Journey Through the
Heart of India – Part 7
Prayagraj – The Land of the Kumbh Mela
It was 9:30 a.m. when
we set out for Prayagraj after breakfast.
The name Prayagraj
is associated with Prayaga, traditionally regarded as one of the most
sacred places for yajna and ritual offerings. The city is revered as the
meeting place of the Ganga and Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati, forming the
celebrated Triveni Sangam. Prayagraj has a long and distinguished
history. The region rose to prominence under the Mauryas and Guptas, while the
famous Ashokan Pillar, dating to the 3rd century BCE, still stands within the
Allahabad Fort. The pillar itself predates the fort; Emperor Akbar built the
fort in 1583.
The Chinese traveller
Xuanzang, who visited Prayag in 643 CE, described it as a sacred place
inhabited by many Hindus. In the 16th century, Emperor Akbar established the
city he called Ilahabas, a name that later evolved into Allahabad. For
centuries, the city was an important administrative and cultural centre under
the Mughals. In 1801, the Nawab of Awadh ceded the city to the British. After
the uprising of 1857, Allahabad became the capital of the United Provinces of
Agra and Oudh, though the provincial government gradually shifted to Lucknow
from 1920 onward.
Allahabad also played
an important role in India's freedom struggle. The Nehru family made the city
one of the important centres of nationalist politics. Jawaharlal Nehru was born
in Allahabad and grew up there. Indira Gandhi,V.P.Singh
were also born in the city.
In October 2018, the
Uttar Pradesh government officially restored the name Prayagraj.Yet the
name Allahabad has not disappeared from the city's institutional landscape.
Allahabad University, Allahabad High Court and several other historic
institutions continue to carry the old name.
During the journey,
Rajesh spoke at length about the Maha Kumbh Mela. The 2019 Kumbh had
attracted around 24 crore visitors, while the 2025 Maha Kumbh eventually
recorded more than 66 crore devotees according to government figures.
Rajesh described the
extraordinary business that developed around the event. Vehicles were allowed
only up to certain points, several kilometres away from the crowded areas,
after which pilgrims had to continue on foot or use two-wheeler taxis.
According to him, some riders charged as much as ₹5,000 or ₹6,000 for short
journeys. He said that the authorities had identified a number of such
operators, fined them and impounded their vehicles.
He also narrated some
remarkable stories of people who profited from the enormous crowds. One man, he
said, earned around ₹20 lakh by selling neem twigs used for brushing teeth.
There were also tea sellers who supposedly prepared dozens of cups from a single
litre of milk—though whether the resulting drink could genuinely be called tea
is another matter.
Hotels, too, struggled
to cope with demand. Food prepared in large quantities would reportedly
disappear within minutes. Rajesh told us that some traders booked hotel rooms
well in advance and later resold them at several times the original price. He
even spoke of allegations that an ordinary police officer could earn more than
half a crore rupees during the Kumbh period.
Whether every one of
these stories was accurate, I cannot say. But together they conveyed the
enormous economic activity generated by the Kumbh. Faith, in India, is not
merely a spiritual force; it also sustains a vast temporary economy.
Amid conversations,
tea breaks and occasional sightseeing, we covered around 120 kilometres and
reached Prayagraj around noon.
Standing on the large
bridge, we were awestruck by the sheer width of the Ganga and the force of its
overflowing current. The famous Hanuman Temple near the river was partly
submerged, while the rising water had covered stretches of the riverside roads
and the areas where ancestral rituals are normally performed.
Before reaching the
river, we passed through vast open grounds. During major religious occasions,
these spaces are transformed into temporary settlements for pilgrims. Temporary
toilets, water-distribution points and other facilities were visible across the
area. Recent rains had left many places muddy.
We parked the vehicle
and walked towards the river. Small temporary stalls lined the route, selling
everything from Pan Parag to articles required for puja. Most of
the vendors we saw were women.
Rajesh found people
who arranged a boat for us. The boat belonged to one person, while those
accompanying us appeared to be guides or intermediaries. In a place where
millions arrive with religious faith, there is naturally a large network of
people earning their livelihood from the movement of pilgrims.
The boat could not
take us all the way to the Sangam because of the strong current. We were told
that when the water level and current are more favourable, boats can travel
much closer to the confluence of the Ganga and Yamuna.
The initial demand was
₹6,000. After negotiation, we settled for ₹4,000. There appeared to be no
clearly displayed fixed tariff. Hundreds of boats operate along the river
during such periods, creating an important source of income for their owners
and the many people associated with the service.
The floodwaters were
muddy, and from our vantage point the river did not look particularly clean.
Yet people continued to enter the water with deep faith, believing that a
sacred dip could cleanse their sins and bring spiritual merit.
