Banu Mushtaq’s Heart Lamp: A Booker-Shortlisted Kannada Chronicle of Muslim Women’s Resistance

It is great news that your book has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize. This is the first time a Kannada work has made it to the shortlist. And it importantly holds a mirror to Karnataka’s Muslim community. Did you think that these themes would resonate with a global readership?

Yes, of course. There are issues surrounding women: They prevail all over the world. That’s why the feminist movement that started in 1908 over the garment workers’ issues had effects in India, Karnataka and even in Hassan. And as a citizen of any nation, women were devoid of voting powers. They were not allowed to read, they were not allowed to become advocates, they were not allowed to become doctors. They were confined to the four walls of their house, and they overcame these obstacles one by one, creating their own healthy world while synchronising their relationship with their women relatives also. That’s a wonderful thing.

You started writing in the 1970s and 80s, and you are identified as part of the Bandaya, which means protest. This was a movement in Kannada literature which upturned the established norms in the way Kannada literature was written at the time. What made you take up this style of writing?

Because at that time, it was not just the Bandaya Sahitya Sanghatane, all of Karnataka was thrilled about other movements such as the kisan [farmers’] movement, the Dalit movement and the language movement. The Gokak report was published [a Kannada language rights movement in the 1980s] and there were theatre movements. These movements gave a new lease of life to youngsters, and I too got involved in these movements: The main slogan was that to create an equal society, the rights should be equal to all without any hierarchy: Caste, creed, language, and gender. It was attractive for youth. 

Being a Muslim, with my mother tongue being Dakhni Urdu, I was not well-versed in Urdu. I wanted to write in Kannada. But the greatest question I faced was what to write, and how to write? Till then, there were no footsteps for me [to follow]. A few Muslim writers who wrote at that time in Kannada wrote in the language of Brahminical expression, as per the norms of Hindu societal traditions. And I was confused. I am not very versatile in presenting feasts or, say, marriages. Where can I express Muslim traditions in a very vivid manner? And how to express them? I never had any opportunity to explore this process. The stalwarts of Bandaya Sahitya Sanghatane at that time, Baragur Ramachandrappa, Ramzan Darga, and Kalegowda Nagawara they held workshops for us where we discussed our difficulties and impediments and sought their guidance. 

They said it’s not necessary to write in Kannada. It is not necessary to write in the language of those people who have already written. You create your own style, you create your own world. And you show the entire literary world of Karnataka the inner world of your community, your surroundings and your inner turmoil. And so, through trial-and-error, I started expressing about the traditions of Muslims, about the hardships they were facing. The feminist movement was at its highest intensity at this time. I saw so many patriarchal commandments imposed on women. It was happening even within Hinduism, and other communities too. But I could write only about my community, where I have gained experience. So, I started writing to challenge the patriarchy of the Muslim people, Muslim men.

This was the 1970s, so you were still in your 20s.

Yes.

And you are in a small town, not in an old city like Mysore, or a big city like Bengaluru. How did you find the strength? There must have been a lot of detractors, people discouraging you.

Not only that, I had my own family issues too. I was a young bride. I was having my first child. And I was living in the joint family of say 30 people in my in-laws’ home. Of course, now I cherish those moments. But at that time, it was the highest challenge for me. And the main thing was I was employed as a teacher at a high school before marriage; only 17 days after this, on June 1, I was made to resign. I was confined to my home. The greatest issue for me was that I was not doing any intellectual work. There were maids who used to cook, do all the household chores. I had nothing else to do. That caused the greatest impediment for me. I just wanted to go out, to mix with people, to share my views. And I wanted to write, which was not allowed. And at that time, all I could do was come out of my in-laws’ home along with my husband. We set up a very small home. I used to do a lot of tailoring, embroidery and used to earn money to support our family. My husband is a businessman. He also tried his level best to earn for the family. But even at that time, I wanted to write; it was haunting me.

And then an interesting incident occurred. My in-laws and I used to visit Baba Budangiri hills [in Chikkamagaluru]. I was a newlywed. My husband knew I could write and was bold enough to express my views. When we were there, I was helping my mother-in-law cook. My husband signalled me to come out. And I was embarrassed in the presence of my mother-in-law. But she noticed and she said, ‘He is calling you? Why don’t you go and ask him?’ I went up to him. I was very angry. I said, ‘Why are you signalling like that?’ He said, No, please come with me. He brought me to the valley. There was greenery all around. Trees. A rock. He told us to please sit down on it, and he shyly took out something from his pocket: a pen. And said, ‘See, this is an ideal place for a writer. You have to write’.

I was so depressed. What to write? I never know what to write. So, I just took the paper, I took his pen, I wrote down the alphabets and tore it into pieces and threw it at him and started crying. 

So much drama.

