An Expedition to Discover the Raute: Nepal's Last Nomadic People

“You’re still single! What have you been up to?” Govinder chides me, as he fills his mouth with chewing tobacco. He shakes his head in disbelief before focusing back on the kosi, the wooden bowl he is shaping with a large, curved chisel.

Govinder belongs to the Raute, the final nomadic tribe of Nepal—an Indigenous ethnic group recognized by researchers. The Raute communicate in a distinct Tibeto-Burman dialect in addition to Nepali, the nation’s official language. They traverse the rural landscapes of western Nepal, migrating from the forested lowlands in winter to the jungles of the higher Middle Hills in summer. The Raute shift their camps unpredictably, moving when their usual food sources dwindle or following the passing of a community member.

I first arrived in Nepal in October 2021, drawn by the country’s reopened borders for tourists after the pandemic—Kathmandu served as an ideal launchpad for my writing endeavors about the area. Shortly after my arrival, I spotted several wooden bowls at a market in the city, each adorned with a unique pattern of uneven indentations. I learned they were crafted by the Raute, known for their exceptional woodworking skills, producing durable and stylish items by hand that are often sold internationally for hundreds of dollars each. I was determined to meet these talented artisans personally.

Until the last ten years, the Raute depended solely on the jungle for survival; they hunted monkeys for meat, gathered yams, and exchanged their wooden creations with local villagers for rice and grains. Hunting monkeys, particularly langurs—a Himalayan species of black-faced, gray monkeys—is integral to their cultural identity. The Raute hold the belief that monkeys were once human beings who gradually lost their cultural attributes such as language and marriage customs. They regard monkeys as their siblings, asserting that both the Raute and monkeys are descendants of their deity Berh, the sun.

For the Raute, the forests of Nepal are a revered realm inhabited by horhs (spirits)—encompassing not just humans but also animals and trees. They view the sun and moon as divine entities, while stars, clouds, stones, weather phenomena, and all flora and fauna are considered sacred beings.

The Raute are widely known for their wariness of outsiders. Johann Reinhard, an American anthropologist who encountered them in the late 1960s, reported that the Raute would kill anyone who dared to enter their camp without consent. Although the risk of death has diminished since Reinhard's era, I’ve been cautioned that the Raute remain elusive—difficult to find and even harder to engage in conversation.

Equipped with this knowledge and updates from local sources about the group’s constantly shifting whereabouts, my Nepali friend and I embark on a challenging journey via a bumpy local bus from Kathmandu to the rural village of Jamune Bazaar. Nestled in the hills of Surkhet, a farming area in midwest Nepal, Jamune Bazaar features a single dusty street lined with concrete structures that host a mix of half-stocked shops. As we continue north up the valley, we pass by villages adorned with slate roofs and charming pastel walls made of clay and mud. The sky is overcast, yet the Bheri River sparkles with an enchanting sky-blue hue.

I pause on a high ledge overlooking the river. Below me, a cluster of 20 black tents, woven with large leaves, sits on a grassy bank. I see small children playing naked, splashing in the water, while women dressed in vibrant pink and red balance metal water pots atop their heads. Smoke wafts into the air, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of drumming from the camp.

The Raute group I am visiting consists of only 150 individuals, representing the last truly nomadic community in Nepal. They face immense pressure from the government to conform to societal expectations. Many other nomadic groups, such as the Rajis and Banrajis, have already settled into permanent residences. The Raute's camp is now under constant police surveillance due to the 2021 assault of two Raute girls. Consequently, visitors are required to obtain permission from the local police chief before approaching the Raute or their settlement. Given Jamune Bazaar's small size, the police find me before I can search for them, and a plainclothes officer is waiting for my arrival. The Raute believe that any uniform in their camp could provoke their deity, Berh.

Today marks the second day of a three-day ceremony dedicated to honoring their ancestors, hence the drumming. The Raute are represented by mukhiyas, men who communicate with outsiders on behalf of the community. I offer two mukhiyas a sack of white radishes—an employee from the Raute Upliftment Foundation, an NGO focused on aiding the group, informed me that radishes are their preferred offering. They squat before me on the grass, and as young men gather around, everyone appears amused—this is not the unfriendly reception I had anticipated.

