As a child, my grandmother told me stories of fierce Nagas and the stampedes they caused as they dashed towards the Ganges, brandishing swords, asserting their right for the first dip with cries of Har Har Mahadeva, as pilgrims ducked for cover. I was fascinated and filled with dread, imagining an unpleasant death at the site of Hinduism's greatest spectacle. Much later, when I had the opportunity to chat, share a cup of tea and politely refuse a chillum did I begin to understand them, the child-like innocence under a tough exterior, part acetic warriors and part rockstars of an ancient faith.