Banu Mushtaq, on the International Booker Prize shortlist for her short story collection Heart Lamp, is at home writing quietly in her corner of the world, with the hills of Hassan in Karnataka as ‘witness’
On April 8, when Banu Mushtaq made it to the shortlist of the International Booker Prize for Heart Lamp (And Other Stories/Penguin Random House), a collection of short stories translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi, it didn’t come as a surprise to her. The Hassan-based advocate and activist had got a whiff when her literary agent in London had told her beforehand that there was a chance her book could be chosen from the 13 books on the longlist — 11 novels and two collections of stories. “I did not fully understand what the agent was saying,” Mushtaq (77) tells The Federal. It was only when congratulatory messages started pouring in that Banu exulted, having realised what it actually meant.
A collection of 12 stories — about the everyday struggles of Muslim women and their quiet resilience — written between 1990 and 2023, Heart Lamp lays bare the firm hold of patriarchy over their lives in Karnataka. “My writing was shaped by the social movements of the 1980s — Dalit and feminist — as well as by the Islamophobia that persists to this day. I felt a deep imperative to give voice to women’s issues,” says Banu, who began writing in the 1970s and 1980s, a period when several Kannada writers were amplifying the voices of Dalits, women, and minority communities.
True reward as a writer
“In the literature of that time, Muslim characters were often depicted in black and white. I wanted to introduce readers to the varied nature of their contexts. However, I did not want to confine myself solely to the world of the Muslim woman,” says Banu. It was as a freelance journalist at Lankesh Patrike where she got to publish some of her early writings. Her articles critically examined the forces dividing society along the lines of caste, class, gender, and religion. Heart Lamp is the translation of Edeya Hanate (2004). Her other works include: Hejje Moodada Haadi (A Path Without Footprints, 1990), Benki Male (Fire Rain, 1999), and Badavara Magalu Hennalla (A Mendicant’s Daughter is not a Woman, 2012) — all short story collections; Kubra, a novel (2014); Odde Kannina Bagina (Offerings of Wet Eyes, 2015), a collection of poems; and Ibbaniya Kavu (Heat of Mist), a collection of essays. She also wrote an essay on domestic violence law, ‘Kautumbika Daurjanya Kayide’ (Domestic Violence Act).
Also read: Banu Mushtaq’s Heart Lamp makes it to International Booker Prize shortlist
‘Heart Lamp,’ the titular story, is titled Edeya Hanate in the Kannada edition. “This is the first time my stories have been translated into English,” says Banu, who won the 2024 PEN translation award for Haseena and Other Stories, also translated by Bhasthi. Haseena Matthu Ithara Kathegalu (Haseena and Other Stories) was published by Abhiruchi Prakashana, Mysore, in 2015; Director Girish Kasaravalli adapted her story ‘Haseena’ into a film (Hasina, 2004), with actor Taara (stage name of Anuradha) in the lead role — a performance that won Taara a National Award. Banu’s first story translated into English is ‘Black Cobras’ by N K Rajalakshmi, an English Professor at Mangalore University.
A few years ago, when Banu was finally convinced that the time was ripe for embarking on a translation of her works, Banu contacted her friend, Basava Biradar (writer, critic, filmmaker and educator), who suggested Deepa Bhasthi. “I sent Haseena Matthu Ithara Kathegalu to Deepa and asked if she would translate it provided, of course, that she thought it worthy of the effort. Deepa sent the translated Haseena and Other Stories to the PEN Translation Award which it eventually won.
A story from the collection, ‘Red Lungi,’ was published in The Paris Review and got rave reviews. ‘Omme Hennagu Prabhu’ (Be A Woman Once O Lord!), another story from the volume, was published in The Baffler, a leading American literary magazine. “A good translator doesn’t just translate words. They translate the silences and the insistences of memory and anger, too,” says Banu, adding that while recognition is sweet, the truest reward is when someone far away reads her words and says, ‘I know this feeling.’ “That I find more rewarding,” she states.
Lives on the margins
Born in the small town of Sakleshpur in Hassan district, Banu grew up immersed in the oral traditions, songs and folklore of the community that pulsate through her writings; the landscapes of her early life in rural Karnataka ‘shaped’ her storytelling. She was surrounded by strong women, who had survived personal and social upheavals. Although she began writing at a young age when she was still at school, she found her real voice through her engagement with oral and folk narratives.
