April 22, 2004

Celebrity Gurus and Freak Show Alley

Combine 20 to 30 million devotees, one sacred (though breathtakingly filthy) river, thousands of deeply stoned and mostly naked sadhus (holy men), and you've got the Kumbh Mela, the world's largest religious congregation.

It was a somewhat inauspicious start to out trip, with our train to host-city Ujjain rolling in four and a half hours late. Even in India, where the lateness of trains is something to be counted upon (they actually make a special announcement if the train is coming in on time!), four and a half hours is a little extreme. But then the Kumbh Mela is an extreme event!



As we walked through the seething mass of humanity, we heard strange stories of mad sadhus chasing people through the streets with large swords, but considering the sheer size of the event, it's actually amazing how few problems there appeared to be.



The faithful gather down by the holy river to strip down and bathe in her vibrant green, washing away the sins of this and countless past lives. And there was no need to feel uncomfortable about being an onlooker in this holy place. The Kumbh Melas’s festive atmosphere seemed only to magnify the usual India exuberance.

“Your good name?”
“Your country?”
(“Ahhh... Ricky Ponting, Adam Gilchrest, Shayne Warne...”

We must have answered these questions more than a thousand times, and shaken ten times as many hands. And it seemed everyone with a camera wanted to have their photo taken with us. We felt uncomfortably like celebrities. Friendliness ad nauseum!



Even the sadhus were often keen to meet us, calling us over for a chat, a photo, and to offer us a smoke (and then expecting a rather generous donation). Down Freak Show Alley (our rather un-PC nickname for the main sadhu hang-out) there were naked sadhus covered in ash and waving their penises in the breeze. There was a mad ranting sadhu, calling us thieves. There was a sadhu who had been standing up for more than one decade, and another who had been holding his hand up in the air for more than two. There were sadhus with dread-locks around their ankles, and other bald with wild eyes. There were biker sadhus and sadhus locked in bizarre yogic postures. But the irony was that for all the exotic allure these stoned and somewhat eccentric mystics had for us, it was when the two white guys sat down for a chat that the crowds of onlookers would materialise. And when we stood up to leave, the crowd would disperse. I guess one man's exotic is another man's banal.



The other kind of holy man/woman was the celebrity guru. These gurus would set up their camps in endless rows. One night we walked down the festivals's main street for more than three hours. We saw millions of poeple and a couple of amusement parks, but no end in sight. At each camp’s entrance was a giant Los Vegas-style gate, replete with flashing neon lights, giant guru posters, blaring music, and dancing dioramas of Shiva and Ganesh. Inside were any number of large tents, plus the big top for dancing and for audiences with the guru.



Despite the friendliness of the natives though, it was hard to be more than just on onlooker in the face of this onsurge of religion and culture. But before leaving this – the mother of all festivals – we decided to join the millions down by the river and take the ritual plunge, submerging ourselves in the smelly greenness (we have the pictures to prove it!). I’m not sure how sanctified I feel by the experience, but perhaps a little wiser. Let me just say that if you’re going to bathe in a holy river, it’s best not to put your head under... I’ve still got the cough and runny nose more than two weeks later

Posted by Andrew Wallace @ 7:14 PM