Mahakumbh: Sadhvis to pilgrims, tourists and professionals, the women who seek and find themselves in the crowd

For long, the narrative around the Kumbh has been dominated by clichés of muscularity, of Naga sadhus, their asceticism, dreadlocks and magnetic powers, and the displays of costume, colour and light. But if anything, the biggest human congregation is pivoted around the centrality of women.

The Kumbh or the pot itself is said to be a metaphor for the generative power of the womb, symbolised by the confluence of the feminine energies of the Ganga, the Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati. From sadhvis, pilgrims, tourists and Instagram influencers, to constables and the all-night vendor — the unseen woman is keeping the pot full.

From the lap of luxury to the river bed

In the sequestered comfort of luxury tents on the far side of the Sangam floodplains, a group of eight women, aged between 30 and 70 and belonging to erstwhile royal families across India, have had their moment of freedom.

“This is the first time we have travelled without our families, without help, without a plan. We booked online and just blended in. We challenged our limits,” says Jaykirti Singh of Baria, Rajasthan, who has worked to revive the block prints of Sanganer.

Talking of how the group decided to curate a fun, experiential trip “without family members”, Meenakshi Singh Khatu, 61, a former professor at Ahmedabad’s National Institute of Design (NID), says, “It all began when three of us talked about it during a memorial service of a senior relative. Then, we put up the idea in our WhatsApp groups. An exotic destination would have been easier to choose, but then we thought, why not the Kumbh – on our own terms? It was not so much about divinity, but to break out of our moulds and role-playing. That’s why each of us decided to travel solo, meet up in Kumbh and see if we could do it. In fact, from choosing a tent to hiring a boat, we did it all.”

Eight women, aged 30 to 70, from India’s former royal families, have embraced a moment of freedom.

With two fashion designers, a pastry chef, an HIV counsellor, a resort owner and an NGO worker in the mix, the women are choosing to not be defined by the titles or frills imposed on them.

“I just wanted to know what it is to go with the flow, who am I among the countless women devotees here, and accept my strengths and flaws,” says Priya Singh of the erstwhile princely state of Limdi, in Saurashtra.

For Maya Singh, 70, of Ajairajpura (Thikana), Rajasthan, the trip is about testing her physical limits. But it is the “youngsters”, 29-year-old patisserie chef Shambhavi Singh from the erstwhile royal family of Gamph, Saurashtra, and 30-year-old Devika Shekhawat of Khuri, Rajasthan, who hope to find themselves in the multitudes who have turned up at the Kumbh. While Shambhavi feels that she has had a sheltered life and needs to be part of a “collective community” experience, Devika feels the “universal philosophy” of true dharma is getting lost in the noise over religiosity.

Whatever their individual purpose, this group has now decided to travel together once a year to “unheard of places” across the country. As Varsha Singh, 65, from Jaisalmer, who works with HIV-positive children, says, “We are always game for a trip without men. We try out whatever our heart wants and have become very resourceful on this trip.”

THE COMMONERS IN THE MIX

A search for identity is last on the minds of women who are looking for livelihoods and securing their children’s future. Ragini Nishad, 37, a beauty parlour hand, is doubling up as a water can seller near the sangam to ring-fence her earnings. “My daughter is preparing for NEET. The combined salaries of mine and my husband’s are not quite enough for her coaching fees. We sold out 5,000 of 10,000 cans over two nights of the big snan. Over weekends we have tourists, who take back water from the sangam. The Kumbh is over 45 days and we hope to make some money that we can save,” says Nishad, whose daughter and son help her string the cans and pull them along.

Simran Malhotra, 45, who runs a roadside eatery, has set up a live kitchen near the luxury tents that serves hot thali meals, tea and hot corn cups through the day and night. She sleeps for just two hours in the booth behind her kitchen counter, where she stocks supplies. “My daughter and son have to go to college. So what if I have to give up sleep for a few days,” says Malhotra, who has pressed her children and extended family members for a whatsapp-based micro delivery service for guests at the luxury tent.

Not far from her, huddling around a warm fire with their male colleagues are two women constables, Sonia Singh and Rupanjali Bharadwaj, both 24-year-olds on their maiden postings outside the comfort of their homes. Given their people skills, they have been deployed along the ghats to assist bathers find changing rooms and man lost-and-found kiosks at the roadhead. “I lost my father and with five younger sisters, I studied hard for the police entry exam so that I could have a permanent government job,” says Singh. For Bhardwaj, who comes from Mhow in Madhya Pradesh, out-of-town assignments are about measuring up to the men in her family, who have been in the armed forces.

Simran Malhotra, 45, runs a roadside eatery and now operates a live kitchen near luxury tents, serving thalis, tea, and corn 24/7.

