The banks of the Ganges did not flow for the pilgrims tonight. They flowed for one man.
Dashashwamedh Ghat was blanketed in a suffocating web of black-uniformed commandos, state police, and sharp-suited men with concealed weapons under their coats. The public had been pushed back behind heavy barricades, their chants of devotion smothered by the crackle of police radios and the heavythrum of idling SUV engines.
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