Banu Mushtaq’s Heart Lamp: It doesn’t glow, it burns

When the short story collection, 'Heart Lamp', made headlines this year, it immediately piqued my interest as it delves into the lives of Muslim women in Southern India, a subject rarely highlighted in literature. Little did I know that this book would transcend the periphery of faith and culture and emerge as a voice for women's impotent predicament in a society deeply rooted in patriarchy.

Winning this year's International Booker Prize, the collection consists of twelve short stories written between 1990 and 2023 in Kannada by Banu Mushtaq, later translated into English by Deepa Bhasthi. 

Each of the 12 stories is a different portrait of women in our society; the positions may vary, but the anatomy remains the same–poignant stories about women and their struggles that cut deep. 

Her stories touch upon how, when religion and patriarchy mix, ill-intending religious authorities distort the faith to preserve power. 

In the story 'Fire Rain', we read about a brother depriving his sister of her rightful share of inheritance–using religion as a way to support his ill motives. On the flip side, in 'Black Cobras', a man abandons his family and responsibilities in favour of a new marriage, using Sharia law as an excuse for his actions.

In 'Be a Woman Once, Oh Lord,' the dowry, a tradition long used to oppress women, becomes a cruel tool to bar a daughter from visiting her mother's grave.

These stories, unfortunately, are not limited to the pages of this book–they are common incidents that women face every day.

Bodily autonomy is another core theme of the short story collection. Her stories are testaments of women being treated as sub-human, who are expected to oblige to the society's whims and hypocrisy, and explore how relinquishing women of their basic rights leaves them at the mercy of their male counterparts. 

For example, in 'Stone Slabs for Shaista Mahal', after giving birth to six children, Shaista wants to go through surgery to prevent another pregnancy. Yet her husband forbids it; even in matters of her own body, she is denied the autonomy to choose for herself.

The collection does not exclusively tackle misogyny, but also exposes family tensions, the hypocrisies of the rich, and the plights of the poor.

But the magic of these stories lies in Banu's excoriating, witty, vivid writing that builds up the emotional momentum, which packs a punch. Her writing demands to be read with delicate care. One has to let every word of hers sink beneath the skin and resonate the pain of the characters.

As readers dig deeper into the dialogues, the dynamics between men and women begin to unravel. For example, in 'Stone Slabs for Shaista Mahal', a seemingly good husband ends up joking that while mothers are irreplaceable, wives are. It's these subtle, unsettling details that make the writing so organic and close to reality.

The appeal of these stories owes a great deal to Deepa's translation. She has clearly translated not just words, but cultural knowledge, expressions, and idioms, in a way that feels authentic. She skillfully bridges the two languages, resulting in a text that reads with originality and a strong sense of place. 

However, some may find this collection slightly incohesive due to the random arrangement of the stories. On the other hand, many readers find beauty in the chaos–a testament to how all these stories are connected only by a single thread: society.

Through this collection, Banu Mushtaq pens a testament to the oppressions against women. Alongside Deepa Bhasthi, she has gifted this generation a book with immense moral, emotional, and socio-political weight.