From Butler to the World: A Journey Back to Where It All BeganBy

By Anuradha dasi

ISKCON New Vrindaban Communications

Photography: Nikunja Vilasini devi dasi

Sometimes all it takes is one spark—one big inspiration that touches one small person—to set something extraordinary in motion. That is the story of how a seed planted in Butler, Pennsylvania sixty years ago grew into the worldwide Hare Krishna movement. And yesterday, a group of us from New Vrindaban retraced that history, rediscovering both Srila Prabhupada’s first steps in America and the spirit of devotion that continues to ripple outward.

The journey began with one of Srila Prabhupada’s disciples living in New Vrindaban, Kripamaya Das—not the UK Kripamaya, but our Kripamaya: a musician, artist, and creative director. In his late sixties, he returned to study and went on to create an extraordinary Ramayana musical. But perhaps his most defining quality is his single-minded question: How can I make Srila Prabhupada accessible?

It was Kripamaya who approached Jaya Krsna das with the idea of arranging a commemoration in Butler for the sixtieth anniversary of Srila Prabhupada’s arrival in America. With great determination, he began visiting Butler weekly—connecting with radio stations, libraries, and the local YMCA (the historic Cubs Club)—to raise awareness for this milestone.

I had never been to Butler until yesterday. Even the name intrigued me. In my colonial upbringing, a “butler” meant someone who serves—meeting every need, bringing what is required at just the right time. Wasn’t that, in a way, what Srila Prabhupada did here? Serving up the holy name, serving up philosophy, serving up Krishna consciousness to a culture hungry for meaning. The coincidence of the name “Butler” felt like one of Krishna’s little twists in the great theatrical drama of life.

And Butler itself is beautiful: historic stone churches, goldenrod fields buzzing with bees, thoughtful little shops, yoga studios, and a deep sense of community.

Our program began with a simple orientation at the Cubs Club, and then we poured out into the streets for harinam kirtan. The townspeople waved cheerfully, and the sound of the holy names echoed between Butler’s historic buildings. For me, this was the heart of the day: chanting and walking through the very streets that had once received Prabhupada’s footsteps.

Our kirtan led us to Sterling Apartments, where Srila Prabhupada had stayed with Gopal and Sally Agarwal in 1965. We stood outside chanting, beholding the modest building where world history quietly turned. Someone even held high an original Pushkar painting of Prabhupada chanting japa.

Then something magical happened. Little three-year-old Sridama, born in New Vrindaban and already in love with Prabhupada, tugged my hand and insisted, “Let’s go inside.” Before anyone could stop him, he slipped free, followed by Mahatma Das. To everyone’s astonishment, the apartment door opened.

One by one, we found ourselves stepping reverently into the very rooms where Prabhupada had prayed, cooked, and bathed. We saw the narrow staircase, the small bathroom, the heaters that kept him warm, and the space that once held a visiting sadhu from India—who would go on to change the world. It felt surreal, a moment of divine permission, as if Butler itself had welcomed us back.

From there we returned to the ballroom for a formal program: a slideshow and movie about Prabhupada’s time in Butler, offered by Mahatma Prabhu and Nityodita. And then came the prasadam, lovingly prepared by New Vrindaban devotees: spiced rice, vegetable dal, koftas, paneer, banana halava, and sweet rice—many dishes featuring vegetables grown on our land. It felt like we were tasting Prabhupada’s early American cooking.

The décor was equally thoughtful: each table held little globes, placemats printed with world maps, and stones symbolizing “stone soup”—a reminder of Prabhupada’s resourcefulness in cooking with whatever was available.

We called the celebration “From Butler to the World.” Because truly, this was where it all began—where a solitary swami stayed in a small apartment, cooked simple meals, and shared the teachings of Lord Krishna with a few curious Americans. From that humble beginning has grown a global movement, with communities like New Vrindaban standing as a living testament to his vision.

Walking those streets, singing those names, and stepping into that apartment reminded us all: great revolutions often begin in the quietest places. And sometimes, it takes the pure faith of one small child—or one determined disciple—to remind us of the miracle.