Whether the ritual
actually washes away one's sins is a question of belief. What is undeniable is
that faith gives enormous psychological and spiritual strength to millions of
people.
Two boats had been
moored side by side and secured with bamboo poles. Between them was a platform
where pilgrims could perform ritual immersion. We were told that the charge for
a person to take a dip from this arrangement was ₹100, apart from payments to
the boatman and others assisting with the ritual.
Money seemed to follow
faith everywhere.
During the immersion,
some devotees offered coins or even ornaments as part of their rituals. Others
were ready to dive into the water and retrieve these offerings almost
immediately. The Ganga, after all, has no use for gold or money. Perhaps it is
better that someone in need should benefit from what devotees leave behind.
When we returned to
the shore, heavy rain began to fall. We stood for a while under the edge of a
small tarpaulin-covered shop to keep ourselves dry. Muddy water rushed past our
feet towards the river. The women running the shop struggled to protect their
goods from the rain.
Once the rain eased,
we bade farewell to the riverbank—a place visited by countless pilgrims—and
went in search of food.
After lunch, we
reached our accommodation, Golden Tree. It was a decent place, and after
resting for a while, we set out again.
Our next destination
was Balson Chowk, in the heart of the city, near the historic Nehru
family residences. Here stand Swaraj Bhavan, closely associated with
Jawaharlal Nehru's childhood, and Anand Bhavan, the later residence of
Motilal Nehru and his family, along with the Nehru Planetarium.
Since it was a
holiday, we could not enter. We therefore had to be satisfied with photographs
from outside.
The history of these
buildings is inseparable from India's freedom movement. The Nehru family home
became an important centre of nationalist politics. In 1930, Motilal Nehru
dedicated the property then known as Anand Bhavan as Swaraj Bhavan to the
nation. The building remained closely associated with the Indian National
Congress until the party's headquarters moved to Delhi in 1946. It has since
been converted into a museum.
From there, we
proceeded to the University of Allahabad.
By then, night had
fallen. A group of security personnel were sitting and chatting near the
university's main gate. We introduced ourselves to them. Most were retired personnel from the
CRPF and the Army. When we mentioned that we were from Kerala, two of them responded warmly,
saying that they had earlier served at Pallippuram and Pangode.
We spoke for some
time, and they kindly allowed us to walk around and explore the campus.
The University of
Allahabad is one of India's oldest universities. It was formally established on
23 September 1887, growing out of Muir Central College, whose foundation stone
had been laid in 1873.
The university's
historic buildings reflect the architectural traditions of the colonial period.
The Senate Hall and associated buildings were designed by Sir Swinton Jacob,
and the Senate Hall was completed in the early twentieth century.
The university became
an important centre for higher education, particularly in the humanities,
social sciences, law and other disciplines. Over the decades, its alumni
included many eminent figures in public life, politics, literature and
administration.
As I wandered through
the campus, I could see students gathered in different corners, talking,
laughing and going about their lives. The atmosphere was unmistakably that of a
living university.
There were also large
groups of students in the surrounding areas, particularly along the streets
where books are sold. Looking at them, I felt that these young people
represented a very different India from the one that had passed through these
same streets decades ago.
From the university,
we proceeded to the Allahabad High Court, another institution that has
played a major role in India's legal and political history.
With security
clearance, we were able to enter the premises and see the imposing building.
The High Court for the North-Western Provinces was established at Agra in 1866
and shifted to Allahabad in 1869. The foundation stone of the present building
was laid in 1911, and the building was formally opened in November 1916.
The massive structure,
with its imposing corridors and domes, reflects the architectural character of
the colonial era. The court has grown into one of India's largest High Courts
in terms of its jurisdiction, judges and volume of litigation.
For me, however, the
place carried an even deeper historical significance.
It was here that
Justice Jagmohanlal Sinha of the Allahabad High Court delivered the historic
judgment on 12 June 1975 in the election case involving Prime Minister Indira
Gandhi and Raj Narain. The judgment declared Indira Gandhi's election void, an
event that became one of the immediate political turning points preceding the
declaration of the Emergency later that month.
Standing there, I
could not help recalling the extraordinary political and constitutional history
associated with this institution. I was also reminded that Justice V. R.
Krishna Iyer had begun his legal career in the region. The surroundings seemed
to hold memories of a period when the judiciary, politics and the future of
Indian democracy were locked in an extraordinary confrontation.
By then it was late at
night.
Our short stay in
Prayagraj had come to an end. Looking back, I felt that the city deserved at
least one more day. There was much more to see—the Sangam, the fort, the
museums, the old neighbourhoods and the many layers of history that lie beneath
the modern city.
But our itinerary
could not be changed.
The next destination
was Chitrakoot.
With that thought, I
went to sleep, preparing myself for the next stage of our journey through the
heart of India.
