Agarwood: The Journey

The Imam of the mosque, Muhammad Zafran has invited me to dine with him tonight but on the condition that I get plenty of rest before meeting him. This is a condition that I have no qualms in fulfilling, so I submit to the comfort of my futon.

I wake on the call to the sunset prayer, make my ablution and head for the mosque. After the prayer, I leave the mosque before the Imam notices that I am gone. Suddenly, I am aware that I haven’t a gift to take to his home, so I head towards the village shop that I noticed on the way in. There are some cupcakes and pastries on display by the counter. I choose a good selection and reach for my wallet which is not there. I am thankful to find some kyat  in my pocket and hope there is enough to cover the cost. I hand them to the shopkeeper who looks at me in bewilderment. ‘No kyat,’ he says shaking his head, ‘only dollar’.  I make my apologies and leave the shop. Why would I need dollars? I was told that kyat would suffice for my trip to the market… someone told me, I’m sure.

I walk back to the mosque and find the Imam making his way home. I want to ask him about the kyat and why I can’t use it here but I decide to wait as he appears to be in a hurry. We walk in silence until we reach his home, a humble dwelling resting on stilts above the lagoon. An intriguing combination of seafood and stewed fragrant fruit wafts from the lagoon.

The Imam gestures for me to sit at a low table laden with platters of sardines, salmon and herring, luscious leafy greens and cooked blueberries. The smell overwhelms my senses. ‘Food for the mind and soul,’ says the Imam and with that in mind we embark on our gastronomic adventure…

…My mind is suddenly swimming, I feel out of breath, there is an immense weight on my chest. I am struggling to breathe now. I look around me, my vision is blurry. I close my eyes and I hear the sound of waves. I am in complete darkness, with nothing but the sound of waves crashing in my ears. That same smell of fragrant fruit fills my senses again and I slowly become aware of my surroundings. I look at the Imam who is sitting in front of me now nodding his head reassuringly. I sit up and look him straight in the eye, ‘Why am I here? How did I get here?’

Doors open and close unobtrusively with the deference one would expect as the call to prayer resonates from the towering minaret above. Humble footsteps patter across the boardwalk and the cool lagoon breezes that intoxicate my nostrils are infused with the infinitely opulent scent of sweet fragrant fruits.

The ripples of the water below crash ever so gently upon the rocks and I watch a lonely blue lotus drift to the water’s edge. ‘How the ancient Egyptians would have made an offering of you,’ I whisper quietly as I contemplate its Divine fragrance. Intoxicated by the scents around me I feel that my dreams of discovering the Secret will manifest themselves here. Beneath this vast canopy of peace and contentment I hurry along the boardwalk with conviction placed firmly in my heart. I am standing in front of the mosque with the golden dome in this Venice of the East.

After performing my prayers I reach into my pocket to retrieve Zainab’s necklace and to my despair discover it is gone. I am saddened at my heedlessness and try hard to remember where I had possession of it last but my thoughts are interrupted by an awe inspiring presence in the room. ‘Welcome to the Abode of Peace,’ says the voice. I turn towards the handsome, well-bred man who is donning the kind of robe that is fit for a king, his beard is still wet from ablution and he carries a pair of sandals in his left hand.

‘Whoever will be patient with Us will reach Us,’ he whispers as if reading my mind, and with that he extends his right hand gesturing that I take the extraordinary prayer beads from him.

The man in the robe crosses the room in a few humble strides and looks out of the window overlooking the village. ‘Everyone is facilitated in that for which he has been created for.’ He opens the window as if to reveal the ancient secrets held in the waters of the lagoon. ‘And who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.’ And with that he smiles and retreats to the coolness of his prayer.

As I walked into the Buddhist temple, the Oud smoke was pouring out of the front door. The sky was overcast, with strong winds. The red and yellow flags on the front porch of the temple blew in the wind and boldly contrasted the gray sky.

I saw Ashoka as soon as I walked in. He quickly greeted me with a smile and a slight bow, and told me he was looking for me. I shook his hand and smiled.

Ashoka is a gentle, bald monk in red robes. He has tan skin and is about 5′5 in height. Our appearance contrasts dramatically, as I am 6′1 with a thick black beard, full sleeve shirt, long pants, and kufi. As I noticed our differences, I thought how Oud is what has caused us to cross paths. Fragrance is something that has no material limits, and is beyond all six directions.

