From Bihar, an example: A Kanwar Yatra that empowers women, and doesn't threaten

Indian Express

a day ago

Written by Hugo Ribadeau Dumas
Three days ago, when I told acquaintances I had just completed the Kanwar Yatra, I was met with the choicest terms of revulsion: 'disturbing,' 'gross,' 'terrifying.'
Recently, in The Indian Express, researcher Saahil Shokeen tried to explain this knee-jerk reaction of the 'sanitised upper-class' when it comes to this specific pilgrimage. He argued that the yatra has become a platform of visibility for the marginalised, provoking 'discomfort in the Savarna imagination,' unable to process 'subaltern bodies asserting and occupying public spaces.'
This view requires serious nuance. Indeed, the quest for assertion need not devolve into crushing others — be it women, people of other faiths, or anyone else on the way. Sadly, this is a path many Kanwariyas have taken in recent years, which no doubt explains the outrage I encountered when I mentioned joining the march.
I invite both those worried by the recent evolution of the pilgrimage and those who cheer Kanwariyas' impunity to look to Bihar, where I witnessed a Kanwar Yatra of a different kind — liberating and cathartic, yet neither aggressive nor exclusionary.
When people say 'Kanwariyas,' they usually mean the pilgrims who carry water from the Ganga in Haridwar to pour it over Shiva lingams across Uttarakhand, UP, Haryana, and Rajasthan. Their thunderous passage through Delhi NCR makes them the most visible to both the media and the elite.
But there are, in fact, many distinct versions of the Kanwar Yatra across India. In Bihar, it takes the form of Bol Bam (literally, 'Say Bam,' a chant to Shiva), in which devotees collect sacred Ganga jal from Sultanganj and carry it on foot to the revered Baidyanath temple in Deoghar, Jharkhand. Bol Bam enjoys an immense following across eastern India.
This is the yatra I recently completed. Not for research or spirituality, but out of friendship. For 14 years, I have visited the same family in Majhgain, a village on the pilgrimage route. Last year, half-joking, I told Auntie I'd walk with her once I finish my PhD. I never expected her to take me seriously. But, three weeks ago, when she told me she was ready to leave, I felt a rush of tenderness. I would never have gone if not for her.
Most Kanwariyas marching from Haridwar are young men. As The Indian Express reported, women's presence is often an 'afterthought'. In other words, far from flipping power dynamics, the yatra tends to grant even more space to those who already dominate public life — men. If you add to that mob spirit, a sense of impunity, and heavy cannabis use, cities become dramatically more menacing to women when pilgrims sweep through.
Bihar's Bol Bam offers a very different gender equation. Though men are more numerous, women are everywhere. Old, middle-aged, young; some with male relatives, some without. Along the route, I saw very few spaces monopolised by men.
Without an overwhelming male presence, the energy is different. Women, particularly, can lower their guards, like the girls I saw dancing with abandon to devotional beats. At night, under the large tents, there was no need for segregation: Stranger men and women rested side by side. Even men seemed freer, with gestures usually taboo — like spouses holding hands becoming commonplace.
Bol Bam is not at all easy for women. Poor sanitation makes the journey daunting, and some groups of men still display macho attitudes. Yet, it illustrates a point long made by feminist scholars: When women are present in numbers, they reshape the space around them.
Bol Bam also feels far less anxiogenic than the other Kanwar Yatra for another key reason – it does not carry undertones of aggression and hostility. While hurling communal slogans or blasting music with violent lyrics has become part of the Kanwariya folklore in some parts of the country, I saw none of this in Bihar.
Along the march, I did not hear a single note of Hindutva pop, nor did I see a trace of jingoism. Every chant was for Shiva — 'Bol Bam ka nara hai, Baba ek sahara hai' — never against another community. The collective performance of piety was not meant to shock, hurt or provoke.
I do not wish to romanticise Bihar as a radical exception. In step with the national trend, the state government last year announced that Sultanganj Railway Station would be renamed after the Hindu shrine Ajgaibinath Dham. Still, the contrast in mood between the two yatras raises questions. Is it the more balanced gender composition? A legacy of Bihar's anti-communal politics? Or simply the fact that Bol Bam is predominantly rural, its route winding through rice fields and forests, away from ill-intended onlookers and rabble-rousers?
The Kanwariyas I met have my deepest empathy. Walking over 100 kilometres barefoot is harrowing, yet many readily spend their rare days off in tapasya (self-imposed hardship), hoping to win Shiva's blessings — whether to secure a job, end family discords, or fill any other gap in their lives.
I also saw how much self-esteem the yatra confers. Strangers offer sherbet, massage your feet, and rush to serve you. Walking, chanting, and suffering in unison stirs something profound. Returning to ordinary life after that feels like a brutal comedown.
But it is difficult to celebrate empowerment if it comes at the cost of others, especially women and other marginalised groups. Precisely, Bihar's Bol Bam shows the Kanwar Yatra can effectively uplift without breeding fear or division.
The writer is a Doctor in Geography based in New Delhi. He works on urbanisation, small cities, and the transformation of friendship