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In Racitambara’s great desire to find the absolute truth, she traveled throughout Europe, Canada, and the United States studying different religions. Finally, she gave herself fully to God, knowing He would surely help her.

Racitambara Devi Dasi: I was 22 and it was November 17, 1972 when I left home with only the clothes on my back and the prayer, “Please, God, help me find You.” After about two hours of praying and walking in Vancouver, Canada, I was standing on the corner of Georgia and Granville when Bhakta John said, “Hey, little lady, would you like some incense?” I said, “No, thank you, I’m looking for God.” He said, “Well, you’ve found Him!” He opened the Bhagavad-gita and showed me the picture of Gopal with His arm around a calf and said, “God is a blue boy with a flute.” I said, “Man, you’re crazy. I’ve studied many different religions, but no one’s told me God is a blue boy with a flute!” He opened to Srila Prabhupada’s picture and said, “This is our spiritual master and he believes it.” I looked at Srila Prabhupada’s picture and thought, “This is the wisest, most all-knowing person in the world. If he believes it, it must be true.” I bought a Bhagavad-gita, wandered down the street, and met a friend who let me stay with her.

After that I met devotees every day – Bhakta John who became Caitanya Simha Dasa and Bhakta Roger who became Riddha Dasa – and each day they gave me a gift. I started attending the Sunday feasts and then moved into the temple. I never left, but later married Caitanya Simha. After a short time we moved to Los Angeles.

In December ’73 Srila Prabhupada arrived at the L.A. airport greeted by a huge kirtan. I was at the back of the crowd with two youngish businessmen behind me, also excitedly looking on. Suddenly there was Srila Prabhupada, and when I offered my obeisances it was like a tidal wave welled up from my inner being and poured out and I cried and cried. It was so purifying. When I finally stood I saw the two businessmen had tears pouring down their faces, too.

One of my main services was to make the cookies Srila Prabhupada gave to the children after class. We called them “Prabhupada cookies,” and they were made of butter, flour, and sugar in a simple ratio. I wouldn’t have dreamed of making anything but these type of cookies. I would run home after mangala-arati, make the cookies, arrange them neatly on a tray, and bring them in time for guru-puja and place them behind Prabhupada’s vyasasana.

Once, Prabhupada was coming to Los Angeles from Hawaii. Ramesvara Prabhu, our GBC, told us that Srila Prabhupada was gravely ill and wouldn’t be coming to the temple to see the Deities. “Are there any questions?” he asked. I said, “Should I make the cookies?” In front of two devotees, Ramesvara said, “Stupid woman! I just said how sick Prabhupada is and how he’s not coming to the temple, and she wants to know if he’s going to give cookies to the children!” I was so shocked by what he said that I wanted to be like Sita and let the earth open and swallow me. I slinked home, crying, and my husband, trying to make me feel better, said, “Service is absolute. You should make the cookies, and later you can offer them to a picture of Srila Prabhupada and give them to the children in the playground.” I made the cookies, and the next morning Prabhupada, supported by two devotees, came into the temple room and offered his obeisances before each of the three altars. He took caranamrita and said, “There must be guru-puja.” He was so weak he had trouble getting onto the Vyasasana. After guru-puja he said, “There must be class.” He could hardly hold himself up, and even though he was speaking into the microphone, it was hard to hear him because he was so weak. Still, he gave a short class. After the class the devotees wanted him to return to his room, but Prabhupada said, “No, where are the cookies? The children are waiting for cookies.” Ramesvara said, “Cookies!” in an odd voice, and I said, “I have the cookies!” I was so pleased that I had done my service and I later thanked my husband for inspiring me.

Once, when I found a cow cookie cutter, I thought, “How wonderful! Srila Prabhupada will remember the Vrindavan cows!” I made beautifully decorated cow-shaped cookies and took them to Srila Prabhupada. Palika offered the cookies to Prabhupada, and later told me, “Prabhupada said, ‘They think I will eat the cow?’” I threw the cow cookie cutter away.

Once, I made carob-mint ice cream for Srila Prabhupada. I gave it to Prabhupada’s servant and said, “Please, can you take it to Srila Prabhupada?” He said, “Prabhupada doesn’t eat carob.” I said, “I worked so hard to make this. Please!” I was almost crying. “All right,” he said, I’ll take it in.” The servant came back a few minutes later and said, “Do you have more of that ice cream? Prabhupada ate the whole bowl and would like another.”

