A TRAGEDY FORETOLD

On the eve of Mauni Amavasya, a day of silent communion with the gods, millions had gathered on the banks of the Sangam under the ink-black sky.

- Avaneesh Mishra

The gods are said to descend here on this day, and a holy dip at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna and the elusive Saraswati is considered especially auspicious.

A multitude had staked their place near the water, waiting for the brahma muhurta, the sacred hour before dawn, to be the first to take a snan (holy bath) and wash away a lifetime of sins. Some had been there for hours, others for days, wrapped in woollen shawls and thin blankets, whispering mantras, their breath rising in white, ghostly puffs in the cold January air. Some eventually curled up in sleep, others continued to kneel in silent prayer.

It was past midnight. No one noticed the first ripple of movement. Nor perhaps the next. But then a tide of humanity surged forward, and the barricades, rendered flimsy under the weight of faith, collapsed. Those resting on the ground were swallowed beneath the onslaught of the rush.

Seventeen hours later, Mela Officer Vijay Kiran Anand and DIG Vaibhav Krishna held a brief three-minute press briefing. "30 devotees lost. 60 injured. 25 identified," they told the attendees. "Jo shraddhalu kai baar zameen pe so jaate hain ya wait karte hain brahm muhurat ka, unke upar doosre shraddhalu afra tafri mein chadh gaye... (The devotees who often go off to sleep on the ground or those who wait for the brahma muhurta were trampled upon by others)," DIG Krishna explained. That was not enough to stop the flood of questions. Why did the crowd spiral out of control to begin with?

Stampedes at religious gatherings in India are nothing new-Haridwar, 2010; Allahabad railway station, 2013; Mumbai's Elphinstone Bridge, 2017. But the lessons are never learnt.