Voice Of The Silence

Acid Attack Victim

Acid Attack

Mirror.

Isn’t it such a simple task to look into a mirror? Something that people do without even giving it a second thought.

Not me though. Looking at my own reflection has now become the toughest thing to do for me.

It had not always been like this. There was a time when I was normal like everyone else. But it took only a few seconds and a few millilitres of a liquid and my life was ruined. My face, my identity, my confidence, everything burned as the scalding liquid slowly corroded me.

I was standing at the bus stop, eagerly waiting for the 3:35 pm bus that would take me to my fiancé’s house. We were to get married in less than a week. He had invited me over to meet a cousin of his who would not be able to attend the wedding.

“I’ll be right there.” I texted him in response to the annoying messages he was leaving, asking me where I was.

By the time I had put my cell phone back in my pocket, I could see the bus approaching. Standing up from my seat, I walked ahead to join the queue. However, before I could do that, I felt something splash against my face.

An animalistic scream left my mouth as the sensation of the burning pain registered in my mind. What happened next? How I reached the hospital? How my family came to know about it? All these questions are still a mystery to me.

The agony I experienced as I felt my flesh burning is not something that I can describe in words; nor is it something that can be understood. I could feel the acid seeping into my flesh and destroying every tissue as it proceeded inwards. My mind made a desperate attempt to shield itself from such exuriating pain and I fell unconscious.

That was not end of my sorrows as I desperately wished. No, it was the starting. It was the point when my life was turned upside down. The acid did not do as much harm as the people did and still do.

Acid destroyed my face.

People destroyed my self-confidence.

I was unable to get a job anywhere. Leaving the safe confines of my house was full of humiliation. Being stared at and whispered about had become a common occurrence whenever I was in a public place.

Mothers would do their best to make sure their little children don’t see me; I could give them nightmares. Once I was not allowed to enter a restaurant; I would make other diners uncomfortable.

My own little cousin’s word left a deeper scar on my heart than the acid left on my face. “Aunty Look,” he said to my Mum, pointing at me. “That’s boogieman, isn’t it?”

It. I was no longer even considered a human. I was an object now. An object of horror movies.

My fiancé just left me. He would not answer my calls. He would not respond to my text. He did not even come to see me. Only his mother called my mother and said that her son could not marry me anymore. I never heard from him again.

 What did I do to deserve this?

What was my fault?

What was even worse was that I was not even given justice. My culprits were still free and living their life freely. They had connections so the police would not even register an FIR! Those officers in uniforms with badges. They were supposed to be the enforcers of the law. They were supposed to ensure that the criminals were punished. They were merely puppets in the hands of the powerful.

All it took was one phone call and it was instituted that I had thrown the acid over myself! Not one of the over a score of people present at the bus stop were questioned. Not even the CCTV footage from the camera at the bus stop was checked. The case was simply closed without any investigation at all.

The state government was supposed to pay my medical expenses. I was not given a penny. The expenses of all the seventeen surgeries I had to undergo came upon my father. Even the insurance company said that they would not pay me as my surgeries came under the ‘Cosmetic Surgeries’ which was not covered by my policy.

At times, I would just sit in front of the mirror with a knife at my wrist. I would stare at my charred face and tissues and a single drop of blood would ooze out from my flesh at the knifepoint. This was I, forever disfigured. There was nothing more left in life. I had become a liability for my parents. I was nothing but a burden on them and on the world. The small prick in the wrist would slowly start turning into a gash.

This was the best thing to do. The right thing to do. I should not be alive. Life was not worth living.

Then a small, timid voice from the back of my head would whisper. “But its worth fighting for.”

Yes, it was not worth living for anymore.

Yes, it was and will always be worth fighting for.

I would fight for myself and I would fight for all the other girls like me.

Getting up from the stool in front of the mirror, I went to my bedroom window. As I pulled the curtains aside, the golden glow of life and nature filled my room and heart.

Indeed, in the end, life was always worth everything it came with.