He extended his arm, indicating that I should proceed to the main hall. Like yesterday, I saw the massive statue of the Buddha. Today there were more monks at the temple than lay people and all were engaged in prayers. I asked Ashoka what was the reason for this and he told me that this is a “ceremony for non-violence”. These monks gather every two months at this temple to pray for peace around the world.

Some of the monks were holding incense braziers and others were holding incense sticks. From the front of the hall, there was a sheet of slow moving smoke that swayed with the movements of the monks. There were deep sounds of different chants that caused me to ask Ashoka what language they were speaking. He told me that they were reciting traditional prayers for peace in the Sanskrit language.

The aroma was overwhelming. If the world could smell it, there would be world peace. I asked where the Oud was from. Ashoka told me that it is mostly from Malaysia and Indonesia. I asked him how the temple could afford this high quality Oud. He told me this is an endowment from the religious councils who give it to the praying monks.

Ashoka offered to give me an incense stick, but I declined. I had come simply to observe the ceremony and understand the position of Oud in their traditional rituals. Certainly, this ancient Far Eastern bark has a position in their society that is alive and well. The cost and abundance of their Oud indicates that. Also, since it is a symbol of virtue in their religion, it doesn’t seem that this society will lessen its love and passion for Oud any time soon.

This certainly indicates that there will have to be an increase in Oud cultivation. This is done by taking an Aquilaria from the region and injecting it with the fungal infection. As a response, the tree will begin to produce Oud. Each tree will produce its own kind of Oud and emanate its own distinct fragrance.

Tomorrow I will go the city and discover the Oud found in the markets of Burma.

Tags: Buddhism, temple

Today I visited the Buddhist temple next door to my hostel. From the outside, I could see it’s a modern building with a traditional temple façade. The sides of the structure are cement with square windows scattered around from the two interior floors. From the front, it is wooden with traditional ornate etchings with red and golden colored paint that fills in the etched flowers and patterns. There were sheets of deep yellow and red hanging from the roof of the front porch that blew with the wind.

In the front of the temple there was a large white cement courtyard. From the street there was a semi-long marble sidewalk that was perfectly aligned with the front door.

I was an obvious tourist, if not a totally out of place foreigner. Wearing my Muslim cap, I was clearly not Buddhist. Some people were watching me as I crossed the long sidewalk to the entrance of the temple. I intentionally walked slowly and calmly. It was my intention to show respect for their place of worship and to be as kind as possible.

As I reached the front door of the temple I could smell the wafts of incense smoke from the two burners on either side of the main entrance. The scent was potent and powerful – but light. There was an element to it that reminded me of water and gave me a light easygoing feeling. I wanted to look into the burners to see if they were electric or from burning coals, but they were placed too high for me to look inside.

Finally, I entered the temple. I wondered if there was a particular way of entering that is traditional and religious. My custom is to enter the Mosque with the right foot and exit with the left. Instinctively, I entered with the right foot. I exhaled has I entered. I felt nervous, never having been in a Buddhist temple before.

As I entered, I saw a main hall with a large statue of Buddha and scattered monks in red robes all around it. The monks were holding incense sticks and braziers and waving them around as they meditated. I stood close to the entrance in wonder as I took this all in.

A thirty-something year-old man with a shaved head and red robe came up to me, saying “Hello” in English. My first thought was that he was hired by the temple to greet the tourists, but later I realized he was just a simple Lama trying to make me feel comfortable.

I replied to him, “Hello”. He asked me where I was from and I told him Algeria. He politely welcomed me and introduced himself as Ashoka. I asked him if this is the prayer time and he told me that Buddhists pray at all times. He said that the worshipers were meditating to express gratitude to Buddha and that the burning incense is to remember the importance of virtue. I asked him what kind of incense they were burning. He told me, “Sandalwood”. I asked him if they burn Oud. He smiled and said, “Yes, we burn Oud at our holy ceremonies, marriages, funerals and other significant occasions.” I asked him where the Oud is from. He told me that some is from Burma, and other kinds are imported from Malaysia, Indonesia, China, and also from India.

He invited me to attend a traditional ceremony where they will burn Oud tomorrow. I will look forward to this, though I am feeling a bit uncomfortable as the outsider.

