THE GREAT MELA AT ALLAHABAD.
By R. Baker
The city of Allahabad, in the Northwest Provinces of India, has been the scene of a great and—to Hindus—very important mela (religious fair or festival). The city is one of the sacred places of India, of which there are 8,400,000. Several reasons are given for its sacredness, which are rather confusing. We give what is most generally accepted. The city is built at the junction of three sacred rivers: (1) The Ganges, said to flow from the head of Mahadev; (2) the Jumna, made holy by the sportive play of Krishna; (3) the Saraswati, named after the wife or daughter of Brahma, creator of the universe. This last river is said to lose itself in the deserts of Rajputána and flow underground until it reaches Allahabad. Here it issues from the ground at the junction of the other two rivers, and may be seen like a burnished golden ribbon four times daily. The month “Māgh” is held in honor by the gods, and in this month we may most profitably worship them. In this month, too, the sun changes its course, so that it is lucky to die. The annual mela is held on this account. This year the mela has been greater than usual; it was not only the annual mela, but also the “Kumbha” mela. “Kumbha” is Sanscrit for pitcher, and the name given to that sign of the Zodiac we call “Aquarius,” the water carrier. Should the sun and moon be in this sign during any part of the month Māgh, the eleventh Hindu month, then is held the Kumbha mela. This occurs every twelfth year, and thousands of fakirs or Sadhus come from all parts of the country, adding thereby to the sacredness of the place and the gathering. Another reason why the mela was greater was because of the report that this was to be the last Kumbha mela, as, according to the teaching of the Hindu sacred books, when the Kalijug (age of sin—the present age) had half run out, the Ganges would lose its sacredness. The mela was held on the stretch of land in the fork of the two rivers. The fort is built along the bank of the Jumna, which in flood season rises and washes the walls of the building. The other side of the fort, toward the Ganges, is, during the dry season, some distance from the bank. In flood season the river becomes almost a sea, the stream being not less than two miles wide. As the water subsides, the river makes for itself a course somewhat in this space, generally near the far bank, but this year it has come quite near, making its bed within half a mile of the fort. Upon this narrow strip of land the mela was to be held—a very small space for the millions expected. The authorities wisely ordered the fakirs—some thousands—to take up stations on the far side, and for their use built a bridge of boats. Taking our stand on the corner bastion of the fort that commands the confluence, we get some idea of the mass of people who have come from all parts of the country. To our right flows the Jumna; before us flows the Ganges, the spur of land between crowded to its utmost limits with eager pilgrims. Here you see them bathing by the shore or putting off in boats to bathe at the junction of the waters. On the further bank of the Ganges may be seen the huts of the Sadhus, while the rising ground in this far distance is the opposite shore of the river in flood season. Turning a little to the left, we have the whole tract of land before us crowded with people, the number variously estimated at from two to four millions. Here in the near foreground we see the clothes of bathers suspended or laid on the ground to dry, temporary grass huts for those who come from great distances. Toward the shore we see numbers of flags and banners, bearing all manner of devices, from pictures of their gods to English soldiers; in the distance to the right may be seen the bridge of boats. Descending from our point of vantage we make our way to the riverside, where we have a near view of the bathers. Here we see them in all attitudes going through their ablutions. It is interesting to notice some of the figures; you have the strong, healthy man, weak and timid woman, fearing to cross the narrow strip of water, the young and innocent child. Moving among the people we see much to grieve over, much that fills us with shame. Look! there is a boy turning and twisting his body into all kinds of fantastic shapes, several men behind making “music” on strange instruments. There you see a dwarf, with distorted hands and feet, and this we are told is honored as an incarnation of Vishnu. Here we see three children dressed to represent Ram, Lakshman, and Sita, before whom the poor simple people cast their pice, considering they are doing a meritorious act. As we move through the crowd we see many oxen, sacred in the eyes of the Hindu; people are eagerly seizing their tails and pouring out libations of holy(?) water, that they may be assisted in reaching the far shores of the dark stream of existence (personal). We also see a little group of women walking several times round a small tree temporarily placed in the ground. It is the pipal tree, an object of worship. See, it is decorated with various colored threads and bits of rag; two earthen jars stand near. The women are making their offerings of leaves, flowers, rice, and water, after which they