What happened when a woman doused in acid was offered revenge.

The tyres of the cycle rickshaw hum as we freewheel down the hill. I can hear the clatter of machinery from the clothing factories along the road. The industries of the Bangladeshi capital Dhaka are spreading further out into the countryside.

We’re on our way to the home village of Hasina Akter. She’s sitting next to me in the back of the rickshaw.

Hasina can’t speak English, so she squeezes my hand every time she wants to point something out to me. She’s getting excited as we get closer to the village.

The rickshaw stops and we start walking along a muddy path with ponds and fields on either side. Hasina’s schoolboy cousin, Rabi, starts running towards us. As he reaches Hasina, he smiles and stretches out his arms to hug her. Other cousins and villagers also crowd around as the track leads us into narrow lanes between the houses.

This is where Hasina grew up. She was well known in the village for being opinionated and mischievous.

“I was naughty. I like to fight with other children, many people in the village would complain. My mother was always worried about me, she told me not to fight with other children because I was a girl. There were a lot of complaints against me.”

Hasina's mother greets us as we reach her house. She's thin and lost-looking; one of her eyes is cloudy and blue. Hasina's father is a strong, commanding man who greets me with a firm handshake.

As I sit down, dozens of children crowd around me – fascinated to see a foreigner at close range. They touch my face and inspect my skin. Some press the buttons on my watch. Others pat my hair. It's almost suffocating.

Hasina comes to rescue me with a smile. She shows me the kitchen outside, where pots of curry are bubbling. Her mother has killed two chickens to put on a special lunch for Hasina's visit. The family is doing better than many others in the village: Hasina's father is a respected businessman and farmer, poor enough to get his hands dirty on the farm but wealthy enough to employ helpers.

When Hasina was growing up, one of her father's employees was Amir Hossain, a young man who helped with chores around the house. He was only a few years older than Hasina and appointed himself as her unofficial guardian: he monitored where she went, who she talked with and what she did.

"He wanted to control me. He became too much crazy. I was always arguing with him every day. My father did not recognise it was serious."

Amir would also try to eat his meals in Hasina's bedroom, almost as if he were marking out his territory.

"He was always trying to eat in my room. I didn't like it and I never allowed it. I would tell him to go, my father also told him not to eat there. He would come from outside and he was dirty and he was eating in my room."

By January 2004, Hasina and Amir were arguing daily. She was 17, assertive and spirited. He was in his early 20s, controlling, jealous and menacing.

On January 22, Hasina collected a bucket of water from the bore to wash the family's clothes. But she left it outside the house while she was chatting with her cousins. When she returned Amir had taken the bucket to water the cows.

"I said, who took my water, I used slang words. I said, 'You are child of a dog.' They are bad words, dog is not good in Muslim society."

That was the turning point. In the hours that followed, Amir bought a small jar of acid and planned his revenge. As Hasina and her family went to bed, Amir waited for his opportunity.

In the early hours of the morning he crept outside the window to the living room. Hasina and her young cousins were all sleeping on a giant coconut husk mattress.

"He threw the acid through the window. I was shouting and screaming. I was shouting and shouting. Everyone was shouting, all the people from other houses came and they were putting water on my face.

"I was shouting, it is burning, it is burning. I was lying on the floor. There were no clothes left on my body. They put my brother's clothes on me."

The acid had splashed across one side of Hasina's face, burning into her skin. Her eye and ear felt as if they were on fire. She screamed for her mother, who was too shocked to take action.

Eventually, Hasina was loaded into the back of a car and taken to hospital in Dhaka – a two-hour drive away.

"When I was admitted in the hospital, there were a lot of other acid burn patients admitted in the hospital. They came to my bed and touched my hands and said, 'Don't worry, we are here, we are also same like you facing this problem. Don't worry, we are here, you will make a recovery, you will be good.' When they touched me I was very happy. I felt like I will recover. I felt very encouraged.

"I always had confidence. I always had confidence I will never die. I lost my everything - but I will not die.

"It was really, really a difficult time. I can't explain how I got through this time. When the night was finished, morning would come and I would have to face the big difficulty of the changing of the dressing. The whole day I was worried about it, it was too painful. Dressing time was really horrible. It is not possible to express what I felt.

"When people came to see me in the hospital, I thought they had a very bad smell, from the countryside. But it was my bandages - I didn't recognise it was from me."

"I thought I will be a burden for my family. What can I do? I lost my everything - what will happen after my release from hospital, how can I live, how can I restart my life? Nobody will receive me, how can I live my life? I was worried about what people would say and what I would do. What will my family's reaction be?

"I found a mirror in the washing room, on the wall. I saw the mirror and I saw my eyes were here, my lips were over here, my eyes were closed, my nose was somewhere else, there was big infection everywhere. I just looked in a glance, I was crying. I thought how can I recover, how can I survive from this? I was crying and crying. Everything was disfigured."

Hasina spent four months in hospital and went through five operations to clean and repair her burns. Finally it was time to go home, back to the village.

"That day my mother brought a burqa, like the Arabian women wear. I wore it, I covered all my body. We arrived in a taxi. When I got out of the taxi, everyone had come to see me. All of the people were crowding and saying, 'Hasina is coming, Hasina is coming'. Most of the women were unable to see me at the hospital.

"When I went back to my village, I thought everyone was welcoming me, that everyone loved me, that's why they came to see me. I felt proud and happy that I was able to come back to my home. Day by day I realised no-one accepted me. People also said to my family that I was a bad daughter, that is why I was acid attacked.

