I thought all the saffron-clad were babas, but when I addressed a young sanyasi as ‘baba’ he did not like it. These neo-maharajas are rich, if not as rich as the maharajas of yesteryear. They live in style, the rooms are carpeted or furnished with Italian tiles, the furniture has an aura of royalty, the carpets are so cushioned that your ankles twist as you sink into them. The fragrance of top-of-the line deodorants fill the room. They talk of the latest cars and SUVs in the market, the latest technology in entertainment systems and mobiles. They don’t seem very keen on computers just yet!

At the other end is the throng of millions who think these maharajas are lesser gods who have miraculous powers and that a mere look at these great sages can bring an end to their miseries. In fact, these are the true unsung heroes, whose faith in God and piety makes the festival of Kumbh come alive. They arrive with a sack on their heads, containing their clothing, bedding and ration for one month. They look for 10 sq ft of space in a shanty of their family panda, get some rice straw for a mattress, and start tapasya for moksha. They get up before dawn and have a dip in the January chill three times a day, sing their daily chants, go to the maharaja by 10 to listen to the divine message. They cook themselves, eat one meal a day, pray for as long as they can, feed the needy and distribute alms.

These are poor family men and women who have not renounced their responsibility to society and family. They don’t sport saffron nor do they profess having superpowers. But aren’t they the real sadhus, true to the spirit of Shankaracharya?