Every year, as the post-monsoon haze settles over the Indo-Gangetic plain, a remarkable transformation occurs across India, specifically in the state of Bihar. While multi-billion dollar state-led initiatives like the Namami Gange (National Mission for Clean Ganga River) often navigate complex bureaucratic hurdles, an ancient, decentralised force takes over the riverbanks, ponds, and local lakes. This is the lead-up to Chhath Puja.
In a matter of days, millions of volunteers mobilise to clean miles of neglected water bodies. When we observe that these citizens bypass government contracts and tenders, we are not describing an illegal subversion of law, but rather a robust, grassroots alternative to state-led maintenance. Instead of waiting for municipal authorities to award cleaning contracts to private firms, a process often fraught with delays and oversight issues, the community treats the restoration of the water as a collective, sacred obligation.
Chhath reveals how dense religious networks can temporarily overcome collective action barriers that bureaucratic governance struggles with in settings where public infrastructure remains fragile. Similar patterns appear elsewhere: from mosque-led clean-ups in Indonesia to church-based water protection initiatives in parts of Africa, religious networks often organise environmental care where public systems are weak. This rapid mobilisation reveals an overlooked source of coordinated environmental effort.
The intellectual foundations of Chhath are rooted in a form of Vedic Naturalism that predates the medieval shift toward temple-centric iconography. At its core is the ancient belief that the Sun is the “Soul of the Universe” (Surya Atma Jagatasthushashcha). This is a theological recognition of the Sun as the primary driver of all biological and ecological cycles, making the ritual a profound expression of gratitude toward nature.
The ritual treats the environment as a tangible deity rather than an abstract resource. Historically, this is supported by the Rig Veda and the Bhavishya Purana, which emphasise the necessity of solar energy and water for planetary equilibrium. Mythologically, the ritual is tied to Karna, the legendary King of Anga (modern-day Munger, Bihar), who performed these rites while standing in the river.
Unlike many institutionalised religions, Chhath is unmediated by a priestly class. This lack of hierarchy creates a direct relationship between the devotee and the ecosystem. The environment becomes the “Open Temple,” turning the ritual into a direct act of care for the river.
In environmental economics, the “free rider” problem suggests that individuals seldom contribute to a public good if they can enjoy it without personal effort. In regions facing significant infrastructural challenges, bureaucratic governance often struggles with enforcement and community participation. However, Chhath Puja subverts this logic through the tradition of Shramdaan (voluntary labour).
In India, cleaning the path to a water body is considered a form of religious merit. This generates strong networks of religious obligation. While the festival is centrally led by women devotees known as Vratins, it involves the active participation of men and youth who undertake the heavy labour of clearing silt and debris.
Because the ritual belongs to the people rather than a formal institution, it creates a sense of radical ownership. The riverbank is not viewed as government property; it is a sanctuary that the community is personally responsible for preparing. The social pressure to maintain ritual purity acts as a more powerful enforcement mechanism than any environmental fine.
A defining merit of Chhath is its matriarchal core. The Vratins, mostly women although the number of male devotees is significant, act as the spiritual and organisational heads of the household during the four-day fast. It aligns with ecofeminist arguments that women often maintain a reciprocal relationship with nature due to their historical roles in subsistence and care.
The Vratins ensure the adherence to a circular economy, mandating the use of biodegradable materials like Supa (bamboo baskets) and seasonal, local produce. This rejects the extract-and-discard mentality of modern consumerism in favour of a worship-and-preserve cycle. By centring the community as the custodians of the river, Chhath ensures that care for the river becomes a domestic and communal priority.
The most intellectually demanding aspect of Chhath is the “Toxic Paradox.” In urban centres, devotees perform rituals in waters that are often biologically dead. During recent seasons, images of devotees in Delhi standing amidst thick layers of toxic white foam on the Yamuna River became a global symbol of this crisis.
This raises a critical question: why does profound devotion coexist with extreme toxicity? Ritual purification may mask structural injustice. The act of cleaning a ghat for four days provides a temporary reprieve from a year-round ecological crisis. While religious social capital can remove physical silt, it cannot filter out the heavy metals and untreated sewage flowing from inadequate municipal infrastructure.
In Patna, despite the Namami Gange mission’s massive investments exceeding 3,900 crore rupees (approx. £319 million), reports indicate that the city’s sewage treatment infrastructure remains critically underpowered. A 2025 analysis by PRS Legislative Research found that while projects were sanctioned, only about 52 per cent of the targeted sewage treatment capacity had been achieved nationwide, with fund utilisation across the mission reaching only 69 per cent by early 2025.
This gap in execution leads to the continued discharge of untreated waste into sacred waters, a reality highlighted by the fact that several plants in Bihar remain non-functional despite high faecal coliform levels.
The devotion of the devotees highlights the limitations of community action. Sacredness does not always translate into year-round political activism because the ritual offers a seasonal escape rather than a structural challenge to the industrial status quo. The Namami Gange programme has invested heavily in infrastructure, yet it often lacks the grassroots buy-in that Chhath generates effortlessly.
During the festival, the community manages crowd control and waste diversion with a precision that municipal bodies often find difficult to replicate. However, this community-led governance has clear limits. It is a high-intensity, low-frequency event. Once the morning offering is complete, the sacred urgency often dissipates, and the river returns to being a serviceable resource for waste disposal.
This suggests that religion can mobilise labour, but cannot replace a functioning administrative framework. Religious mobilisation may function as a rarely examined driver of coordinated environmental effort. Yet it requires a bridge to long-term policy to achieve lasting ecological health.
Chhath remains a subaltern festival, famously egalitarian, where the rigid hierarchies of caste and class temporarily dissolve in the water. This “Environmentalism of the Poor” is now a global phenomenon. From the Thames in London to backyard pools in New Jersey, the Bihari diaspora maintains this portable ecology. This transnationalism proves that the core ethic of gratitude toward the elements can survive migration.
Chhath Puja illustrates what a “Green Faith” movement can look like in practice, and where its limits lie. It suggests that religion need not be an obstacle to environmentalism; indeed, it can function as a significant driver of collective action. Yet sacredness must extend beyond seasonal ritual if it is to confront the structural realities of industrial pollution.
Global climate policy must treat communities not as targets, but as partners in conservation. This case suggests that while religious social capital can mobilise large-scale participation, lasting ecological restoration depends on sustained institutional reform. Sacred urgency must evolve into durable ecological accountability.
Photo by Amit Rai
Note: This article gives the views of the author, not the position of LSE Religion and Global Society nor the London School of Economics and Political Science.
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