Meet Khushal Luniya – A Young Tech Enthusiast, AI Operations Expert, Graphic Designer, and Desk Editor at Luniya Times News. Known for his Brilliance and Creativity, Khushal Luniya has already mastered HTML and CSS. His deep passion for Coding, Artificial Intelligence, and Design is driving him to create impactful digital experiences. With a unique blend of technical skill and artistic vision, Khushal Luniya is truly a rising star in the tech and Media World.
The Jagannath Rath Yatra in Puri isn’t just another festival.
It’s more like the spiritual Olympics—everyone shows up, young and old, rich and broke, all packed together like sardines. The whole city transforms, honestly. Hotels are booked solid, street vendors make a killing, and you can barely hear yourself think over the chanting and drumbeats. It’s the one time of year when Puri feels like the center of the universe, at least for those who believe.
People plan for this months in advance. You’ve got families saving up, groups traveling in battered buses across states, and folks who’ve made it their yearly pilgrimage since before smartphones were a thing. It’s not just about seeing the deities—Lord Jagannath, Balabhadra, and Subhadra—perched high on those wildly decorated wooden chariots. It’s about being swept up in something bigger, something ancient and electric and, well, kind of magical. If you’ve ever seen that sea of people pulling the ropes, you know what I mean. You’d feel goosebumps too.
But this year, June 29, 2025, things went sideways fast. What’s supposed to be a celebration of faith turned into a straight-up nightmare. Three people dead, over fifty injured—it’s not just a headline; it’s lives shattered, families broken, and a city left reeling.
How Did It Go So Wrong?
Let’s paint the picture. The clock’s barely struck 4:30 AM. Most people would still be in bed, but here? The streets are already heaving. The chariots lumber up near Gundicha Temple, their wheels creaking like something out of a myth, and the crowd surges forward. You can practically taste the anticipation in the air—everyone straining for that once-a-year glimpse of the gods.
But here’s the thing: the crowd’s not just big, it’s a living, breathing beast. And beasts can get out of control. Someone at the back decides they can’t wait another minute, starts pushing forward. A ripple turns into a wave. Suddenly, you’ve got people tripping, falling, getting trampled. Panic spreads faster than a WhatsApp rumor.
“One big push from behind, and suddenly everyone’s on the ground. It went from excitement to terror in, like, two seconds,” some poor devotee said, probably still shaking as he told reporters.
Turns out, the whole mess was sparked by something so stupid it hurts—a truck unloading wooden logs nearby. The noise freaked people out, some thought there was a threat, and boom, full-blown chaos. It’s like a game of telephone, but with panic instead of gossip.
The Real Cost—Names, Not Numbers
It’s easy to talk numbers—three dead, fifty injured. But these weren’t just statistics. They were people with stories, dreams, and families waiting for them to come home.
- Prabhati Das from Khurda—she’d been coming for years, probably knew every shortcut in Puri by heart.
- Basanti Sahu from Bolagarh—her neighbors say she never missed a Yatra, always came back with stories and prasad for everyone.
- Premakant Mohanty, 70, from Khurda—imagine seeing this festival change over decades, only for it to end like this for him.
And then there’s the injured. Some have bruises; others ended up with broken bones, concussions, or worse. Hospitals in Puri aren’t exactly built to handle a war zone, but that’s what it looked like—doctors stitching up wounds, families lined up in corridors, everyone desperate for news.
Where Did It All Break Down?
Let’s get real about the crowd management—or, honestly, the lack of it. Plenty of volunteers and police near the deities, sure. But everywhere else? It was a free-for-all. People talk about “barricades” and “controlled entry,” but what’s the use if they’re only at the front? The middle and back of the crowd were basically left to their own devices—a recipe for disaster if there ever was one.
“Middle of the crowd? No control at all. Security was all up front, and everywhere else was a madhouse,” a shopkeeper said, probably still angry.
Another regular—he’s been coming for a decade—said it felt like nobody had a clue what was happening. “No coordination,” he said. “People were shouting at each other, not even the guys with walkie-talkies seemed to know what to do.”
Authorities love to talk tech—drones, apps, loudspeakers. Sounds impressive, right? But none of it helped when things got ugly. Announcements were garbled or too soft; by the time anyone realized what was happening, it was already too late. It’s one thing to watch a crowd from a drone; it’s another to actually manage it on the ground, in real time, when panic takes hold.
Read More: 🇮🇳 India Strongly Rejects Pakistan’s Accusation Over Waziristan Attack
The Fallout—And the Big Questions
Now, people are demanding answers. And not in that polite, let’s-form-a-committee way. They’re angry, and honestly, who can blame them? If a festival that’s been running for centuries can’t keep people safe in 2025, what hope is there for any big gathering?
You gotta wonder—will anything actually change? Or will it be the same story next year? Some official promising “improved protocols,” maybe a few extra barricades, and everyone just hoping for the best. Meanwhile, families are left picking up the pieces, and the city’s left with a scar that’s not going to heal any time soon.
The Jagannath Rath Yatra is supposed to be about faith and joy, not fear and tragedy. But until organizers get real about crowd control—not just on paper, but on the ground—this kind of heartbreak is always lurking around the corner. Because at the end of the day, devotion shouldn’t cost you your life. And if it does, something’s gone seriously wrong.
Click Here to Join our WhatsApp Group for Latest News
Donate Us
Your support inspires us to do better work for the society.
