There was no way to anticipate the trials that awaited me when I embarked on my journey to take a holy dip in the Mahakumbh 2025 at Prayagraj. What was supposed to be a spiritual experience turned into a lesson on the resilience of ordinary Indians, the failures of governance, and the moral decay of Indian journalism.

The Ordeal Begins

The pilgrimage began with my boarding of the Mahanagri Express from Varanasi to Prayagraj Cheoki on January 28th morning. But my struggles started even before setting foot on the train. Several passengers had actually planned to board from Prayagraj, but fearing the uncontrollable crowds at the station, they had traveled extra miles just to board from Varanasi instead.

The reason? Indian Railways had been cancelling trains at will, leaving thousands stranded with no alternative arrangements. The so-called "efficient railway system" had descended into chaos, its management buckling under the pressure of the largest religious congregation on earth. The result was mass hysteria, with passengers scrambling to board whatever trains were available—whether they had tickets or not.

After somehow managing to reach Prayagraj Cheoki station, I braced for the 4 km padyatra (foot journey) to reach Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram at Arail Ghat. This is where another glaring flaw in the administration revealed itself.

Despite the heavy presence of policemen, they were of little help. Most of them had been deployed from various districts and had no idea of the local geography. Instead of assisting pilgrims, they inadvertently misdirected them—primarily to prevent crowds from gathering in one place. There were no information counters, no signboards, and no designated guides for the lakhs of devotees making their way to the Sangam area.

The irony? It was not the administration but the local people who were the most helpful in guiding lost and exhausted pilgrims. Those who knew how to ask for help managed, but elderly devotees, women with young children, and first-time pilgrims found themselves completely lost, confused, and at the mercy of an indifferent system.

The VIP Culture & Mockery of No-Vehicle Zone

As I trudged along, another grim reality unfolded. The entire route to Sangam had been officially declared a "No-Vehicle Zone", meant only for pedestrians. But reality painted a different picture.

I lost count of the number of SUVs—Innova Crystas, Fortuners, and Boleros—that zoomed past me, some with police escorts, some without. Inside these vehicles sat BJP politicians, bureaucrats, judges, high-ranking police officers, and VIP Mahatmas, their families seated comfortably as they bypassed the struggle of the common man.

For a moment, I questioned myself: Why didn’t I use my own contacts to get a vehicle pass? Why did I choose to walk? But had I done so, I wouldn’t have witnessed the real India—the devout millions, including elderly parents, women, and children, walking in silence, enduring humiliation at the hands of petty policemen, all in the hope that a dip in the holy waters would cleanse their sins and bless them with a better life.

The scene was surreal. Hundreds of thousands of people, many having walked for days from remote villages and small towns, with nothing but sheer faith pushing them forward. Their eyes reflected a deep spiritual longing, a belief that this was their only recourse to escape suffering, in this life or the next.

Upon reaching the Arail side of the Sangam ghats, I finally took my holy dip on the auspicious Mauni Amavasya morning. Credit where it’s due—the government had ensured proper amenities for pilgrims, especially for women, who had separate and well-organized bathing spaces.

The moment was both spiritual and reflective. Amidst all the chaos, the sheer faith and devotion of the millions who had gathered left an indelible mark on my mind.

A Stampede and a Silenced Media 

Returning to the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram at 1:30 am, I soon sensed a commotion breaking out on the other side of the river. The whispers of a stampede at Sangam began circulating, turning into rumors mixed with chilling facts.

Panic ensued. Women and men were heard crying out for their missing family members, announcing their names in desperation. And then, suddenly, the voices stopped. A "smart cop or bureaucrat" must have decided to silence the announcements to prevent further chaos.

By the morning of January 29th, as I walked back to Naini Junction, the grim reality was evident. The entire stretch of the road—nearly a kilometer long—was littered with abandoned slippers, shawls, caps, and handbags. The sight was haunting.

As I passed by other pilgrims, hushed conversations revealed a tragic reality:

Some said over 100 had died.
Others whispered the death toll could be as high as 200.
The most "conservative" estimate was 50 deaths.
But what was even more shocking? Mainstream media did not report a word.

Has Media Lost Its Soul ?

Except for those present at the scene, everyone knew that people had died, that hundreds were injured, that there was absolute chaos in the aftermath—yet the newspapers and news channels remained eerily silent.

By the next morning, instead of headlines about the tragedy, the news media downplayed or ignored it completely.

This incident was a painful reminder of how much Indian journalism has collapsed under the weight of political and financial pressures. Once a proud member of the media fraternity, I now feel deep sorrow for today’s journalists and editors—men and women who have abandoned their professional integrity to secure their jobs and salaries.

The reality is brutal: If they practice ethical journalism, who will feed their families?

Systemic & Unpardonable Failures

In the days that followed, the consequences of the stampede were felt across the city. Stranded pilgrims—many injured, some still in shock—walked miles to reach railway stations, bus terminals, and airports, with no food, no water, and no medical assistance from the administration.

And yet, no outrage, no accountability, no investigative journalism.

This is the new India, where the suffering of the masses is buried under a carpet of bureaucratic efficiency and government-controlled narratives.

Despite the hardships, the soul of the common Indian remains resilient. People endure indifference, humiliation, and physical struggle, yet they march forward with unwavering faith.

But as someone who has spent over four decades in journalism, I can say with certainty:

The Indian state machinery is failing its people.
The Indian Railways is failing its passengers.
The Indian media is failing its duty to truth.

As I left Prayagraj, I carried with me a mix of emotions—spiritual fulfillment, anger at systemic failures, and above all, a deep respect for the millions who, despite all odds, continue to believe in something greater than themselves.

The Kumbh Mela is more than a festival. It is a mirror to our nation’s soul—both its unshakable faith and its unpardonable failures.
 
 

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