“Some look on the soul as amazing, some describe him as amazing, and some hear of him as amazing, while others, even after hearing about him, cannot understand him at all.” – Bhagavad Gita (2.29)
We were meeting for the first time, and he casually dropped a bombshell:
“Was your father working for the Indian Railways?”
Now, there are many ways to introduce yourself to a sannyasi, but having him reveal your dad’s profession before you even say “Haribol” wasn’t on my list.
I pretended not to be shocked. Just minutes earlier, I had been sitting alone in the temple hall, reading my father’s old letters and whispering a prayer for my parents in front of the deities. Coincidence? Or was someone eavesdropping from the spiritual world?
“Someone must have told him,” I thought. So, I decided to confront him in my best polite-devotee voice. “How do you know, Maharaj?” I asked gently.
Hanumanta Preksha Swami, a sprightly 77-year-old disciple of Srila Prabhupada, smiled with that sideways head-tilt saints are mysteriously born with. He softly chanted, “Om bhūr bhuvaḥ svaḥ…” then said matter-of-factly, “I know many things because of my meditation and chanting of Hare Krishna Maha mantra.”
I grinned, and my skeptical mind screamed, “Come on! No way!”
So, I poked a little further. “It’s not possible to know such details. Someone must have told you,” I said matter-of-factly.
He smiled again, reached into his ear, and pulled out his hearing aids.
“I need this at my age,” he said matter-of-factly. “But these are special hearing aids. I not only hear better—I also hear what you’re thinking.”
I gulped, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously. ‘He hears what I’m thinking?’. I immediately tried to stop thinking… but failed miserably. My mind panicked: “Don’t think of gulab jamuns… or envy… or….#@#@!*.” It was hopeless.
This surreal moment reminded me of another mystic encounter. A devotee couple once approached Indradyumna Swami Maharaj asking for blessings to start a family. With a gentle smile and raised palms, Maharaj blessed them:
“May you have beautiful, Krishna conscious twins.”
A few months later, the mataji gave birth to—you guessed it—twins. When they excitedly returned to inform Maharaj, he laughed and said,
“Actually, I was about to bless you with quadruplets but changed my mind last minute.”
Back to my own drama. I asked Ananteshwar Prabhu, “Did you tell Maharaj anything about my father?”
“No,” he said, baffled, “I don’t know anything about your father.”
No one in the community even knew about my family. Apparently, Maharaj did. With no one spilling the beans, I had to accept what I didn’t expect: some devotees aren’t just advanced—they’re WiFi-enabled directly to the Supersoul.
Ananteshwar Prabhu assured me that he too had many such experiences with Maharaj. That was my introduction to Hanumanta Preksha Swami—one of Srila Prabhupada’s remarkable, radar-equipped disciples who has given his entire life to spreading Krishna consciousness under the banner of Lord Chaitanya’s mercy.
He also happens to be the spiritual master of Radhika Raman Prabhu, one of the greatest scholars in our movement. As a teenager, Radhika Raman got accepted into Oxford University and later earned his PhD there, breaking records and stereotypes. Naturally, I’d always wanted to meet the spiritual guide behind such brilliance. But this? This was the most dramatic introduction I could have imagined.
When I finally met Maharaj, he appeared like any other humble sadhu—small shoulder bag, bead bag always in hand, and not a trace of self-importance. I later learned: these two bags are all he owns while traveling.
I watched him dance with childlike joy during guru-puja—with only three devotees in a massive temple hall—and then walk up to me, offering warm words like a new bhakta greeting a guest. But here was one of the senior-most leaders in our movement, treating someone the age of his son with the respect and warmth we usually reserve for a visiting sannyasi. It felt incongruent—almost uncomfortable—but for Maharaj, it seemed completely natural to offer others such sincere respect. I remembered Mark Twain’s words, “The truly great are those who make others feel great in their presence.” He was so humble, I had to check twice if he wasn’t the temple cleaner pretending to be a guru.
