“I had just given birth to a girl. That alone was enough for my in-laws to pour acid on my face,” said Mayna Pramanik, her voice scarcely rising above a whisper. She was only thirteen when she was forced into marriage, and just fifteen when her world shattered beyond repair.

As a single tear slipped down her cheek, she wiped it away with a trembling hand, her chipped nail polish catching the light, a faint trace of a girl who once cared for such things. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the gallery, stopping at a photo of herself from before the attack. A smiling young girl, untouched by cruelty. Then, with a pause, she showed another, taken just before her first surgery. Her skin had melted away, and there was barely a trace of what once was a face. “I looked at that photo and couldn’t recognise myself, but I had to survive for my daughter,” said Mayna. With the support of her parents, Mayna raised her child alone.

Now, Mayna stands under the soft lights of a Durga Puja pandal, not as a victim, but as a performer, part of a moving tribute by Kolkata’s Dakshindari Youth Club, whose theme this year, “Dahan” (meaning burning), brings to the fore the physical and emotional scars carried by acid attack survivors like her.

The pandal, celebrating its 25th year, is unlike any other. There are no dazzling lights or ornate decorations. Instead, structures are left deliberately unfinished, cloaked in rough jute sacks, meant to symbolise stolen beauty, distorted by a moment of cruelty. “When something beautiful threatens the fragile ego of a coward, they try to destroy it,” said theme artist Anirban Das.

Mayna is joined by three other survivors who, through live performances and emotional monologues, are confronting thousands of visitors with the uncomfortable reality of gendered violence.

Among them is Sunita Dutta, now 29, who was just 14 when a boy from her neighbourhood, angered by her rejection, disfigured her with a 10 rupee bottle of acid. “I’ve had 25 surgeries, but no doctor can give me back the face I once had. Still, I’ve found something better, peace and the courage to turn around and start afresh,” she said.

“The man who did this walked out of jail in ten days. We carry this pain forever, but the law forgets us in days. We need laws that recognise that our suffering is lifelong,” she said, her voice tinged with quiet rage.

Sunita found love again online. “He saw past my face. He saw me,” she said, smiling softly, flaunting the vermillion in parting of her hair. “His family rejected me, but he chose me anyway. Today, we run a small eatery and raise our baby daughter. Life didn’t end, it just took a detour,” she said, a bittersweet smile plastered on her face.

Another survivor, Kakoli Das was attacked in 2016. She had moved to a new neighbourhood with her husband and two children, hoping to escape a stalker who had made lewd advances toward her. “But he found us again,” she said. “One morning, while I was taking my children to the doctor, he threw acid from behind,” she shuddered, remembering her trauma. The burns covered her body; a few drops hit her children too.

“I ran screaming into a nearby house. The owner pushed me out, afraid I’d burn down their home. With what was left of my sari, I covered my children’s wounds and jumped into a nearby pond,” she recalled, the pain still fresh in her eyes.

Today, Kakoli performs alongside her daughter on the stage at Dakshindari Youth Club’s Durga Puja pandal. “I survived because of my husband. He stood by me, never let me fall apart,” she added.

For Reshma Khatoon, the acid did more than burn skin. It stole her vision. “The world went dark,” she said. After 31 surgeries, Reshma regained some of her sight, but not her dignity in society’s eyes. “I took off my glasses, hoping one day someone would look into my eyes without fear or pity,” said Reshma, letting out a sigh of despair and frustration.

“They call me names, bhootni, kali billi, bad omen,” she said, combing through her hair with her fingers. “But look, I’ve got bangs now. My mum says I look cute again,” she added.

She laughs, but her words cut deep. “The government gave me three lakhs. Tell me, how do you fix a face, a life, with that? We deserve more than pity. We deserve a system that doesn’t let monsters roam free.”

The theme “Dahan” at Dakshindari Youth Club is more than an art installation. It is an act of rebellion. Acid attacks continue to plague India. According to government data, between 200 and 300 cases are reported annually, and in 95% of these, the accused walk free. The numbers tell only part of the story, the rest is written on the faces of women like Mayna, Sunita, Kakoli, and Reshma. Through performance, these women are no longer silent victims. They are Durga in flesh, wounded, but unyielding.