The Kumbh Mela is the largest peaceful gathering of people in the world. Right now, an estimated 400 million Hindu devotees are making, or have already made, their pilgrimage to the banks of India’s holiest rivers. Photographer Nicola Zolin joins the congregation.
From every corner of India, they converge—pilgrims embarking on unyielding journeys that stretch over days, their bodies crammed into overcrowded buses and trains, only to press forward on foot or within the confines of rickshaws.
Making my way to the Triveni Sangam, where the Ganges and Yamuna rivers meet the deified mythological Sarasvati river, I cross paths with every kind of soul. Time itself seems to stretch and warp as the northern city of Prayagraj, gripped by the fervor of devotion, transforms into a boundless ocean of people. This is, for some, the grandest of all religious gatherings: the Maha Kumbh Mela.
Amid the waves of faces, a young man—Karan, no older than 22—appears with a smile, warm and genuine. “Let me carry some of your bags, brother,” he offers.
Together, we navigate the immense crowd until we reach the riverbeds, where at the confluence of the Ganges and Yamuna, a temporary city has sprung. Here, the land unfolds like a vast, sacred canvas, stretching across 4,000 hectares, with tens of thousands of tents sheltering millions of pilgrims who are drawn to bathe in the holy waters.
On February 5th, the crowd at the river sangam parted so that Prime Minister Narendra Modi could bathe. He later described the experience as one of “divine connection”.
The festival happens every 12 years, and for millions of Hindus, it’s considered a once-in-a-lifetime spiritual experience. And a once-in-a-lifetime travel experience for many foreign, culturally-inclined visitors who join the congregation independently or as part of a Kumbh Mela tour.
This year the event is also paired with a celestial rarity—a special alignment of Jupiter and the Sun in Aquarius—a phenomenon that happens only every 144 years. This is considered an even bigger blessing, and means this year’s Maha Kumbh Mela is expected to draw a crowd of over 400 million people.
Every Hindu denomination finds its place here—Vaishnavas, Shaivites, yogis, ascetics—all contributing their practices to the makeshift temples honoring the divine. The air hums with mantras, amplified through loudspeakers.
“I came here because I am lost,” Karan says as we stand on the banks, watching the river of humanity flowing before us. “I seek the highest form of spirituality, but I feel adrift, uncertain. My father agreed I should come here to find clarity—to see if I am meant to renounce the material world and become a sanyasi (ascetic).” His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his quest. “I think you can help me,” he whispers.
I ask why this Hindu man would seek anything spiritual from a foreigner, and he says: “Because you’ve been here before. Because you choose to be here, and for reasons different from those of the Indian people. I mean, not religious, but spiritual.”
And indeed, I had visited the Kumbh Mela 12 years ago while backpacking across Asia. Back then, I was filled with curiosity, questioning my beliefs and thirsting for the truth, much like Karan. I stayed, as I do now, at the campsite of Haidakhan Babaji’s devotees, sharing the space with pilgrims and travelers alike.
When I last visited, Prayagraj was still known by its former name—Allahabad. The city was renamed in 2018 as part of a divisive move spearheaded by the current Hindu nationalist government. A move that many locals see as a continuation of the party’s policy to change Muslim names of cities and towns.
While religious devotion is the festival raison d’être, politics is an underlying current at this year’s event. On February 5th, the crowd at the river sangam parted so that Prime Minister Narendra Modi could bathe. He later described the experience as one of “divine connection”.
For several days, I don’t see Karan. I imagine him on his quest for spiritual clarity, seeking truth in this massive, magnetic place. When we meet again, he tells me he “visited ashrams and sought out gurus, but the wisest taught me the virtue of patience.”
One evening, beneath a full moon, Karan and I join the procession of the naga sadhus (holy men) to the water for their first shahi snan (royal bath). Covered only in the ash smeared across their skin, these sadhus are revered as the guardians of faith and warriors of tradition.
Many onlookers kneel to touch the earth where the holy men have walked, believing the ground is blessed by their footprints. Having renounced all worldly possessions, the naga sadhus stand as living embodiments of faith, the very spirit of Hinduism. “Is this the kind of faith you seek?” I ask Karan.
“I’m not sure,” he answers. “I just want to serve God. I have no interest in the material world. Look at these men,” he gestures to the naga sadhus. “They have no home, no possessions. They’ve given up everything to embrace the divine.”
As we speak, the crowd grows, pressing in on every side, as if pulled by some collective yearning. Anxiety rises, the fear of being caught in a sudden panic seizing us. We push through, finding our way to a quieter spot.
Two weeks later tragedy strikes. A stampede claims 30 lives, with many more injured. A festival of this size is at risk of overcrowding, and without proper crowd management and public health measures, can easily take a turn. This year the Indian government implemented 2,700 CCTV cameras, underwater drones and 40,000 police officers to help prevent accidents.
But overseeing the Maha Kumbh Mela presents more than a logistical challenge—Modi and his party sees the festival as a powerful platform to champion his Hindu nationalist agenda, leveraging it to solidify support among the Hindu majority.
For many Hindu devotees, Modi is a hero. “He is bringing a sense of pride and power to the people,” Karan says. “Some see him as a living saint. But politics is primarily business; it has little to do with true faith.”
At the Kumbh Mela, the Prime Minister’s vision for a “new India”, centered on the promotion of Hindu values, is actively endorsed by a large faction of devotees. However, this vision also fosters a sense of Hindu supremacy, often at the expense of other communities, particularly Muslims. At an event that’s historically about universal transcendence—including the transcending of religious divides—this political agenda is at odds with the spiritual experience.
For several days, I don’t see Karan. I imagine him on his quest for spiritual clarity, seeking truth in this massive, magnetic place. When we meet again, he tells me he “visited ashrams and sought out gurus, but the wisest taught me the virtue of patience.”
“Probably, connecting with God has nothing to do with abandoning the world,” he says. “Yet it is incredible how much power some ascetics can gather from their practices. I guess I shouldn’t rush to any decision right now.” In his humility, I sense that he already holds the keys to the doors he’s ready to open. And I know that his honest approach is holier than many who claim godliness here.
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Nicola Zolin is a photojournalist and writer, interested in the social and environmental transformations at the borders of Europe, Middle East and Asia. His stories deal with the idea of freedom and liberation from society's structures.
