We could feel the pulse start to quicken the moment we entered Haridwar which sits at the foot of the mighty snow-capped Himalayas. It was the second day of the Maha Kumbh 2010 immersions and there was an air of expectancy as people from all walks of life and from all corners of the country started to pour into the eternal city.

Haridwar, considered one of the holiest cities in India, is the point at which the River Ganga leaves the mountains and enters the plains. Ash-smeared sadhus with flowing beards and knotted manes who had descended from their quiet retreats in the neighbouring hills and mountains roamed around the city on foot, astride cycles and motorbikes, participating in a festival that is considered to be the holiest in the land.

Indeed, there was the sense of camaraderie that comes when strangers get together to share a common stage. We found ourselves adrift in a surreal world where different realities overlapped. For, we had checked into a luxury tented resort on the terrace of a grand haveli, overlooking a private ghat, buzzing with activity: a holy man in orange robes sat cross-legged on the opposite misty bank, deep in meditation; men stripped down to their underwear and women in dripping saris took purifying dips in the freezing jade-green waters of the Ganga; pilgrims floated offerings of flowers, burnt camphor and incense sticks; sadhus with flowing locks and hooded eyelids pulled on chillums; a young chela washed the feet of his stooped, grey-whiskered guru; others scooped up the river water in containers to take back home… Despite the presence of security men in camouflage uniforms, sporting mean-looking guns supervising the proceedings, we were caught in the swell of unadulterated devotion being poured into the surging river as it swept by.

The resort had made special arrangements for our group which included a private river aarti performed by the resident pandit. There were even separate enclosures for men and women to take their purifying dip in the Ganga as it lapped against the steps of the haveli before flowing urgently onwards to douse the great Indian plains with the benediction of its holy waters.
The open terrace offered a grandstand view of the aartis being performed in all the havelis, temples and shrines that lined the banks of the river: the ringing of bells, the swirling of oil lamps, the chanting of mantras… Later we crossed over to the other bank of the river and marveled at the similarity between this stretch of the waterfront and Venice: the only difference being that instead of opulent mansions and ornate churches, the skyline was etched with grand havelis and the spires of temples and shrines.

It soon realised upon us that trying to reach Har-ki-Pauri, where the main immersions take place, was going to be a futile task. The Mela had commenced with much zeal and an air of organised chaos, security personnel had blocked access to the site as it was brimming to capacity with over five lakh devotees. So we were there early the following evening to witness the aarti being performed everyday during sunset.

The urgent tolling of temple bells sent a thrill of anticipation through the crowd and the frenetic activity around the ghats came to a grinding halt. Even the setting sun appeared to pause. The priest who had been priming the oil wicks of the many layered lamps set them on fire and started to swirl the flames in unison right across the ghat. The Ganga aarti — a ballet of fire — was a totally spontaneous happening, sustained by pure, untainted devotion. Indeed, it captured the essence of the Kumbh and the city it graces this year — raw yet brilliant like an uncut diamond.