Aastha Garg is a sanitation worker in the toilets around the ghats. But it is her daughter, “Baby Ganga”, who is the crowd favourite. Having won a fancy dress competition at school, Garg decided to dress her up again on big rush days at the Kumbh in the hope of collecting donations. In their nameless existence, the Kumbh at least gives her daughter a chance to be a star.

BREAKING THE BARRIER

One would hardly expect the 60-plus to fall at the feet of a millennial but 32-year-old Ma Dhyan Murtiji Maharaj is a favourite among her silver-haired devotees who resonate with her practical wisdom. Casting herself as a motivational speaker than a dharm guru, hers is a young voice that’s demystifying spirituality as a wellness routine than just chanting mantras. “No gender is less important, both male and female elements are meant to harmonise and strengthen each other. Treat your mind like an indoor plant which purifies and energises you. So change your conditioning that forcibly imposes frailty to girls and strength to boys. Clear your brain,” she says. “And to young people I say, think beyond boyfriends and girlfriends. Think about your life’s potential and the viraat things you can do than referencing yourself on the approval of others. Try out every option,” says the sadhvi, who is working on climate change and linking UN SDGs in her speeches.

Women like her are bubbling up as the pot’s churning and brimming at the male dominated akharas. The largest of them, the Juna akhada, is consciously rebranding itself as a seat of scholastic learning that is as open to men as women. In 2007, it was the first akhada to appoint women to high office as mahamandaleshwars (district superiors), forcing other akharas to follow suit. It appointed Keiko, or Yogmata Kewalanand, the first non-Indian in an akhara post because she perfected Siddha yoga. Today, she has her own set-up at Kumbh which she runs with her two general secretaries, sadhvis Shraddha Giri and Chetnanand Giri, both of whom are 28 and had joined the order at 16. Shraddha is from a town in Sikkim, who left home after the family thought her extra sensory perceptions to be a divine calling. Chetna, who grew up at Hathtras in Uttar Pradesh, comes from a family of renunciates and always wanted to do social work. For girls from modest backgrounds, monastic schooling is a way of continuing their education, which not only helps them keep pace with the world but challenge patriarchy within their system.

“Women’s equity was well-established in the early Vedic period,” says Shraddha. “We talk about Kumbh, the celestial pot of elixir that had the gods and demons fighting each other. But remember Vishnu had to appear in the avatar of Mohini, a woman, to tempt the demons and trick them into submission. Thes are metaphors of the power of women. There is even the maasik dharm, which is about maintaining a woman’s menstrual health,” says Chetna. The two describe how, despite the initial reticence, the sadhus accepted them easily into their fold with seniors being fatherly and nurturing.

This new breed of women are using their deep knowledge of the texts to reinterpret them and adapt them to today’s circumstance in a manner that’s far more effective than their male counterparts. Yogmata Keiko, who came into contact with yoga after a bad bout of tuberculosis at age 25, says, “Without physical health and wellness, there is no mind control. Without taking care of your life, there’s no way you can care for others. Problem is we seek God first. But without the effort to reach there,” she explains.

In fact, Yogmata Keiko and her sadhvis have the life-coach approach to spirituality to connect to an Instagram-fed demographic. So their messaging is through a visual language and grammar, including their own unique appearance and get-up. There is a lot of focus on the science of diet, lifestyle management, breathwork, pranayama, yoga and meditation. Yogmata Keiko has herself researched on the effects of dance forms like jazz and Qigong on psychotherapy and tweaked certain yoga poses like the cobra pose wherever possible to create a concept called yoga dance. “This way you can adhere to routines far more easily. Once you do that mindfully, meditation will follow and centre you in the present moment while throwing out fears,” says she.

She tells a Ukrainian devotee how to destress herself through a guided meditation technique. “Focus on your palms or soles. Then focus on your breath at the tip of your nose. Take deep breaths and this will help you still your mind in that present moment and not wander off. Then just go out for a walk and synchronise your energies with the nature around you. That’s all it takes to start moving. Keep moving thereafter,” she says, giving her a hug.

Yogmata Keiko is still an avid solo traveller, encouraging younger women to be fearless. “Fear comes not because you are weak but because you fail to understand that the five elements of creation — fire, water, air, earth and space — are in you. The real Sangam of energies is in us. During the Kumbh, when the sun begins its journey to the northern hemisphere, the planets align in a certain way and increase the earth’s magnetic field. It’s a great time to fill yourself with positivity,” says she, summarising the metaphor of the Kumbh.

Outside, as the string of strobe lights around the akhadas become hazy blobs in the winter fog, a group of Naga sadhvis head out of their akhara for a dip in the Sangam. Ash-smeared, dreadlocked and wrapped in saffron, they are every bit as remote as their male counterparts and yet as path-breaking as women taking on a forbidden kingdom. They are the light, both imagined and real.