"People didn't want to come to our house. They wanted to argue with us. If someone argued with us, they always said I was a bad girl, it was my fault.

"There were more than 200 people, people were crowded all around the house. Some people were afraid after seeing me. One of my classmates, after seeing me, fainted. That day was the horrible day. Everyone was gossiping about me and talking about me. I lost everything, all my confidence, the power of my body, everything. I was afraid.

"I asked my mother to bring poison, so that I could die. I said, please I don't want to be alive. My mother also cried with me. She was also upset. Before the accident, my mum was so fat and so nice. After the accident she became mentally disabled. She became thin, day by day.

"When I remember this situation, I feel as if I am going to die, even now. I always keep 1,500 taka money in my bag, always, so that if I die, someone will bury me."

In Bangladesh it only costs about 20 cents to buy enough acid to disfigure someone's face. It's one of the cheapest and most devastating forms of revenge; most of the victims are women. Often the attacks are part of property disputes between families or the result of failed marriage proposals. Hundreds of women are attacked with acid in Bangladesh each year.

As in Hasina's case, after getting through agonising treatment and surgery, the women are then subjected to ongoing verbal abuse, isolation and rejection. Women are blamed for being victims of the attacks and little effort is put into finding and punishing the perpetrators.

The Acid Survivors Foundation runs a small hospital and office in Dhaka. It provides medical treatment, counselling, legal help and support. It's a world within a world. Many of the staff at ASF are also survivors of acid attacks so within its walls, newly arrived patients are surrounded by others who have restarted their lives.

"After two years in the village, I came to the ASF to see the doctors and also for the police case. I requested a job, any type of work, I didn't want to stay in my village. I wanted to do anything.

"I had one operation. I requested to my case manager, I asked if I could learn and develop my skills. After three months of on-the-job training, after seeing my confidence and my interest in the work, the head of the unit arranged some more computer training. I enjoy each and every moment in my work. I always think I want to learn. I always ask questions, I want to learn.

"After I got the job and I went back home, those who rejected me, then they said I was lucky, they felt happy, they were proud for me. They said I was not a burden, I was organising my life, helping myself.

"I felt angry inside. I was just thinking, how is the humanity of people? How can people change? Sometimes I wanted to say something but I didn't. Those who rejected me too much, now they loved me. They had no humanity.

"Once there was a wedding of one of my cousins. I went there, everyone was throwing comments there. They said I was bad luck for the new couple, they said I should leave - I had to come home. I wanted to join with them. Now, when there is a wedding, everyone is asking me to go there but I am not feeling that I want to join with them. I don't want to go there."

While Hasina was rebuilding her life, the police had done nothing to find her perpetrator. They knew his name and where he lived but without bribes they couldn't be bothered pursuing him. Only 10 per cent of acid attackers in Bangladesh are ever convicted for their crimes.

But in March 2007 a senior commander of the Bangladeshi police read about Hasina's case and ordered his officers to take action. They arrested Hasina's perpetrator within 24 hours, after three years of refusing to do so.

Hasina and her family went to the regional police station, where her attacker Amir was being held. The local police chief offered the chance for revenge.

"He asked me if I wanted to beat the perpetrator. I said no. He gave me permission. He said, 'Whatever you want, you can do it.' But I don't want to beat to him because it is bad."

"Everyone was shouting, 'Beat him, beat him.'

"One of my uncles, he gave me his very old, dirty shoes and said beat him. I gave him four slaps with the shoes, in front of everyone. Everyone was laughing at him and was happy.

"I asked Amir why he threw acid. He was silent.

"I said, you want to make me disabled, so I cannot do anything, you want to make me a small person. But look at me. Yes, I lost my face but I have heart, a big heart.

Now I am working, I am starting my life, I have a new life. I am like a free bird, I am flying. But you were hiding, you were always worried the police were coming. You are not free. That is the difference between me and you. I am like a free bird now. You are nothing."

It's a cruel equation. Every day Hasina lives with taunts and stares when she goes out in public because she is disfigured.

But ironically she is now free from many of the expectations that would have shaped her life – the pressure to get married, stay in her village.

Her connection with the Acid Survivors Foundation has given her independence, education and employment. She lives independently in a hostel in Dhaka – which is unthinkable for many young rural women.

"If I didn't face this accident, maybe by this time I would be a housewife. Now I feel I am a person, I have confidence, I am able to do something. I feel that God has given me an opportunity. I know myself for the first time.

"There is a big disfigurement in my face but I think I didn't lose everything. One of my eyes is okay, one is not okay. People often tell me my eye is so nice. My eye is saying something always. I feel that I have beauty in my heart. My beauty in my heart will shine in my life."

Sally Sara is an award-winning ABC journalist who has reported from more than 30 countries, including Afghanistan, Iraq, Sierra Leone and Zimbabwe.

Credits

• Reporting, photography: Sally Sara
• Design, photo post-production: Ben Spraggon
• Development: Andrew Kesper & Ash Kyd
• Executive producer: Matthew Liddy

This post originally appeared on the ABC and was republished here with full permission. 

© 2015 Australian Broadcasting Corporation. All rights reserved. Read the ABC Disclaimer here. 

For similar reads, try ...

Pig food and death: The nightmare of life under Pol Pot’s mad regime.

‘How the Nazi horrors in my grandmother’s life spilled over into mine.’