Banu Mushtaq’s 2025 International Booker Prize-acclaimed anthology “Heart Lamp” narrates the stories of Muslim women in their joys, sorrows, struggles, miseries, and all things in between. Mushtaq is a Kannada writer, hailing from Hassan, a south-western part of Karnataka. Emerging from a tradition known as “Bandaya”, which is loosely translated as dissent, a challenge to the existing order, Mushtaq’s writings capture the essence of hailing from and being in a conservative Muslim household.
In Banu Mushtaq’s “Heart Lamp”, one encounters experiences of patriarchy, tradition, misogyny, and age-old customs that, in many ways, curtail a woman’s—and particularly, Muslim women’s—abilities to navigate society.
Take, for instance, the heartwarming narration of Shaista’s life, a Muslim woman married to Iftikhar Bhai, who loves Shaista unconditionally and wants to build her a Mahal as beautiful as the Taj Mahal. But once Shaista dies while birthing yet another child for Iftikhar Bhai, Iftikhar marries another woman, because Muslim men are allowed to marry four women. And in Iftikhar and his declarations of love, Mushtaq shows us what love meant and how fleeting it turns out to be.
In the story titled “Fire Rain”, mutawalli Usman Saheb, a cleric of the local mosque and a well-known figure of importance, wants to do justice to that painter fellow, Nisar, whose corpse the Police had buried in the Hindu cemetery. Despite having gotten Nisar beaten once, tied to a tree, for “eating away the masjid’s money”, mutawalli Saheb now wants to campaign for Nisar’s proper burial: in khabristan, where it belongs, and with all the rites a Muslim corpse deserves.
In another story, Banu Mushtaq deals with the trials and tribulations of a Muslim woman who has birthed several girl children, and now, her auto-driver husband has left her for another woman. The husband, Yakub, in all the worldly insensitivities, utters: “You pop out an army of girls and roam around like a dog. Learn to have a little bit of decency at least”. Dire poverty, alongside an ailing child, makes the woman run between the mosque committee and her husband for an allowance.
Heart Lamp is a story about Mehrun, whose abusive husband is living with another woman. So, the story revolves around how once-loving family—father, mother, and brothers—become complicit in her perpetuating her suffering. When she comes home to her family one not-so-fine morning, Mehrun is reprimanded by her family members for bringing shame to her family, for not adjusting to her husband, and for causing so much mess. When Mehrun tells her family, “If you take me there by force, I promise you I will set myself on fire”. And to this, her brother callously responds: “Those who want to die don’t walk around talking about it. But if you had any concern for this family’s honour, then you would have done that instead of coming here”.
There is a story of a wife who does not like her mother-in-law, and as a result, the son had to arrange a marriage for his mother. In another story, a pregnant woman is made to go through the ordeal of wearing heels, just as she carries a baby in her womb. Because her husband fancies seeing his wife wear heels just as his brother’s wife, who lives in Saudi Arabia.
Of all the stories, I loved the story of the Arabic Teacher, maulvi Hazrat, and his relentless quest for Gobi Manchuri. His love for Gobi Manchuri just stands out. Even as he is tutoring two daughters of a lawyer, he is caught with preparing Gobi Manchuri. Then, he is not getting a bride for his marriage because he is only interested in Gobi Manchuri. And every time he goes out to meet the family of a bride, he asks them if the bride knows how to make Gobi Manchuri. And somehow, when he is finally married, he is seen torturing his wife into making Gobi Manchuri.
Each story opens up the life of a Muslim woman. The reader encounters that beneath all their sensible and sartorial characteristics, there is a story of suffering, stigma, patience, and perseverance, all covered in their “seragus”. Musthaq’s stories are vivid, eloquent, illustrative, and at times, witty.
Deepa Bhasthi has wonderfully translated Banu Musthaq’s Kannada stories that appeared since the 1990s, without losing out on things in translation. “Heart Lamp” is a must-read.