I came across this blog on Kalpavasi, which cites that Mahatma Gandhi, Father of the Indian Nation was given the title Mahatma at the Kumbha Mela when he visited it in 1915 by Swami Shradhanand at his Gurukul.
The following blog is inspired in continuation with this series posted on Kalpavasi and is based on hear-say funeral recitals after Gandhiji’s demise.
Once the autumnal Ganges floods receded, baring a five-square-mile mud flat where three sacred rivers join—the muddy Ganges, the blue Jamuna, and the mystical Saraswati meet at the Triveni Sangam, a tumultuous tent city comes up, peopled by millions of Hindus, thousands of fires, breech-clouted sadhus (holy men) chanting Vedic hymns. Around the clock a clangor of raucous songs mingles with hymns, flutes with elephant bells, caterwauls with the keening of sacred recitations. Millions come for the religious festival of Ardh Kumbh Mela, to revel and to bathe where the sacred rivers meet.
In the year 1948, amidst the peak of this rancor, a hush fell over the entire Mela Kshetra sometime during the course of the festival at Allahabad when a truck entered the tented city with a raised platform draped in India’s tricolour flag. On top rode an earthenware brown urn, containing the ashes of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Chatter came down to a hush as the catafalque moved past slowly.
Gandhi would have disapproved of much that went on at the three rivers. Although an ascetic, he condemned the extreme self-mortification of holy men who lay on beds of nails, or walked on beds of live coals, or twisted their attenuated bodies into knots. Gandhi had gone a few times to the great popular Hindu festivals and even sternly condemned the orgiastic frenzy and the exhibitions of extreme asceticism. However after his death he belonged not only to the ages but to the people and India celebrated his last rites in its own accord.
At the waters edge the ash-laden urn was transferred, for mourning, on to the white superstructure of an army dais with eight other platforms. It churned noisily into the river, while army planes swooped overhead, dropping flowers on the cortege. On the shore, army guns boomed a salute of 79 salvos for Gandhi's 79 years.
Gandhiji’s son, Ramdas poured sacred cows milk into the urn of ashes, swirled it and then poured it into the water. It was believed that Gandhi's soul, according to Hindu traditions, was at last free from its mortal prison. At the same moment, milkmen from nearby Allahabad, in a unique tribute, poured barrels of fresh milk into the stream.
The following blog is inspired in continuation with this series posted on Kalpavasi and is based on hear-say funeral recitals after Gandhiji’s demise.
Once the autumnal Ganges floods receded, baring a five-square-mile mud flat where three sacred rivers join—the muddy Ganges, the blue Jamuna, and the mystical Saraswati meet at the Triveni Sangam, a tumultuous tent city comes up, peopled by millions of Hindus, thousands of fires, breech-clouted sadhus (holy men) chanting Vedic hymns. Around the clock a clangor of raucous songs mingles with hymns, flutes with elephant bells, caterwauls with the keening of sacred recitations. Millions come for the religious festival of Ardh Kumbh Mela, to revel and to bathe where the sacred rivers meet.
In the year 1948, amidst the peak of this rancor, a hush fell over the entire Mela Kshetra sometime during the course of the festival at Allahabad when a truck entered the tented city with a raised platform draped in India’s tricolour flag. On top rode an earthenware brown urn, containing the ashes of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Chatter came down to a hush as the catafalque moved past slowly.
Gandhi would have disapproved of much that went on at the three rivers. Although an ascetic, he condemned the extreme self-mortification of holy men who lay on beds of nails, or walked on beds of live coals, or twisted their attenuated bodies into knots. Gandhi had gone a few times to the great popular Hindu festivals and even sternly condemned the orgiastic frenzy and the exhibitions of extreme asceticism. However after his death he belonged not only to the ages but to the people and India celebrated his last rites in its own accord.
At the waters edge the ash-laden urn was transferred, for mourning, on to the white superstructure of an army dais with eight other platforms. It churned noisily into the river, while army planes swooped overhead, dropping flowers on the cortege. On the shore, army guns boomed a salute of 79 salvos for Gandhi's 79 years.
Gandhiji’s son, Ramdas poured sacred cows milk into the urn of ashes, swirled it and then poured it into the water. It was believed that Gandhi's soul, according to Hindu traditions, was at last free from its mortal prison. At the same moment, milkmen from nearby Allahabad, in a unique tribute, poured barrels of fresh milk into the stream.
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