For almost 1,000 years, the Rabari, also called the Rewari or Desai, are an indigenous tribal caste of nomadic cattle and camel herders and shepherds that live throughout northwest India, primarily in the states of Gujarat, Punjab and Rajasthan. Other Rabari groups also live in Pakistan, especially in the region of the Sindh Desert. The word “Rabari”  translates as “outsiders”, a fair description of their primary occupation and status within Indian society. They have roamed the deserts and plains of what is today western India. It is believed that this indigenous group, with a peculiar Persian physiognomy, migrated from the Iranian plateau more than a millennium ago. 

Traditionally the Rabari followed a highly nomadic way of life, living in tents or under the open skies and raising cattle, camels and goats. As India has changed, so has general tolerance to nomadic groups, who relied in the past on ancestral grazing rights and ancient right-of-ways. Today only a very small percentage of Rabari are truly nomadic, with the majority to be found settled on the outskirts of cities, towns and villages in semi-nomadic lifestyles, following the seasonal rains for periods of time, then returning to their villages.

The Wood Beyond the World, Frontispiece, 1894

When you've dedicated your life to words, it’s important to go out eloquently.

Ernest Hemingway: “Goodnight my kitten.“ Spoken to his wife before he killed himself.

Jane Austen: “I want nothing but death.“ In response to her sister, Cassandra, who was asking her if she wanted anything.

J.M Barrie: "I can’t sleep.”

L. Frank Baum: “Now I can cross the shifting sands.”

Edgar Allan Poe: “Lord help my poor soul.”

Thomas Hobbes: “I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap into the dark,”

Alfred Jarry: “I am dying…please, bring me a toothpick.”

Hunter S. Thompson: “Relax – this won’t hurt.”

Henrik Ibsen: “On the contrary!”

Anton Chekhov: “I haven’t had champagne for a long time.”

Mark Twain: “Good bye. If we meet–” Spoken to his daughter Clara.

Louisa May Alcott: “Is it not meningitis?" Alcott did not have meningitis, though she believed it to be so. She died from mercury poison.

Jean Cocteau: "Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking towards me, without hurrying.”

Washington Irving: “I have to set my pillows one more night, when will this end already?”

Leo Tolstoy: “But the peasants…how do the peasants die?”

Hans Christian Andersen: “Don’t ask me how I am! I understand nothing more.”

Charles Dickens: “On the ground!" He suffered a stroke outside his home and was asking to be laid on the ground.

H.G. Wells: "Go away! I’m all right." He didn't know he was dying.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: "More light.”

W.C. Fields: “Goddamn the whole fucking world and everyone in it except you, Carlotta!" “Carlotta” was Carlotta Monti, actress and his mistress.

Voltaire: "Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies." When asked by a priest to renounce Satan.

Dylan Thomas: "I’ve had 18 straight whiskies…I think that’s the record.”

George Bernard Shaw: “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”

Henry David Thoreau: “Moose…Indian.”