Later, during the Srimad Bhagavatam class given by a young devotee, Maharaj sat right in front, attentively listening and participating like any ordinary devotee – not saying a word, soaking in the nectar. He rushed to the morning arati like a newly-joined bhakta, living simply, chanting deeply, and completely absorbed in the Holy Name and scripture.
When I finally got time with him, I asked about renunciation, scripture, and life. His answers were a fusion of Vedic wisdom, modern psychology, science, history, Bhaktivinoda Thakur, Shakespeare, and CNN headlines—wrapped in humility. Then he showed me his filmmaking room. Turns out, Maharaj is also a cinematographer who’s directed five devotional films.
Who needs Netflix when you’ve got Srila Prabhupada’s devotees—full of miracles, mysteries, and media skills?
He gifted me his deeply-researched book on Upadeshamrita and spoke extensively on a range of topics – from astrology to human relationships. I left sobered, impressed, and grateful—grateful that our ISKCON movement has such unassuming, saintly giants who live without seeking name or fame.
During another kirtan, I saw Maharaj dancing with a young brahmachari—Patita Pavana Prabhu, a 28-year-old American who’s been in the ashram for seven years. It felt like Maharaj was silently passing the baton to the next generation.
Curious, I got to know Patita Pavana’s story. In university, someone handed him a Bhagavad-gita. It was love at first read. He found answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask. Since then, he’s been serving—cooking, cleaning, preaching—with a smile that could make a stone melt.
I told him he had attracted my heart in a very special way and I wished to serve him in some tangible form. He humbly said, “My atheistic mother made me a devotee.”
Wait—what?
He explained: in 1996, while she was pregnant, someone gave her an Indian cookbook—by Kurma Dasa. The book said to chant Hare Krishna while cooking for better taste. She loved cooking, so she stirred pots while softly chanting the maha-mantra. She didn’t believe in Krishna, but Krishna believed in her.
And so, Patrick Knight was born—steeped in unconscious bhakti.
Twenty-two years later, he found the devotees and took to chanting Hare Krishna like a fish returning to water.
Srila Prabhupada once said, “Krishna consciousness is not something you join—it’s something you awaken to.”
His mother now jokes, “I’m the reason you became a devotee—I chanted while you were in my womb!”
Even her husband would pop into the kitchen and check on her japa while she cooked. Together, unknowingly, they laid the foundation for a pure devotee.
I asked Patita Pavana what he wanted from life. He said simply, “Blessings.” I realized—the greater the devotee, the smaller he feels. Meanwhile, the rest of us are still busy trying to look big… on Instagram.
Watching Maharaj and Patita Pavana Prabhu chant and dance together, I saw a timeless truth: Krishna is orchestrating everything. The lives of these devotees are not just stories—they’re divine choreography.
And being with them, I realized sometimes we meet people and instantly feel: this is not the first time. Our souls remember what our minds have forgotten.
Otherwise, how do you explain Sarvabhauma Prabhu?
He’s 78, has Parkinson’s, and still wobbles his way to mangal arati every morning—and stays for five more hours for the full Srimad Bhagavatam class. Then he quietly distributes Srila Prabhupada’s books. No Facebook updates. No applause. Just relentless, radiant sadhana. As Radhanath Swami said,
“When the heart is pure, even silence becomes a conversation with God.”
He is in union with God and is therefore at peace, regardless of his external situation.
These are the true saints. They don’t wear halos; they wear bead bags and quietly chant in the back of the temple. They don’t shout their worth—they whisper love and vanish into service. They’re like Wi-Fi—silent, invisible, but you feel connected when they’re around.”
These devotees have given me immense faith in Krishna consciousness—not just as a philosophy, but as a living, breathing miracle that Srila Prabhupada planted, and Krishna continues to water.
I left humbled, grateful, and thinking,
“Saints are not extraordinary people—they are ordinary people with extraordinary faith.”
One morning before I left for Austin, I saw Sarvabhauma Prabhu sitting alone in the temple. I offered respects from afar. I didn’t want to disturb his quiet union with Krishna.
“Even a moment’s association with a pure devotee can give all perfection.”
— Chaitanya Charitamrita, Madhya 22.54