Drama. Full of drama. How can a person write all of a sudden? You can take them and place them in a cool place, and ask them to write. How can they? It should stem from your heart. Today I can write. I can write on anything. I can write about your visit. But that day I couldn’t. But his concern, his love and his care, were so strong, it gave me the strength to write.

Most of these stories pertain to the wretched plight of Muslim women. Are these stories you heard while you were growing up or did you encounter them as part of your activism?

There is one story, “Hridayada Teerpu” (The Decision of the Heart) in Heart Lamp, which has a background. I was in the office when a husband and wife came in for a consultation. But they were fighting, very emotional. The wife accused the man of caring for his mother too much, neglecting her. He denied this and said, “I will provide all the things that I provide for my mother for you also”. At this point, he said, ‘I will get three necklaces and 10 dresses for my mother, erect a huge shamiana and get her married. What if I do this?’ He challenged her [his wife]. The punchline stayed in my mind and grew into a story.

I was going to the Sakleshpur court. At that time, a beggar came. She had a very beautiful voice. She started singing Prabhu Ninna Daye Nannaya Maha Mandira Na Ninna Dasiya Dayasagara. That means “Oh Lord, I am your slave”. And those two words, ‘lord’ and ‘slave’, stuck with me. And then I wrote, ‘Be a Woman Once, Oh Lord!’ I would get some seeds sown in my mind by a particular person or by a particular [situation]. And it starts growing in my mind, and I can create so many stories.

A story that shook me was “Black Cobras”. It’s where you bring out very starkly how patriarchy operates; we see how a mother loses her infant because of the entitled and violent behaviour of her husband. What struck me were the little acts of rebellion that these women showed. The locality is shown at the end of the story. Your stories were written over the past few decades, and we’re in 2025. Have things changed for women, for Muslim women? Most young Muslim women, for instance, articulate what they have to say very boldly, be it the anti-CAA protest or the hijab protests. So, your comments on this, linking it to your own literature.

Yes. I want to tell you two things. One, that story, Black Cobras, Girish Kasaravalli, and actress Tara liked it very much. Kasaravalli made a film based on this story. Kasaravalli told me many of his friends and associates suggested that the film starts by focusing on Tara and ends by focusing on Tara. But Kasaravalli has replied that the intention of the author is quite different. As you pointed out, she wanted some sort of rebellion from the surrounding women. I wanted to register that protest.

Now 20, 22 years after this, the film [Haseena] has won many national awards. After two decades, lots of things have changed for Muslim women: They are studying, they go to university, getting PhDs, MPhils and are very hard working. Muslim boys, on the other hand, they dropout at about Class X and then take up any job. This is causing discrepancy in society. In fact, in all communities, boys are lagging behind. The graduate Muslim woman gets marriage offers from mechanics, a rickshaw driver and fruit vendors. These are not condemnable jobs. But they want to get married to a girl who has graduated, to earn and to educate his children. Some of these Muslim women come to my office and say I am fed up with him madam, I want a divorce. This disparity [between Muslim men and women] is causing lot of issues in society.

You have paid the price for your activism and for your very forthright literary contributions, where you have questioned certain Islamic notions, and how Islam has been interpreted. You were boycotted by the Muslim community of Hassan. And you were even physically targeted because you advocated that Muslim women had the right to pray in mosques. 

For three months, I could not go out, I could not go to court. They targeted me continuously. Not all of them. Most of the Muslims from Hassan were with me; they knew the truth because they had all gone to foreign countries, and they had gone to Hajj. They had seen women there. Women have the right to pray in the mosque, but due to patriarchy, this was not allowed. I was trolled very badly and was abused. Verbally, they raped me like anything! I couldn’t tolerate the abuse. I lost confidence in myself. And it was at that time that my relatives, my husband, my children, and my friends took care of me. A psychiatrist guided me, advised me and gave me medication. For two years, I couldn’t write a single word. My hand would shiver. I think I was under fear psychosis because a guy came up with a long knife to attack me. They were accusing me falsely, as it is not part of Islam to oust women from mosques.

My last question, if I could broaden its ambit a little bit, you’ve portrayed the wretched plight of Muslim women and the hypocrisy of Muslim men who take recourse to Islamic theology in this unjust behaviour. So, we understand reform is necessary. But the question is: Where should this reform come from? Especially as we have a blatantly anti-Muslim Union government in power?

See, you know the reality of the triple talaq. There is no system for triple talaq in Islam. It has been introduced and imposed only for the convenience of the men. And see, the present Union government is targeting Muslims in their vulnerable spots. The Union government has taken a lot of credit. But I say it is an un-Islamic practicethat our [religious] stalwarts, our Maulvis and Muftis, should have stopped. See, I will put it this way: No extra-judicial power should interfere in it. And though there are so many scholars with different opinions, what can we expect from the community? It is not possible. So, these are the spots the Union government is targeting. It is high time the community gets aware of it and straighten out these issues.