A journey through the Bhagavatam, pilgrimage, devotion and the quiet discovery of a presence that never seemed far away
My journey with Krishna did not begin in Vrindavan.
It did not begin with the Bhagavad Gita.
In many ways, it began with curiosity.
A curiosity that deepened during a visit to Assam, particularly the beautiful island of Majuli. Through the legacy of Srimanta Sankardev, I encountered a living culture shaped by the Bhagavatam. For the first time, I witnessed communities where Krishna was not merely discussed but sung, enacted, celebrated and remembered every day.
Until then, I knew Krishna largely through the Bhagavad Gita. I knew Krishna the teacher, the guide and the charioteer.
But who was Krishna the child?
Who was Krishna the friend of Sudama, the beloved of Vrindavan, the playful cowherd of Gokul?
The answers, I realised, were not in the Gita.
They were in the Bhagavatam.
That search led me to Swami Tapasyananda’s translation of the Srimad Bhagavatam. What started as reading soon became a pilgrimage of its own.
I began reading the Bhagavatam on my birthday, 22 May 2024.
Nearly a year later, on 26 May 2025, I completed it.
Over thirty thousand verses.
Months of steady reading.
Many pauses.
Many moments of wonder.
Many moments of perseverance.
When I finally turned the last page, it felt less like completing a book and more like completing a sacred journey.
The Bhagavatam brought Krishna alive for me.
Not as a distant deity.
Not as a historical figure.
But as a living presence.
Interestingly, completing the Bhagavatam did not feel like an ending.
It felt like a beginning.
Soon after, I found myself visiting places associated with Krishna and his devotees.
At Mayapur, the headquarters of ISKCON, I experienced the devotion inspired by Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu. Watching thousands gather around a single name, a single remembrance, was deeply moving.
Later, in Germany, I visited the Simhachalam Temple and experienced the presence of Lord Narasimha far away from India. It was beautiful to witness devotees chanting and celebrating with the same love and sincerity across continents. It reminded me that devotion transcends geography.
Back in India, I watched Mahavatar Narasimha. Stories and symbols that I had encountered in scripture began appearing through cinema and cultural expression, bringing familiar themes to life in a different way.
Then came Govardhan Ecovillage, a place that beautifully combines devotion, sustainability and community.
And eventually, one of the most cherished pilgrimages of all.
Vrindavan.
Mathura.
Govardhan.
Gokul.
Nandgaon.
Barsana.
Places I had lived with for months through the Bhagavatam suddenly became real landscapes beneath my feet.
The stories acquired geography.
The verses acquired form.
The names acquired presence.
The journey continued through listening as well.
I completed the forty-part discourse series on the Bhagavatam by Sri Chaganti Koteswara Rao Garu. His explanations opened layers of meaning that I had previously missed.
Today, I find myself immersed in Narayaneeyam, the remarkable work of Melpathur Narayana Bhattathiri, who condensed the essence of the Bhagavatam into one hundred devotional compositions offered over one hundred days.
Each teacher illuminates a different facet.
Each text reveals a different beauty.
Yet they all seem to point towards the same truth.
Some of the most meaningful moments, however, were not found in books or temples.
They appeared in ordinary life.
During a particularly difficult period when we were asked to vacate our apartment, I found myself carrying uncertainty and concern.
One night, Krishna appeared in a dream.
What matters to me is not whether such experiences can be explained.
What matters is the clarity that followed.
The next morning, I knew exactly how to write the message that needed to be written. The words came with an honesty and balance that reflected the realities of our situation.
The challenge did not disappear overnight.
But my anxiety did.
It gave way to trust.
And sometimes that is miracle enough.
Looking back, I realise that this journey did not begin exclusively with Krishna.
There was Hanuman.
There was Ganesha.
There was Narasimha.
There was Guruvayurappan.
There was Balaji.
There was Kashi Vishwanath.
Different names.
Different forms.
Different traditions.
Yet the deeper one travels, the harder it becomes to focus on the differences.
One begins to notice the same consciousness shining through every form.
The same presence.
The same awareness.
The same divine reality.
Krishna simply became one of the most beautiful doorways through which I encountered it.
When I began this journey, I was looking for stories.
Today, I find myself looking for Krishna.
And strangely, the more I look, the less confined he appears to any particular temple, scripture or image.
He appears in a verse.
In a kirtan.
In a conversation.
In a dream.
In a moment of uncertainty.
In a moment of gratitude.
Perhaps that is the greatest gift this journey has offered me.
Not merely the privilege of visiting sacred places.
Not merely the satisfaction of completing sacred texts.
But the growing recognition that Krishna is never very far away.
Wherever I go, in some form or another, I seem to find him.
Or perhaps,
he keeps finding me.
Hare Krsna 🙏