For the 4 o’clock offering I used to cut the grapes in half and take the seeds out. Once Prabhupada sampled the offering and said, “Tell the cook that sometimes Krishna likes to suck on the seeds. She doesn’t always have to take the seeds out of the grapes.”

Srila Prabhupada’s window overlooked an alleyway that was quite scary at night. It was the time of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., and I was always afraid someone would take a shot at Prabhupada. I’d get up about 1 a.m. and chant my rounds in the alleyway looking up at him. He was always before me. His window would be open and I’d hear him either chanting his rounds or translating. I felt I was somehow protecting him. Of course, what could I have done?

In July ’76, Prabhupada told my husband, “We’ve just purchased a thirteen-story building in New York. I want you to go and rewire, replumb, reorganize, and paint it. When do you think it can be ready?”

My husband calculated and was about to say they could have it ready in a year when Prabhupada smiled and said, “I am scheduled to be in New York in six weeks.” My husband came home and said, “Pack up – we’re on the first plane to New York in the morning.” I never went back to Los Angeles.

Prabhupada said something and we did it. I don’t remember sleeping for six weeks. I painted, and my husband was everywhere at once with work crews ripping this and doing that. It was a wonderful marathon, and six weeks later the temple was finished. It was astounding. When Srila Prabhupada’s car drove up, the devotees lined the walkway from the road to the front door, each with a gift for him. My husband, who’d been doing last minute things, came running out and saw that everybody had a gift but him. He ran back in, found an old blackened rose, and came out again. Srila Prabhupada glided along wonderfully slow and regally with his head held high, looking at the temple. Devotees gave him garlands, chadars, fruit, flowers, and Prabhupada kept handing them to his servant. When he was in front of my husband, Srila Prabhupada stopped, waited, and put his right hand out like he was expecting something. By now, my husband had hidden the blackened rose behind his back, thinking it unworthy of being offered, but now he slowly brought it out and put it in Srila Prabhupada’s hand. Prabhupada wrapped his two hands around the rose and said, “Thank you very much.” Prabhupada was pleased with everything in the temple.

In Juhu, Srila Prabhupada asked my three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, “Would you like to ride in my car?” It was like one child with a wonderful idea speaking to another. My daughter looked at me for permission, and then said, “Yes, Srila Prabhupada.” She got in the back with Srila Prabhupada and they drove to his apartment. That happened every day for two weeks, and each time it was like a brand new idea, child to child.

In early ’77, when Prabhupada came to Juhu for the last time, I was at the back of the crowd thinking, “Oh, Srila Prabhupada, you have so many disciples. I’m also your disciple, but do you know me?” Srila Prabhupada got out of his car and instead of sweeping into the building as we expected, he stopped, looked over the crowd, and saw me. He looked deep into my eyes, into the soul, gave me a smile as if a million suns had come out at once, and nodded his head. I clearly heard him say, “Of course, I know you. We have an eternal relationship.” Since then I’ve always felt Prabhupada is with me and knows me, for we have an eternal relationship.

Then Prabhupada went inside and got on the elevator. I offered my obeisances with my little daughter next to me. But when I stood up, my daughter was gone! I called out, “Has anyone seen my daughter?” Someone said, “Didn’t you see? Prabhupada called her into the elevator!” I ran upstairs and there she was, sitting at Prabhupada’s feet. Prabhupada picked out a piece of pineapple from a huge tray of cut fruit and popped it into her mouth. How did he know that pineapple was her favorite fruit? The last six months of my pregnancy I ate a pineapple every day because I craved it – it was her craving. She still loves pineapple. Out of so many varieties of fruits, Prabhupada picked out and fed that one to her.

Later, my family was living at the farm in Hyderabad when we heard that Srila Prabhupada was sick in Vrindavan. We purchased cheap train tickets, traveled sitting on our suitcases with the chickens and the goats, and arrived in Vrindavan to have Bhavananda tell us, “You can’t go in to see Srila Prabhupada. He’s not seeing anybody.” We said, “You have no idea of the austerity we went through to get here. Please, let us see Srila Prabhupada one last time!” But he said it was impossible. So the three of us went out and stood in front of Prabhupada’s long French doors, knowing that he was just on the other side, in bed. We were saying our last prayers to Srila Prabhupada when suddenly the curtains and doors opened and we saw him. We offered our obeisances and felt satisfied. Bhavananda later said, “Those curtains and doors hadn’t been opened for months, but Srila Prabhupada had told his servant, suddenly, to open them. Srila Prabhupada knew. He just knew.