Journey Through the Heart of India – Part 7 Prayagraj – The Land of the Kumbh Mela

 

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.