By Indradyumna Swami
|September 05, 2026|
Dearest Srila Prabhupada,
My Lord and Master! Please accept my most humble obeisances at your lotus feet.
For many years now, I have carried with me a treasured photograph in which I am walking behind you, mrdanga in hand, in Geneva, Switzerland, in 1974. When I look at the photo, I rarely notice myself; instead, my eyes are drawn to you. You are walking with such purpose and determination, every step carrying your compassion for the suffering souls of this world.
More than fifty years have passed since the photo was taken. Much has changed. The young disciple has grown old. The world has become something none of us could have envisioned. But whenever I look at that photo, I remember that one thing stays the same: there remains in my heart a deep desire to always walk behind you. And each time I see that photo, I pray:
“Srila Prabhupada, may my travels always remain a continuation of your own journey throughout the world. Wherever I go today, let me walk where you would have walked, and let me speak what you would have spoken.”
Wherever my service to you has taken me, Srila Prabhupada, I have discovered the same wonderful truth: somehow, you are always there before I arrive. A young man opens one of your books in France, and you are already speaking to him through your purports. A woman begins chanting her first rounds in South Africa, and you are present as she chants the same holy names you carried across the ocean to America in 1965. A child dances in kirtan on the Baltic Sea coast of Poland, and in his joyful steps, we see the future you envisioned long before it came to pass. A lonely seeker sits beside Mother Ganga in Rishikesh, wondering whether life has any meaning. The sound of kirtan draws him to our festival, where he finds his answer in your teachings.
How can this be? Over the years, I have often reflected on this mystery. Perhaps it is because pure devotees appear to travel merely from place to place, while in fact their real journey is from one heart to another.
And because your heart is forever united with the desire of Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu to deliver the fallen souls, your journey never ends.
Time and again, I have personally witnessed the miraculous power of your mercy transforming people’s lives.
This summer, during our Festival of India tour along the Baltic Sea coast of Poland, a gentleman approached me holding a newly purchased copy of your Bhagavad-gita As It Is.
“Could you please sign this?” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
Then he told me his story.
“Twenty years ago, I attended one of your festivals and bought a copy of this book. You signed it for me, and from that day on, my life was never the same. The explanations of Bhaktivedanta Swami opened an entirely new world to me. Eventually, I left my job and traveled throughout India, visiting many holy places and seeing them through the teachings of the Bhagavad-gita.”
His story was already remarkable, but then it took an unexpected turn: “When I returned home, I continued reading it every day. Over the years, it became worn, its pages tattered from use. It was my constant companion. Then, just last week, while traveling by train to the coast, one of my bags was stolen, with my Bhagavad-gita inside.”
His voice grew heavy.
“I was devastated. It felt as though I had lost one of my closest friends. I didn’t know where I could get another copy. I didn’t know whether there were still Hare Krishna festivals in Poland. But yesterday, I was sitting alone on the beach, lamenting my loss, when suddenly I heard the sound of familiar singing. I looked up and saw your party passing by. I could hardly believe my eyes!”
The excitement of that moment still shone in his eyes as he said, “One of the ladies in your group handed me an invitation to the festival. I asked her if it would be possible to buy another Bhagavad-gita there. When she said yes, I felt such relief. Then I asked one more question: Will the monk who gives the lecture and signs the books be there? When she told me that you would be here, I was so overwhelmed that I hardly slept last night.”
“Without this Bhagavad-gita,” he concluded, gently placing his hand on the book, “my life has no meaning.”
As I signed his new copy, I silently offered my gratitude to you, Srila Prabhupada. Once again, I witnessed the inconceivable potency of your books. Long after your physical departure, they continue to awaken faith, transform lives, and bring searching souls home to Krishna.
But, Srila Prabhupada, following in your footsteps has not always been easy. At times, it has led me through trials that have only deepened my dependence upon you and the Lord.