Tags: meditation incense

As I entered the Rangoon Mingaladon International Airport, I could feel my new environment immediately. The air, the smell, the people, the languages – this is a Far Eastern society of a different religion and culture. Besides Burma’s people, the Shans, Karens, Kachins, Chins, Mons, and other smaller ethnic groups make up a significant minority. With all these different ethnic groups, the majority of the Burmese are Buddhist.

I read about some of their traditional practices and ceremonies in the Burma Tours magazine on the plane. For example, when a boy comes of age, he enters the monastery for about a week while the girls have an ear piercing ceremony at the same time.

In the airport, I was an awkward foreigner, but even more so once I left the international realm of the airport and entered the city of Rangoon. My height, skin, clothes, and knapsack all shouted that I was a visitor from the West. Even though the environment was radically different, many things that reminded me of Algeria – the bustling streets, the street vendors, taxis, corner stores and playing children.

As I arrived at the hostel, I noticed it was right next door to the neighborhood’s Buddhist temple. I saw worshipers entering and exiting. Some were in traditional robes while others where wearing modern western clothing. From the street I could see two large incense burners on each side of the main entrance to the temple. There was smoke puffing out in large wafts, despite the moderate winds. I wondered if they were electric burners or they were using hot coals to keep the wood burning. I am determined to discover if this is Oud incense or what is used to invoke a spiritual environment in these traditional Buddhist temples.

Tags: Buddhist incense

At lunch today, Sayyad told me to seek the finest Oud wood while in Burma – Kyara. He said this is the rarest and most costly Oud that exists in the world. I am not sure if I will be able to find it but I am praying that by the barakah of Sheikh Ibrahim’s instructions, I will. The value of Kyara is more than that of gold. It’s so expensive people can’t afford to even distill it – if they even find it at all.

There is another type that I read about that is similar to Kyara. It is called Kannam. This is agarwood that is so heavily resinated with Oud that its shavings furl up into a ball. Apparently, this is only used for burning, and is never distilled into Oud oil. If I find this I should be skeptical that it is pure Kannam.

I bid my farewell to Sayyad this afternoon, giving him a gift from Algeria – a hand woven mat with bright colors and arabesque patterns. He really loved the colors and showed me where he would place it in the entrance to his living room. Sayyad is a man of refinement and class. I was touched by his character and sincerity. He made me promise that I would fly back through Assam when I return from my journey. I pray that by the time I see him next I will have made many Oud discoveries to tell him about.

My flight is tomorrow, direct from Assam to Burma. I called home and Zainab picked up the phone. She was so happy to hear my voice she started talking a mile a minute. She’ll be starting 5th grade in a week or so. With a new teacher and classmates, she has a lot to look forward to.

After giving my salaam to the kids, Maryam got on the phone. She told me that Sheikh Ibrahim’s wife called her on behalf of the Sheikh to ask how I was doing. Maryam told her that I have stayed in touch from India and that I am doing well. This warmed my heart, and I longed to speak to Sheikh Ibrahim myself. Insha’Allah when I return home, he’ll be the first person I visit.

Tags: Burma

Sayyad showed me his personal Oud collection today. He stores his Oud bottles in an intricately engraved wooden box in his master bedroom wardrobe. The fragrance from the box is so powerful that it actually permeates the entire wardrobe, causing all the clothes in it to smell of the complex and sophisticated aroma. He mentioned that it was an intention to do this in following the words of the Holy Prophet, Allah bless him and give him peace, that to wear nice fragrance is charity.

As a political figure, Sayyad has traveled extensively, and has met the upper classes of the Far Eastern societies. He has received Oud as a gift many times and the size of his wooden box testifies to that. Like Ihsan at the distillery, Sayyad had organized his Oud box by country of Origin.

On the top right section of the box, Sayyad had grouped his Malaysian Oud. Each type of Oud was in its own unique bottle. He opened the cap of a glass bottle about two inches tall that had symmetrical hand painted designs on the top and bottom. When he opened it, its aroma overpowered the fragrance of the Oud box but also melted together with it, making it even more intriguing. He put it up to my nose and said, “Bahr” – this was the smell of the Malaysian coastlines. As a totally pure Oud, this fragrance was the natural product of the Malaysian jungle. Absolutely amazing. Glory be to Allah!

