Prayagraj, the erstwhile Allahabad, is getting ready to host the largest congregation of humanity: the Kumbh Mela. This year’s event is technically the “ardha-Kumbh” or half-Kumbh, and the real event is only in a few years. However, the Centre and Uttar Pradesh’s Yogi Adityanath government are marketing it globally as the Kumbh. It’s the election year and this religious congregation could be used—in crude terms—to electioneer amongst millions receptive to the idea of Hindutva.

Prayagraj has had a facelift over the last years. Many flyovers have been built, roads widened, there’s a drive to clean the city. A new airport terminal came up just a few days ago where many high-flying saints and sages will arrive in huge delegations, talking endlessly on their mobile phones and accompanied by nirvana-seekers from Europe and the US.

Murals have come up on the walls along the streets, on the pillars of flyovers and bridges and even on tree trunks across the city, depicting events from the Ramayana and Mahabharata. There pet theme for these murals—and there are many renditions—is “Amrit-manthan” or the churning of the sea by both demons and angels to derive elixir. At every main crossing, big statues and some art installations are being erected. Authorities worked overnight to finish the work before the big day, Makar Sankranti, today, when the Kumbh Mela formally begins.

Adjoining the city is the floodplains of the Yamuna and Ganges—some 36,000 acres of it. This is the venue of the Kumbh city of tents, divided into 19 sectors and expected to host millions of people over a month. Hundreds of akharas or camps have come up as well. The most visited are the seven Juna akharas of the Nagas, or the naked sages, who are the privileged lot and start the fair by taking a dip in the Ganges. They are still trying to settle down, their akharas already full so some tents are pitched along the streets.

Many sit outside in the lotus position, smeared in white ash, soaking up the sun and smoking pot. Their eyes red, tearful and dilated, they speak of this world and the other—dispossession is their greatest possession. They bless all visitors who offer them money. The money collected is used to pay for food and wood—they end up burning 10 kg of wood every day to keep their naked selves warm. Nothing comes for free even at Kumbha nigari. But it has to be said: the rates of vegetables and fruit here are no higher than in the city.

Nagas are celibate. The sky is the cover, atmosphere their clothing in their renunciation of worldly pleasure during their quest for divinity. But they too are not free from hierarchies, stringent rituals, and strict codes of conduct. There’s a sort of struggle going on within. It can be seen from their accommodation: the influential have grabbed the bigger tents while the poorer Nagas have to move out due to space crunch.

A Naga sage from Ram-Akhand-Manas, a Hanuman Temple in Jabalpur, is 65 years old. He’s been celibate since he was a child. Skinny and tall, he sits for hours on his haunches in front of the simmering fire, occasionally smoking pot. “I have been coming here for the last four Kumbh Melas. The family (of Nagas) is growing,” he says. “There’s less space, for which administration is to be blamed. It’s for the first time that I had to move out of the camp.”

Agitated, he alleges the Mela administration—called the Mela Authority—is corrupt, saying they take bribes and allot land for commercial activities. “Where will mahatma go?” he repeats several times. Yet he has a soft corner for Yogi Adityananth. “I’m glad Adityanathji was here and has instructed the authorities not to shift mahatma from wherever they have decided to camp.”

Cold breeze laden with the scent of marijuana blows from the river. Dust forms a low cloud as vehicles ply on sandy roads covered with metal sheets. The lights are switched on at 5.30 pm, just before the sundown, and the streets glimmer with the flickering light of hundreds of bonfire. The Kumbh city is not very crowded yet. Sadhus and sages are putting up their tents, making arrangements for the divya snan or the sacred bath on Makar Sankranti, while curious locals walk around.

Pilot baba is busy giving instructions for the final touches to his camp. In his 80s, he was a pilot with the Indian Air Force before taking to spirituality. New enclosures are being built in his camp. Two lion sculptures adorn the gate on either side and his Audis and Land Rovers, covered with dust, are parked inside. Many foreign nirvana-seekers queue up to register for the 10-day yagna ritual that will take place next month.

At the police headquarters, Additional SP Rahul Srivastava is organising a study to be conducted by the students of GB Pant Institute in Allahabad. They will analyse the effectiveness of the police and see if they’re putting to use the soft skills they were trained in, and get feedback from the pilgrims. Technology is being used for the first time for the Lost & Found counters. The Mela is known for losing a few hundred family members every day in the sea of humanity. Authorities help relatives track them, usually successfully. Missing relatives at the Kumbh have inspired many Hollywood movies.

Banners of Yogi Adityanath line the streets, outnumbering those of Prime Minister Modi, some of them akin to election posters. The state’s information department has set up hundreds of monitors in the Mela area which air videos highlighting the event’s significance, including an excerpt from Modi’s speech inviting people to come in large numbers to this “great city of Prayagraj”.

Despite being non-ritualist Hindu, there’s an increased assertion of the resurgence of Hindu nationalism. This isn’t new, but the government, instead of facilitator, seems to be the main party to this. A Muslim bus driver who works for the state-run transport corporation says with a forced smile, “At least the streets have widened and potholes have been filled.”