Yet you prepared us for such trials. In your purport to Caitanya-caritamrita, Adi-lila 17.144, you wrote:
“In pushing on our sankirtana movement of Krishna consciousness, we might have to face difficult days, but we should always follow in the footsteps of Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu and do the needful according to the time and circumstances.”
Last year, I faced difficult days beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Years after you fearlessly carried Krishna consciousness into the Soviet Union, I endeavored to follow in your footsteps by regularly visiting Russia for decades. After a long absence, I finally returned last September, but soon after my arrival, I was arrested by the FSB, the successor to the KGB. I was thrown into jail for the supposed offense of preaching your message.
The reality of imprisonment quickly set in. My japa beads were confiscated. My kanthi-mala was removed. Even my sacred thread was taken. For days, I lay on the cold, bare floor of a cell without a blanket. Harsh lights burned overhead without respite, blurring the passage of time as I waited to be brought to trial.
Without my beads, I chanted my japa by keeping count of the mantras on my fingers. One of the jail guards quietly observed me for some time before finally approaching me. He told me that he was struck by the peace and composure he saw in me despite my circumstances. I explained that whatever inner calm he perceived came from my taking shelter of Krishna’s holy names.
Twice, he went out of his way to help me. On one occasion, he allowed me to take a bucket bath in the toilet room, my only bath during those days. On another occasion, he came to me at midnight with a bottle of water, concerned that I had not been given anything to drink. Each time, he used those private moments to ask me more about my faith.
Many days later, I finally went to trial. The judge ruled that I was to be released, but I was barred from returning to Russia for five years. The prosecution appeared stunned that the judge had let me off so lightly. As I was leaving the jail, the same guard quietly approached me.
“Could you give me a book about your spiritual tradition?” he whispered.
His request touched me deeply. With genuine regret, I explained that I had nothing to give him; everything had been taken from me.
Then, in one of those extraordinary arrangements that only you could orchestrate, my disciples met me outside the jail, one of them carrying a copy of my memoir, Adventures of a Travelling Monk. Quietly, so no one would notice, I slipped it into the guard’s hands. He, in turn, tucked it inside his uniform. He briefly met my gaze and said softly, “I am very grateful.”
As I walked away, the meaning of what had just happened became clear to me. They had confiscated my japa beads, my kanthi-mala, and my sacred thread, but they could not imprison your mercy. Somehow, in that most unlikely of places, your mercy had touched the heart of a Russian jail guard and had awakened within him a desire to know more about Krishna consciousness.
Once again, Srila Prabhupada, you had shown me that your preaching knows no boundaries. It reaches across continents, beyond cultures, and even through prison walls.
People often ask me why I continue to travel in the twilight of my life. The answer has always been very simple: if, somewhere along the way, your mission moves forward by even the smallest measure, then every step I take has found its purpose. So, until you decide that my journey is complete, my only desire is to keep walking behind you, trusting that you will always lead me where I am most needed.
But, Srila Prabhupada, I cannot ignore the passage of time. Age has gradually slowed my steps. The journeys are more demanding. Recovery takes longer. These changes gently remind me that I will not remain in this world forever. Yet with that awareness comes an ever-deepening gratitude for the priceless gift of serving you.
And gratitude has its own energy. It never says, “Enough.” Instead, it whispers to me, “Just one more lecture. Just one more festival. Just one more town. Just one more soul.”
Srila Prabhupada, in these waning years, if this voice can still glorify Krishna, let it speak. If these feet can still carry me onward in your service, let them walk. If these hands can still offer one of your books to another searching soul, let them do so. Let whatever remains of this life belong entirely to you.
And if I may, Srila Prabhupada, let me place one final prayer at your lotus feet. Should the day come when you kindly call me to continue serving you in the spiritual world, I pray that I may arrive there in the same way that I began my journey with you in this life: still carrying my mrdanga, still looking to you for my next instruction, still walking behind you, and still wondering how someone as insignificant as me could have ever received such causeless mercy from you.
Your servant,
Indradyumna Swami