The Silent Weight of Violence

In my work as a lawyer, I meet women who carry bruises that the world cannot see (or chooses not to see). They walk into Dhwani Legal Trust with a quiet determination, but beneath it there is always a trembling question: “Will the law stand by me?”

The numbers tell us domestic violence is increasing, but it is not these numbers I see every day. It is the faces. A woman who clutched her child’s hand while describing nights of abuse. Another who stared at the floor, unable to say the word “rape,” though it was her own husband. Yet another, who, after years of violence, said to me that she felt ashamed of dragging her family to court…

Over the years, I have sat across from women who narrate their stories with nervous laughter, as though softening the edges of violence will make it easier, for them and for me. I have seen women who doubt themselves, who wonder if they should endure a little more. Violence surely does not just wound the body—it restructures the way a woman sees herself, and the way she thinks of her worth.

And then begins the long journey into the legal system. The law exists on paper, and it is often progressive. But to actually use it in cases of violence, is like running an endless race. Every door a woman knocks on demands that she repeats her story, to different people —protection officers, police officials, clerks, lawyers, judges. Each telling strips her of a little more energy. Too often, she is met not with empathy, but with indifference or suspicion. “Why didn’t you leave earlier? Why now? Are you telling the truth?”

In court, the waiting becomes unbearable. Hearings are adjourned, matters are pushed, files are misplaced. I often feel a lump in my throat as I walk out of court after yet another hearing when the husband refuses to pay maintenance, knowing my client has to return to the same house, the same cycle of fear. She approached the Law hoping for protection and maintenance, but what she gets is waiting —for the next date, for the next order, for the system to notice her pain…

Being a woman lawyer in cases of violence carries its own weight. On one hand, I hold the responsibility of translating a woman’s pain into the language of law. On the other, I navigate the subtle scepticism that still lingers around women litigators. Sometimes it is a soft dismissive remark from the Bar, a smirk when I raise my voice, the presumption that I am ‘too emotional’ because my cases involve women’s rights… Sometimes it is overt, like being interrupted mid-argument or watching the court show apathy towards domestic violence. How many times have I been told (with a certain condescension) – “Madam, family matters should be settled quietly at home.” “These women misuse the Law.” “Men also need protection, look at the recent news articles which are finally bringing out the truth.”

The emotional toll is harder to put into words. Listening to stories of violence day after day is not something I can leave behind in the office. I carry them with me – into my evenings, into my sleep. The grief and helplessness of a woman who has nowhere safe to go, the fear in her child’s eyes, the exhaustion of navigating the legal processes, all of these, and more linger long after the file is closed.

Running Dhwani Legal Trust has deepened my empathy in ways I could not have imagined when I first entered litigation. It has opened my eyes to intersectional traumas – of Dalit women, queer persons, garment worker-women living in abject poverty – who carry not just gendered violence but also the weight of caste, class, and social exclusion. At Dhwani, when I ‘represent’ clients, when I participate in their lived experiences, their truths somehow end up becoming an inextricable element of ‘justice’ for me.

As lawyers, we do see moments of success. At Dhwani, we have been largely successful in obtaining protection orders and maintenance orders under the Domestic Violence Act. But enforcing them is an entirely different battle. What is the meaning of a piece of paper if the police refuse to enforce it? What is the use of an order if a woman cannot safely return to her home? Some days, I wonder whether the law operates only in theory, while in practice it hangs by a thread.

This is why having a dedicated team is crucial. I am not fighting this battle alone. My colleagues at Dhwani so passionate and committed as lawyers. We share the burden of listening, of arguing, of being present for survivors who place their trust in us. On days when the system feels immovable, it is their energy and solidarity that rekindles my passion for legal aid. We celebrate each other’s victories, however small, and we carry each other through the defeats. Together, we are trying hard to create a space where survivors are not invisible, and where we as lawyers remind one another that our voices and fights, too, matter.

When I think of domestic violence, I do not first think of statutes or case law. I think of the women sitting across the table from me, each carrying a story too heavy for one person to hold. I think of the weight in their silences, the courage in their hesitations, and the quiet persistence it takes just to show up in court. My work at Dhwani has shown me that these battles are never just about law – they are about survival and dignity. In the end, it is not victories or losses that matter, but the resilience of survivors and the solidarity of all those who share this struggle. And then, we keep the fight on.

– Ashwini Obulesh