She was inspired to write by her socially conscious father, S.A. Rahmon, a senior health inspector, but had no help in the writing process itself. When she was enrolled in a government college in Hassan, she wrote a short story and sent it to a short story competition announced by the Kannada newspaper Prajavani. ‘Kagadada Onde Maggallige Bareyiri (write on one side of the paper)’ was the editor’s advice she received by mail. “I didn’t understand. I was puzzled. I understood what it meant only when Ma Na Murthy, editor of Prajamata, explained its meaning.”
Banu wrote another short story seeking publication in the weekly periodical Prajamata and it was published. “I got married in 1974. My husband returned home one day with a copy of Prajamata. My short story had been published.” It was called ‘Naanu Aparadhiye’ (‘Am I A Delinquent?’), centred on a person who suffers from guilt after his wife commits suicide for a mistake not committed by her. Her novel Malegalalli Benki (The Fire in the Hills) is the story of strong women. “It is a story of people living on the margins, especially women, who battle against violence, loss and displacement. The novel isn’t just about suffering, but also about survival, dignity and hope.”
Threat to her life
Interestingly, Banu did not want to study law. It is her husband, Mushtaq Mohiyuddin, a local businessman, who persuaded her to do law and practise. She studied Law at the Hassan M. Krishna Law College after her marriage and the birth of her two children and started practising in the early 1990s. Banu plunged into activism after writing for Lankesh Patrike (considered to be a pro-people weekly tabloid, edited and published by renowned writer, poet, playwright, literary critic and journalist P. Lankesh, father of Gauri Lankesh) and started addressing various issues plaguing society, especially those concerning women. She says she started practising Law to get justice for women, who have been denied the same for centuries. “It is my humble service to society,” she says. Banu faced a social boycott in 2000 for criticising gender roles and socio-patriarchal hierarchies. Members of her community were angered by her highlighting the Quran’s stipulations regarding women’s rights within marriage.
“In 2000, when my anthology, Benki Male, was published, I faced criticism from community elders for stating in an interview that women, too, had the right to offer prayer in mosques. For this, I had to face the consequences. There was trolling, violence and even a murder attempt from fanatics for over a period of three months. Things cooled down after fellow writer Baraguru Ramachandrappa (also a lyricist, screenwriter, and film director), and others mediated with the Muslim elders.”
The writer warns against what she calls a growing trend of ‘political Islam’. “A section of the Muslim community has begun adopting political Islam. Writers should be wary of this trend,” she says. “Take the hijab controversy, for example — it suits the political agendas of certain outfits and has led to a chain of actions and reactions. It is time we understood the importance of the Constitution and began taking corrective measures.”
Also read: Deepa Bhasthi interview: ‘There’s nothing black and white in Banu Mushtaq’s stories’
Banu is happy that Heart Lamp will help Kannada literature reach a wider readership. The winner of the International Booker Prize will be announced in London on May 20. If she wins, it’ll undoubtedly be a big moment for Kannada literature. But even if she doesn’t, considering the stiff competition, the spotlight on her work has already ensured that interest in her stories, and in the world they evoke, will only continue to grow.
A life less ordinary
The jury panel, headed by Max Porter, made the following observation about Heart Lamp: “Written in a style at once witty, vivid, colloquial, moving and excoriating, it’s in her characters — the sparky children, the audacious grandmothers, the buffoonish Maulvis and thug brothers, the off-hapless husbands, and the mothers, above all, surviving their feelings at great cost — Mushtaq emerges as an astonishing writer and observer of human nature, building disconcerting emotional heights out of a rich spoken style…. Yes, Heart Lamp is almost tactile in its representation of the terrain…. the book presents the sights, smells and stories of Karnataka in all their lilts and cadences.”
The global praise and the limelight notwithstanding, Banu is most at home writing quietly in her corner of the world. The hills overlooking her home, she says, continue to witness, “guard and even conspire” with her as her stories spring from her pen like wildflowers. “In my society, women are constantly controlled — by tradition, by men, by poverty… But my female characters do not see themselves as victims. They carry a stubborn, burning dignity even in their darkest hours,” she says.
Banu is currently working on a new collection of short stories, her seventh, about Muslim women suffering social discrimination in urban settings. “Since I began writing in Kannada, it has been my effort to break the stereotypical narratives woven around the everyday struggles and unspoken strength of Muslim women in southern India. Alongside this anthology, I’m also writing my autobiography, which is halfway done. I’m hopeful of finishing it by the end of the year,” she says. With everything she writes, Banu reaffirms her place in the Kannada literary tradition. With the story of her life, a life lived less ordinarily, she is set to return to the same wellspring that has fed her fiction, except this time, she draws not just from imagination, but from memory and marrow. In telling her own story, Banu is set to give language to a silence that shaped her voice.
