Fatal Faith

Temple stampedes are not accidents but failures of planning, of governance and institutional memory. India has seen far too many of them. The recent temple stampede in Goa, where seven persons were crushed to death and more than 70 injured, joins a grim list of mega devotional celebrations that all too easily have turned into death traps.

A scuffle apparently broke out between groups of dhonds, the barefoot devotees of the goddess. A bamboo stick brushed an overhead electric wire, sparks flew and panic spread fever-like among the throng as tens of thousands of devotees surged along a narrow, steep incline towards the temple. The sacred annual jatra descended into carnage. It was entirely predictable and entirely avoidable given that the geography of Shirgaon’s Lairai Devi temple is well known: a narrow 400-metre stretch, steep and slippery, that serves as the main access route for over 1.5 lakh attendees.

The event draws pilgrims from Goa, Maharashtra, and Karnataka every year. Yet, there was no meaningful crowd control. Police claimed they had set up ropes to divide the dhonds and the general public. But video footage and eyewitness accounts reveal what those in power prefer to ignore: multiple queues, unchecked jostling and no trained personnel to intervene when tempers flared.

In 2013, nearly 115 people died during the Kumbh Mela in Allahabad. In 2008, 224 were killed at the Chamunda Devi temple in Jodhpur. Earlier, this year, 30 devotees died during the stampede at the ‘Maha Kumbh’ in Prayagraj. Each time, officials promise inquiries. Each time, they fail to act on lessons learned.

Goa’s Chief Minister Pramod Sawant announced a magisterial inquiry but seemed more interested in suggesting ‘provocation’ than admitting institutional failure. Such evasions are as dangerous as the failures they obscure. Faith-based gatherings are a fixture of Indian life. Their scale is no secret. But year after year, the state is caught flat-footed. If the government can manage cricket stadiums and G20 summits with military efficiency, why can’t it do the same for a religious gathering it knows will draw a massive crowd?

The answer lies in a lethal mix of complacency, political cowardice and religious tokenism. No one wants to antagonise religious organisers or question sacred rituals, even when they defy logic or endanger lives. Planning becomes perfunctory. Responsibility is diffused. And when disaster strikes, all that follows is finger-pointing, condolences and inquiries that vanish into the bureaucratic ether.

What India needs is not more rituals, but more rigour. The country must develop enforceable national protocols for crowd control at large gatherings, religious or otherwise. That means trained personnel, digital monitoring of crowd density, physical barriers and staggered access routes. It means removing responsibility from local police alone and placing it with specialised disaster-prevention units with real authority. And it means holding officials and organisers accountable when they fail.

India must stop blaming chaos on the gods and start blaming it where it belongs: on the living.