiring the guiding hand of the benevolent ‘despot’ they were used to, led to further justifications of state intervention.

The resulting paternalistic surveillance of the colonial state, however, could not eliminate the possibility of circulation of anti-colonial nationalist ideas that found fertile ground in the sea of humanity assembled next to sacred rivers♓. The close involvement of the state continued after Independence given the increasingly large numbers that could congregate with the expansion of road and railway networks. Secular reasons like the possibility of a stampede, boat tragedies, infectious diseases, people being abandoned or getting lost in the milling crowds reinforced official regulation and oversight.

Such huge gatherings of people have always provided a ready audience for all regimes to tom-tom their achievements in diverse areas: agricultural and industrial production, technology, education, space, nuclear and military prowess. These were showcased for consumption by an audience that was assumed to be wide-eyed and gullible. But things did not always happen according to a pre-written script. The 1977 Kumbh Mela in Allahabad during the Emergency was bombarded by claims of the fabulous success of the 20-point programme under the charismatic leadership of Indira Gandhi, who headed the incumbent Congress government. It did not work though, as the results of the Lok Sabha elections held ཧsoon after inflicted a resounding defeat on G🐈andhi and her party.

The subsequent trajectory of events in India is familiar: the rise and collapse of the Janata Party, the return of Gandhi, the turbulent events in Punjab, the Bofors scandal, the emergence of Mandalised polity, the Ram Janmbhoomi mobilisation, the Rath Yatra, bloody r🔯iots, political assassinations, and the passing years marked by polarisation. Another crucial transformative process was set in motion by the opening up of the economy in the 1990s that eventually produced a heady mix of consumerism and identity politics generating deeper anxieties in the new era of market-led globalisation. Many turned to religion for solace. But commerce aggressively entered the religious space too.

Private celebrations became more public. Events became bigger, elaborate and performative. The mata cults, jagarans, kanwar yatras turned into bloated assertive celebrations aided by st𝓰ate functionaries. The participants no longer felt the need to be restrained arguing that other religions had always been congregational and assertive. Religious conflicts and majority-minority mentalities have had a longer history in the subcontinent, but now there was a palpable reduction in the need for resolutions. Volatile emotions tended to replace earlier amorphicity. And the state was no longer a neutral spectator. Perhaps it had never been neutral, but now it no longer pretended otherwise.

Religious identity was increasingly worn on the sleeves and its practice had to be visible and seen/shown. T🙈hen came the smart phone. As it became cheaper, so did the data it could process. Videos, love for selfies and the unfathomable desire to upload photos on social media started to chase the desire of ‘having been there or done that’. The impulse to stay connected only deepened as tech-driven modernity spawned atomised solitary lives. Performative religion also provided solace of a kind. New group solidarities emerged as surrogate families. A spectrum of gurus promising peace, wellness and nirvana in this life and beyond started gaining cult status. And all along cheaper smarter digital technology played midwife.

Small is no longer beautiful. Now big is beautiful, better and best. This was best exemplified ꦍby the recent Prayagraj Kumbh that was aggressively advertised as Maha Kumbh because this one was occurring after 144 years, a once-in-a-lifetime astrological and astronomical event rolled into one. The whole country was invited. Tourism industry, limping back from the COVID slump, 💟lapped up the opportunity. Groups of devotees eager to visit the Maha Kumbh from far-flung areas were turned into willing customers by travel agents.

The slick and sleek organisation of the Maha Kumbh—touted as unprecedented and an unparalleled lesson in its management—served to turn the event into a mega-spectacle for the world; this was living proof of an ancient civilisation’s ability to practice its ‘timeless’ religion on a spectacularly modern scale. Everyone, from the ordinary poor to the rich, and the VIPs had a reason to visit the mela for the holy dip. Many even came out of the fear of missing out (FOMO) despite the stampede, ignoring pollution and claustrophobia. Stories of local generosity, free kitchens and presence of the rich, famous and powerful com꧅pensated. Numbers became tyrannical. Those staggering numbers who had a holy dip far outstripped the population of many nations. India became a mega-nation in which a relatively small but famous city had a heart large enough (if not space) to accommodate the population equivalent to hundreds of nations. But in the process the city has perhaps got transformed.

Prayagraj and its previous avatar, Allahabad, historically subsume three cities. The first is Triveni Sangam, where the Ganga, the Yamuna and the absent (mythical?) Saraswati riꦬvers meet and where for centuries devotees༒ have paid holy visits. Poets and litterateurs have written lyrically and lovingly about these rivers coming together in an embrace. The Yamuna, wide and deep, in a pensive mood, meets a fast-flowing comparatively shallow but eager Ganga, only to lose her identity. After this there is only Ganga, till she herself joins the sea. The second embedded city is Mughal, which has the stamp of Emperor Akbar, the fort, Prince Khusrau and delicious guavas. And the third was inscribed on to the previous ones by the British, especially after the 1857 revolt with its grid-pattern layout, elegant churches and government buildings helping to govern a provincial capital. This one came to be dotted with institutions, many of which serve as reminders of their grand past: the High Court, the university that is the fourth oldest in India, the Hindi Sahitya Sammelan, Hindustani Academy, Prayag Sangeet Samiti, Swaraj and Anand Bhavan, sprawling bungalows and the numerous printing, publishing and Civil Lines establishments.

Enmeshed and inter-dependent, these 💝gave the city a vibrant cosmopolitan ambience that nurtured a galaxy of writers, politicians and coffee house enthusiasts. But now the overt religious identity of the city appears to be taking over. The renaming of Allahabad as Prayagraj symbolises that. The city is sought to be projected and developed as the third angle of the ‘eternal’ religious triangle, the other two being Kashi and Ayodhya with the hope that Maཧthura at some point will form the fourth angle. This rectangle aims to redraw the sacred geography of the Ganga-Yamuna doab, which like a magnet will draw more tourists and outstrip the number of tourists that currently throng to Mughal Agra and Nawabi Lucknow.

Large numbers of Indians are still hungry, both literally and metaphoric𒆙ally, and the Indian middle class is perhaps the hungriest in the world. Upbeat and aspirational, they are eager to consume, and religious experience is no exception. Contemporary smart phone and SUV driven modernity seeks to forge and commodify new religious experiences that subsumes spirituality, abstinence and rituals. They all have a place in the performative, assertive religiosity that is increasingly shaping our collective behavior. This new shubh-laabh perfectly suits those seeking power as well as profit.

(Views expressed are personal)

Sanjay Sharma is a historian who grew up in Allahabad before it was renamed Prayagraj and is currently professor at Ambedkar University Delhi

This article is a part of Outlook's March 21, 2025 issue 'The Pilgrim's Progress', which explores the unprecedented upsurge in religious tourism in India. It appeared in print as 'Religion On SUVs'.