What really happens at the largest gathering of humans on the planet

It’s not the size you notice first. It’s the pulse. A deep, resonant vibration flows through the air, neither wholly music nor prayer, but a primordial cadence that seems older than language itself. It’s only when you follow that sound, winding through a maze of colour and chaos, that the scale begins to dawn on you.

The Kumbh Mela is the largest gathering of humans on the planet – a fleeting city constructed on the sandy confluence of the Ganges and the Yamuna rivers. Official records cite 400 million attendees over the course of the month, but no one really knows, and by all the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and Modi propaganda posters present, one wonders if they added a zero for effect.

But standing in the midst of it, these incredible numbers feel both meaningless and impossible. This isn’t just about size. It’s the collective pull of millions of lives converging in one place that is both powerful and overwhelming.

Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of Sadhus – Hindu holy men – who renounce worldly life in pursuit of spiritual liberation, mingle with the crowds, their hair coiled into wild, matted locks or towering dreadlocked buns, faces painted with sacred symbols. Some are clad in saffron robes, while others wear only their devotion: bare bodies smeared in ash, adorned with rudraksha beads and the occasional trident gripped like an ancient sceptre. One blesses a crowd with a sharp, deliberate swing of his trident. Another apparently has his penis curled tightly around a knife.

However, while their presence is awe-inspiring – and somewhat terrifying – it’s immediately clear that not all of them are here solely in an act of Godliness. “You Britisher?” One wily naked man asks, eyes squinting with curiosity. Before I can answer, he nods toward my sunglasses and camera.“You have a gift for me from England… those?”

The absurdity of the moment is interrupted by a chai vendor pressing a steaming cup into my hand. “No rupees. My pleasure,” he insists, the generosity cutting through the transactional undercurrent that hums alongside the spiritual one. Hospitality here is as abundant as the dust that clings to every surface, but the two are inseparable: a stranger might lend you their motorbike one minute, then try to sell you salvation the next.

This isn’t Burning Man or Glastonbury. The parallels might tempt you at first – there’s a festive energy, an overwhelming sense of spectacle – but those comparisons wilt as quickly as they’re drawn. This is ancient, more sprawling, more raw.

Every 12 years this pilgrimage unfolds at one of four sacred sites – Prayagraj, Haridwar, Nashik, and Ujjain – each linked to an ancient Hindu myth. The story tells of gods and demons locked in a celestial tug-of-war over the kumbh, a pot containing amrit, the nectar of immortality.

In their struggle, a few sacred drops spilled to Earth, marking these four places. For over 2,000 years devotees have come to these banks to seek purification, liberation, and connection, drawn by the promise of cosmic alignment and the chance to cleanse lifetimes of karma in a single dip. Even in ancient times, the scale was astonishing. And yet, what struck me most wasn’t the mythology, it was the humanity.

“Which is your country sir?” Perhaps my enduring memory of Kumbh will be the constant friendly questioning. As a foreigner, you’re as much an attraction as a participant. Local people queue for selfies, as if it’s the well-accepted price you must pay for your attendance. It’s both charming and disorienting, a sense of being utterly alien, like a long-lost cousin suddenly dropped into the middle of a family reunion that’s been going on for thousands of years.

Having spent years walking around the world and visiting holy places, I thought I knew something of pilgrimage. But nothing I’ve witnessed has quite prepared me for this. The Kumbh Mela is less about the distance travelled and more about the convergence.

There’s something inescapably grounding about be a part of this sheer spectrum of people: beggars, lepers and farmers who’ve travelled weeks on foot, their faces lined with sun and devotion; wealthy families spilling out of air-conditioned cars, their hands full of marigolds and offerings. Some come for redemption, others out of tradition.

One man I spoke to, a railway worker from Gujarat, explained: “It’s not just for the living. I’m here for my father, my grandfather, for all my ancestors who couldn’t come themselves.” Holy men with dreadlocks and unshakable gravitas sit beside stalls hawking plastic trinkets and selfie sticks. The sacred and the absurd blur together until the distinctions no longer matter.

For all its chaos, the Kumbh Mela is astonishingly well organised. The Indian government deploys armies of volunteers, police, and medical staff, ensuring that millions of people move through this temporary metropolis with surprising efficiency. The logistics of ensuring clean water, medical care and crowd control for millions rivals the festival’s spiritual grandeur.

The camps are laid out in a grid system with sectors and sign posts, temporary pontoon bridges span the river and solar panels glint atop makeshift stalls. There are lost-and-found centres – and a booming 4G signal.

From Mecca to Santiago de Compostela, humanity has always sought meaning in collective journeys. The Kumbh Mela’s power lies in its ability to draw millions, not in spite of its chaos but because of it: a shared chaos that unites rather than divides.

And while it would be easy to dismiss the gathering as chaotic or overwhelming, there’s something profoundly humbling about it. It reminded me that community isn’t just about proximity but about intention, an ethos we could stand to learn from in the West. The culture of hospitality is what stood out the most, where everyone is family. There was a palpable sense of belonging, with people helping each other find their way, so in that regard perhaps it does have something in common with Burning Man and Glastonbury.

As I fled the crowds (three days is plenty), I couldn’t help but wonder: what would happen if we brought even a fraction of this spirit back with us? The Kumbh Mela challenges us to reimagine what it means to gather, to celebrate, and to belong. This festival doesn’t need Glastonbury’s headliners; it’s been drawing crowds for millennia.

Essentials

Kumbh Mela runs until February 26.

Hotel WelcomeHeritage Bad Kothi has double rooms from £134 including breakfast. From Delhi, flights to Prayagraj take are offered by GoIndigo airlines from £300 return.