The Revival of Ghaliya: Perfume of Princes, Polymaths, and Prayer

In the candle-lit majlis of Umayyad courts, scent wasn’t an afterthought, it was a presence. One that marked the difference between the ordinary and the sacred. Between a man and a monarch. Between ink-stained fingers of scholar and the silent power of rulers. That scent was Ghaliya.

Not just any perfume. Ghaliya was a blend steeped in mystery, influence, and rarity. The name itself ghaliya (غالية) comes from the Arabic ghali (غالية) meaning precious or expensive. It wasn’t a marketing claim. It was a declaration. Because everything about Ghaliya was precious. Its ingredients were the most coveted substances of the ancient world; deer musk, oud, ambergris, saffron, rose, sandalwood. They weren’t chosen just for their aroma. They were symbols of power, purity, and prayer.

And at the centre of it all was musk.

Musk was not just a note. It was the note. In Islamic tradition, musk holds a revered place. The Prophet ﷺ described the scent of paradise as resembling musk. It was used in funeral rites, in prayer spaces, in preparation for the divine. When early Islamic polymaths like Al-Kindi wrote about Ghaliya, they weren’t just describing a perfume they were recording a sacred composition.

Al-Kindi, often called the father of Arab chemistry, preserved formulas for perfumes that included the Ghaliya blend. His records weren’t instructions for scent; they were guides for making something worthy. Ibn Khaldun, al-Jahiz, and other luminaries of Islamic thought referenced Ghaliya in their work, not as trivia, but as proof of refinement, intellect, and good taste. If it scented their writings, it meant something.

At Hunayn, we don’t recreate for nostalgia. We recreate because certain things deserve to be lived again.

We’re bringing back Ghaliya as a trilogy of attars:

Ghaliya Shuyukhi, Ghaliya Maliki, & Ghaliya Sultani.

All three carry the traditional foundation. All three are built on the sacred six: musk, oud, ambergris, rose, saffron, and sandalwood. But the difference lies in the details. The oud in Shuyukhi is not the oud in Maliki. The ambergris in Sultani has drifted longer. The roses come from different gardens. The musks whisper differently.

Ghaliya Shuyukhi leans toward the scholars. Aged Hindi oud, subtle Tibetan musk, quiet rose. It’s the scent of someone who speaks little but knows much.

Ghaliya Maliki is composed for the quiet power of kings. Rich rose absolute, soft grey ambergris, Mysore sandalwood that clings to the skin like silk. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to.

Ghaliya Sultani is opulent. It walks with a lifted chin. Cambodian oud, golden saffron, the kind of musk that stops conversations. The kind that lingers in a room long after the wearer has left.

Each of these blends are hand-poured, made in small batches, and left to rest, just like the originals were. Nothing rushed. Nothing cheapened. Because Ghaliya wasn’t made for mass shelves. It was made for people who understood the value of waiting. Of revering what’s rare.

This isn’t modern perfumery. This is remembrance.

Ghaliya isn’t just a scent. It’s a sign. A signature. A connection to a time when perfume meant more than smelling good. It meant being ready for prayer, for presence, for the moment that mattered.

We haven’t modernised Ghaliya. We’ve respected it. And now, we’re bringing it back. Just as it was. Just as it should be.


The first instalment will be Ghaliya Shuyukhi, these will be offered privately on a first come first serve basis. Please reach out to us privately on Instagram: @hunayn.co, or email: contact@hunayn.co