walk around the tree and go away. Moving on a little further we come upon a ghastly scene—the body of a boy apparently headless lying on his back on the sand in the full glare of the midday sun. What can it be? What can it mean? Simply a method of getting a few coppers. Scooping a hole in the sand he lays his head in it, covering his face with a cloth to protect mouth and eyes; he then heaps up on the cloth the loose sand from the hole. He has spread out by his side a square of calico to receive the gifts of lookers-on, who throw down corn or coppers, the boy with one hand, the only sign of life except the breathing, patting his stomach to call attention to his needy circumstances. But if we wish to see the Sadhus en masse, we must cross the river. We have a difficulty to secure a boat, but finally succeed in persuading a man to take us to the bridge of boats. There has been a little rain a day or two previous, and the river has risen, washing away certain parts that have been banked up, there not being sufficient water to allow of boats. Reaching the unbroken part we notice the force of the stream, which rushes by like a torrent. As we mount the opposite bank we see on all sides the huts built for the accommodation of the Sadhus. Almost the first thing we see is a man lying on a spiked bed. His face is bright and intelligent. He can speak a little English, having read in one of the schools. To what depths has he descended that he should afflict his body in this way? He wishes by doing this to acquire merit sufficient to overbalance the demerit caused by his sins, the only idea or method the Hindu knows for the putting away of sin. We tell him of the love of Christ, who gave his life a ransom for many. He prefers his own opinions, because12perhaps it brings him glory in the eyes of his fellow-men. We see numbers of these figures, their body smeared with mud and ashes, their long, matted hair about their faces and shoulders, and sometimes made up into twists or plaits reaching almost to the ground. One man has held up his left arm so long that it is now impossible to bring it down to its proper place, but it stands up in the air like a pole, while the nails have grown three or four inches long, and are circling in fantastic shapes about his wrists. We come upon a group just about to begin their meal. These are the holy men of India, men who, abandoning the world and its allurements and pleasures, give themselves to a life of severe asceticism. By meditation (?) they claim to overcome all their passions and bring their bodies into complete subjection. Some of them never speak; they wear as little clothing as possible, and feed upon what others would consider refuse, sometimes taking scarcely anything of any kind. They are held in the highest esteem by the Hindus. There is another set of Sadhus, their specialty being the worship of a book. This they place upon a cushion and cover over it an embroidered cloth. One, said to be a Pundit, reads from portions of the book, the chelas (disciples) sitting around under the canopy listening, but not understanding a single word. We hear there is one man who swung himself over a fire, but we do not come across him. But now the all-important moment is drawing near; there is to be a grand procession of the Sadhus to bathe at the junction. See, it is on its way now; away in the distance you can see a cluster of flags above the heads of the people. They are borne by men seated on elephants leading the procession. Just as the elephants come within thirty yards of us, they turn aside and form in line on the opposite side of the way, while a man gayly dressed in salmon-colored satin garments and mounted on a white horse leads the way. He is followed by several groups of musicians—the most motley crews you ever saw—several rajahs, or princes, carried in their palanquins, and then the fakirs; and how can I describe them? Shame covers my face as I see their condition—not one or two, but hundreds, walking two by two, and every one clad in nature’s garb, their bodies smeared from head to foot with mud and ashes, their hair in a clotted mass about their heads and faces. After them comes a long line of others all but naked, and these are followed by many more. And now they have all passed on to the river, and the road is clear, giving us a good view of the elephants on the other side; we have just time to take a picture of them ere the fakirs begin their return journey. As they pass, having been only ankle-deep in the water, we see the reverence with which they are greeted. As they move along, the eager crowd rushes forward to touch the ground upon which these holy men have trodden. Some stoop down and press their foreheads on the footprints; others take up the dirt and smear themselves on forehead, cheeks, and arms. During the day there are seven such processions, with repetition of details; one was said to consist of no less than 10,000 fakirs. Outside the mela proper, on the roads leading to the rivers, positions had been allotted to the missionaries, and every day the seed of the word was sown broadcast upon the assembling multitudes. Many interesting conversations took place, and much that was said may mature and fructify elsewhere. —Church Missionary Gleaner.