Bhutanese oils are practically unheard of. It’s much easier to source kynam than it is to get your hands on quality Bhutanese agarwood. When was the last time you heated up any? Oud oil… even rarer. Since the release of Oud Idrees more than six years ago, how many Bhutanese oils have you smelled?
I can count the number of Bhutanese distillations we’ve launched on four fingers. And you know how things are looking in Meghalaya and Yunnan, so just imagine the jungles leading to the barren planes of Tibet.
Nirvata Muana is all exotic high-mountain wildflowers. Rich, lush, expansive. Spicy, pollenesque, white chocolate vanillicious, injected with tuberose, frangipani, and freesia. Mysore’s smooth cream, coupled with the tenacity of forest honey.
This oud is at once an overtly risqué pheromonal tease and a monk’s best companion. Some ouds excite and intrigue. Muana calms. Where Guallams are medicinal, Muana is meditational.
I’ve talked about this, and many oud lovers have felt the same thing. Ouds imbue a hal—a mood or feeling that conveys a portrait of its origin. Maroke ouds smell aboriginal, Thai ouds playful—even sexy. Vintage Cambodis raw as the vastness of their cracked-dry war-torn rice fields. And Indian ouds, ancient. The primordial, meditative ambience of Oud from the Forbidden Kingdom is no accident. You wonder at once: How a scent so smooth can pack so much punch; a single Senkoh note so replete a bouquet.
Doctors now prescribe meditation. If they knew about this oil, no doubt they’d add a bottle to boot. The scent has been described as ‘serene’, ‘calming’… ‘It slows you down’. No wonder a dab under your nose takes the edge off as you sit in padmasana.
It is my personal conviction that Bhutanese oud is a secret, if not forgotten chapter of Oud history. A passing flicker through the window as the Oud world instead remembered Pusong, Nha Trang, Malinau and Koh Kong. Whether overlooked or off-limits, how beautifully true Muana’s rarity resonates with its origin, the Forbidden Kingdom.