Ratna Mandal: Scarred by violence, defined by strength

Ratna Mandal. Photo: Courtesy

Ratna Mandal still remembers the night that changed her life. More than two decades have passed, yet the scars on her neck feel fresh on some days, burning as if the acid was thrown only yesterday. She has learnt to live with them, but they never let her forget.

"My scars have become a reminder," she said. "Not of pain, but of survival. They remind me why I fight."

Ratna grew up in a quiet village in Jhenaidah in southwestern Bangladesh. It was a large joint Hindu family, filled with relatives, cousins and noise. She was the eldest of three, protected, loved, and full of ambition. Her parents never treated her differently for being a girl. She ran errands, handled responsibilities and helped manage the household. Life was simple, but Ratna was content.

That happiness was shattered when she was still in school. One winter night, her father—an influential man in the village and the only earning member of the family—was attacked in the dark over a long-standing land dispute. 

The assault left him paralysed and permanently bedridden. Overnight, the family's world fell apart. Financial security disappeared, and the family became dependent on relatives who were quick to remind them of their place.

The humiliation was constant. Ratna, still a young teenager then, tried to continue her studies, but the tension inside the home felt heavier each day.

Then came 1999.

Her grandfather died that year, and relatives came to their house to perform the last rites. The house was full, so Ratna gave up her room and slept on the verandah. She was 15.

Sometime after midnight, she woke up to unbearable pain. A burning sensation tore through her neck and face. The smell of acid and scorched flesh filled the air. She screamed, but there was nothing anyone could do. Water only made the pain worse. She fainted before she understood what had happened.

Ratna was admitted to the hospital in Jhenaidah and later taken to India for treatment. She spent six months there, wrapped in bandages, undergoing procedures far too painful for a teenager to bear. When she returned home, she learnt the truth: she had been attacked as part of the same dispute that had destroyed her father's life.

But the cruelty did not end there.

Whispers spread through the village, twisting the story into something else. Rumours claimed she had been in a secret romantic relationship and rejected a man, and that the attack was an act of vengeance. Acid attacks, in many people's minds, were linked to "love affairs gone wrong", and villagers believed the worst.

Ratna describes this as one of the most painful parts of her life.

"It was not enough that they attacked me," she said. "They took away my character, too. I was only 15. I didn't even understand what love or relationships meant."

Ashamed, she stopped going to school. Her family was struggling financially after paying for her treatment in India, and relatives made sure they knew they were a burden. Days passed in darkness. The future felt dark.

But a small window of hope opened.

A national newspaper, working to rehabilitate acid attack survivors, found her and helped her set up a small grocery shop near her home. It was a simple business, but for Ratna it meant something bigger—independence. She began earning a little money and contributing to her family.

Her teachers and friends visited and begged her to return to school. Ratna refused at first, worried that people would stare at her scars.

"You are stronger than this," her teachers told her.

Those words motivated her to move forward with her life.

They left scars on my skin, but not on my ambition.

Ratna Mandal

Ratna went back. She worked at the shop in the mornings and studied in the afternoons. Slowly, she rebuilt her confidence. She finished school, then moved her family to Jhenaidah city so she and her siblings could pursue higher education.

She enrolled in college, took a job tutoring students, and continued her studies every evening. Eventually, she completed both her bachelor's and master's degrees—something that once felt impossible.

During those years, the Acid Survivors Foundation supported her ongoing treatment and therapy, easing a burden her family could never have carried alone.

In 2018, Ratna's journey took its most meaningful turn. She joined BRAC's Human Rights and Legal Aid Services (HRLS) programme. She was no longer just a survivor but now an advocate.

Today, Ratna is an HRLS officer in Khulna, supporting women who are fighting battles she understands all too well: domestic violence, rape, acid attacks, sexual harassment, and abandonment. She guides survivors through legal processes, helps them access support, and stands beside women whom society tries to silence.

"Many women arrive broken," she shared. "They think they deserve the violence. They believe no one will stand with them. I tell them: you are not alone. What happened to you is not your fault."

Her own journey gives survivors strength. When they see her scars, they see proof that life after violence is possible.

Ratna Mandal. Photo: Courtesy

Ratna is proudest of what she has been able to rebuild at home. She supported her siblings through higher education; both are now building professional careers. Her family, once shattered, now stands tall again.

"People tried to ruin me," she commented. "They left scars on my skin, but not on my ambition."

There were moments, she admits, when the pain pushed her to the edge—moments when ending her life felt easier than surviving it. But she found courage. She kept going.

And now she fights so that other women don't lose hope.

"Women like me should not give up. We can be change-makers. Our suffering is not the end of our story. We can write a new one,"  Ratna explained.

Her dream is simple: a world where no girl suffers what she did. A world where survivors are believed, supported, and treated with dignity.

Today, Ratna stands in courtrooms, in police stations, in crowded homes where arguments turn violent. She listens, advises, guides and fights—because she knows what it feels like to have no one standing beside you.

Her scars are permanent and so is her strength.

"I survived an acid attack at 15. I am 37 now. I am still fighting, but today, I am fighting for others," she concluded.