I explain that I am interested in purchasing their kosi, or bowls. “Ah yes, this is our only trade,” replies Main Bahadur Shahi, the elder mukhiya, with pride in his voice. “We craft bowls, plates, ladles, small seats, and boxes, and occasionally even large beds. We used to have significant freedom in cutting trees, but now there are stricter regulations, making it more challenging to create these items.”

In the latter half of the 20th century, the Nepali government appropriated vast areas of forest, and in the late 1980s and ’90s, large portions were placed under local community management—but not for the Raute. In the Surkhet district alone, 146,545 acres of forest were allocated to community forest groups, established in the mid-1900s in response to deforestation issues, to oversee and manage.

While these community regulations have generally been effective, they have negatively impacted Indigenous groups like the Raute, who traditionally depended on unrestricted access to woodlands—officially, the Raute are prohibited from cutting wood in these community forests. However, they often question the validity of these rules, which can lead to friction with local communities. Additionally, the demand for their wooden crafts has diminished due to the influx of inexpensive utensils from China.

Surya Narayan, the second mukhiya, arrives with a large bowl carved from a single piece of wood, which he says took him half a day to complete. Although it hasn’t been oiled yet, its grooves are intricate and well-defined. “In the past, we would trade the bowl for a quantity of rice that could fill it,” he shares. “Now, just give what you feel is fair. We want you to take this bowl back to your country and tell everyone: This bowl was crafted by the Raute people of Nepal!”

After a brief negotiation, I agree to pay 500 rupees (approximately $4), and our conversation shifts to how their lives have evolved, particularly regarding monkey hunting. “We still hunt them,” Main Bahadur explains. “But we aren’t catching as many as we used to. Perhaps it’s because we’re changing, or maybe it’s because we wear shoes now. Or maybe the gods are displeased. I don’t know.”

Nonetheless, the Raute continue their daily hunts, Main Bahadur shares. However, they never allow outsiders to accompany them or witness their monkey hunts—an act they believe could provoke their god's anger. Based on drawings made by the Raute for researchers, it is thought that they set up a large net in the jungle undergrowth and then create a chaotic stampede to scare the monkeys into the net. Once trapped, the net is quickly gathered, and axes are used to dispatch the captured animals.

On my second morning in the camp, gray clouds release a light rain over the valley. Surya Narayan invites me into his tent, where his children are huddled near a fire. An elongated dark wood container with a lid, adorned with a more intricate pattern than the bowls, rests by the entrance. A relative of Surya informs me that it is called a dzhum, used for storing jad, or rice beer, which is mixed and consumed with rice.

Firewood is stacked around the tent walls, and Surya Narayan makes space on the blanket beside him. He explains that they adhere to three core principles: no education, no permanent homes, and no agriculture.

“In our community, the only hierarchy is that of the mukhiyas,” he clarifies. “We serve as leaders, resolving any disputes that arise. Besides that, we are all equal, and we don’t dictate each other’s behavior.” This egalitarian setup starkly contrasts with the rigid, caste-based social hierarchy characteristic of Hinduism, which is the predominant religion in Nepal.

Currently, the Raute receive a monthly cash allowance from the Nepali government to assist with their daily living costs. The shifts they face—limited access to the forest, a dwindling market for their wooden crafts, and government assistance—are all interconnected. Despite losing some of their autonomy, they continue to embrace their nomadic way of life with pride.

I return to the camp after lunch to find Govinder putting the finishing touches on the kosi I requested. As he works, he chats with me and explains that once a bowl is complete, they traditionally soak it in water or bury it to seal the wood and prevent warping. He mentions that villagers instead apply a few coats of vegetable oil, and I should follow suit.

As my friend and I walk through the camp to depart, many Raute are enjoying the afternoon sun outside their tents. Women are inspecting the children's hair for lice; some are hanging strings of gourds to dry in the sun for winter consumption. Groups are gathered inside the tents, chanting along with a drum, bowls of jad scattered about. A group of young Raute girls wander through the camp, their dark hair dancing in the breeze.

I return to say goodbye to Surya and ask him if they will ever settle down. “Perhaps in the future,” he laughs. “But not right now. Who knows? We didn’t wear shoes before, and now we do.” Another Raute chimes in, reminding him that he has been saying this for many years. Surya chuckles and shifts the topic. “I’d like to learn English, can you teach me?” he jokes before sipping his jad.

If you wish to support the Raute community, consider purchasing their wooden crafts.