Dawn is misty on the banks of the Sangam. Enveloped in a gigantic quiet, the water awaits the pilgrim. Sanatan dharma—dizzyingly varied, incorrigibly plural, welcoming of all, celebratory of difference and eccentricity—reveals its ancient provenance in millions of little rituals performed on the ghats. It’s fairly twinkling with life. There is incense, there are lamps, there is cannabis.