Next he showed me his Oud oils from China and the surrounding regions. As he placed the smallest vial under my nose I smelled a potency that I would think could only come from a humongous bottle of Oud. This fragrance was like something from deep inside the earth. A tint of diesel or something more profound that could benefit humankind. The clarity of the aroma was striking. Sayyad told me he wears this Oud when he is giving a presentation or speech because it grounds his heart and gives him confidence.

Sayyad raised the top layer of the box to reveal more Oud bottles on the bottom. “From India!” he said and then blushed. Sayyad doesn’t show his excitement much and it was on this rare occasion I saw his boyish-like wonder. He told me to pick one. I chose a bottle that was encased in engraved silver with colored crystals that looked like rubies, diamonds, and emeralds. He untwisted the cap and put the applicator stick to my nose. It was India! Deep, ancient, beautiful, and if fragrance can have this attribute I would describe it as “huge”. This is the fragrance that “fills you up” so to say. Completely satisfying, but keeps you wanting to smell more and more.

Somehow seeing Sayyad’s collection helped me to understand more about the diversity of Oud than the trip the distillery. One box safely kept in a wardrobe contained the Oud substance from all over the world; distilled from the finest artisans. How each strand is different and yet how the smells danced and melted together in harmony reminded me of the ayah from the Holy Qur’an: “I created you into diverse nations and tribes that you may come to know one another.”

We left for the distillery, Darul Oud, after the fajr prayer this morning. Getting in the car, Sayyad took out some “parata” or Indian bread that his wife made for us, along with thermoses of chai. The car ride was about 3 hours long, and very beautiful. I saw the edges of the city and the suburbs. Plush tress, beautiful flowers, and gorgeous skies.

We arrived at the distillery at about 9:30 a.m. It was just opening so I got a chance to see the craftsmen and expert Oud distillers that work there. Most of them were middle aged and religious looking. Some of them were chatting, others were getting straight to work, opening up the lights and machinery.

Sayyad saw the supervisor that he knew, Ihsan. He introduced us and we shook hands. He knew quite a bit of English but Sayyad still translated the traditional courtesies that he extended.

We began the tour. He took us to the main storage hall for the Oud wood, a huge room – almost an acre in size. In the corner and separate sections in the middle there were piles of labeled agarwood. Some were logs of wood and some were wood chips. These piles were labeled by region and grade. I saw one section for Indochina with different piles for each region, a pile for Indonesia, Malaysia, and of course India, among other piles each sectioned neatly. Ihsan told us that the finest wood from each region was stored in a closed vault. He dangled the keys as he smiled.

The entire room was heat controlled at a stable 65 degrees F. Ihsan showed us that they have an emergency electricity system, like the ones at hospitals for the life support systems, as backup for the temperature control system in case of a breakdown. It’s no wonder, if the temperature control failed in the Summer, the distillery could lose thousands of dollars in profit if the wood was effected by the intense Assam heat.

On the warehouse floor I saw huge basins for soaking the sinking grade Oud. On the floor I saw the workers cleaning up pieces of agarwood, collecting, organizing and working with the machinery.

In a separate room, there were buyers and retail workers for the distillery. They bargained prices and spoke in different languages. The buyers would generally collect their Oud Oil or wood chips in packages small enough to carry. Ihsan told us, this means either they come often or they also buy their Oud from other distilleries around the world.

The fragrance in the distillery was very powerful. It was hard to believe this was all from nature and at the same time impossible to be made by man.

Ihsan took us to his office. We talked more about the Oud business. He shared his sales charts for the seasons – though they did not include the actual sales number, I would have like to know. He also showed us samples of different Oud types, and gave us vials of Indian Oud and Brunei wood chips. He also gave us some pamphlets about the distillery with pictures and captions. Having toured for about two hours, Ihsan was very generous with his time.

We bid him farewell, got in the car and began our journey home.

Tags: Oud

Maraym sent me a letter with her warm thoughts and prayers. She also sent some money from the business. She mentioned that my brother is running things well and that I can relax and rest easy about it. As for Mayram and the kids, I’ve already taken care of the bills in advance and I’ve made agreements with the grocery owner that he send Maryam her weekly groceries to her doorstep. Stuffed in the envelope were cards made out of bright colored construction paper from the kids. Ibrahim made one with a bunch of scribbles all over it, and his Mother wrote “Abu” on the front.