FAMILIES ARE USUALLY the first site where violation of women’s dignity and liberty is normalised. Domestic violence – be it emotional, mental, physical and economic – is the tool deployed in patriarchal households, to maintain gender-based power relations. The Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act, 2005 (’PWDVA’) marked a watershed moment by recognising the constitutional guarantees of freedom and dignity in the family’s private sphere. It built a robust outside-court support system for survivors. Yet, according to the NHFS-5 data from March 2022, an alarming 44 percent women in Karnataka have experienced domestic violence, a figure higher than the national average.
As the PWDVA completes two decades, the authors critically reflect on their experiences of using the law to support survivors of domestic violence, across institutions entrusted with this responsibility such as police, protection officers, service providers and courts.
Preliminary barriers to accessing the law
Our collective of lawyers supports survivors of domestic violence and other forms of gender-based violence through a combination of research, advocacy and litigation. Our work has revealed that although the PWDVA provides substantial means, we face significant challenges while working with the structures promised by this law.
Firstly, many of our clients are unable to frame their experiences as violence— cultural norms that normalise, even justify, family violence as love and care gaslight survivors and erode their confidence and will to act. Some of our clients are unable to recall specific details such as dates, or even their addresses — which, without proper support, may render their case legally invalid, even though they are survivors of violence.
While PWDVA envisages support through service providers and protection officers, these mechanisms remain largely unknown and inaccessible especially for women facing multiple marginalisations on account of caste, class, religion, in addition to gender.
Secondly, women are not aware of all of their legal options. Workshops and interactions with women in rural Karnataka reveal how stark this gap is. Many know only of the nearest police station. Even this limited knowledge does not translate into action: a crippling fear of engaging with the criminal justice system keeps them away, further reinforced by social norms that discourage speaking about violence altogether. As per NHFS-5, 80.1 percent of women who faced violence by their current husband never told anyone. Only 11.3 percent sought help from any source.
Thirdly, familial support is often absent; where it exists, it frequently takes the form of pressure to settle with the perpetrator rather than pursue justice.
These experiences underscore an urgent need for robust social support systems for financial, mental health, and legal assistance. While PWDVA envisages such support through service providers and protection officers (‘POs’), these mechanisms remain largely unknown and inaccessible especially for women facing multiple marginalisations on account of caste, class, religion, in addition to gender. For most women, this access comes only through contact with women's groups, social workers or lawyers – a privilege rather than a right.
Accessible but insensitive police
In cases of relentless physical abuse, many women often approach the police as the most accessible point of support. However, police officers either do not know or fail to recognise that Section 5 of PWDVA requires them to inform women of all available legal options. They routinely refuse to interfere on the basis that it is a matrimonial dispute, and register an FIR under Section 498-A only in rare cases.
This reluctance surfaces in our gender sensitisation sessions with police in urban and rural Bengaluru. A majority believe that only repeated physical violence that results in severe bodily injuries is violence. Verbal, emotional and financial violence are often dismissed, and incidents discussed during sessions were frequently written off as ‘trivial misunderstandings’. A woman with grievous and visible physical wounds then becomes a prototype for a ‘perfect victim’ in their perspective. Many also believe that if a man has committed a crime against a woman, he had a good reason. The impact of such an attitude is felt most acutely by women from marginalised communities.
As per NFHS-5 data, only 6.3 percent of the women reached out to the police for help. This is quite telling of how police attitudes shape women’s access to crisis intervention.
This is not to imply that the police are villains, but to emphasise on the need to establish supportive environments to voice ideas freely and unlearn prejudices. Many subordinate police officers hail from smaller towns or marginalised backgrounds — with little access to spaces for learning, unlearning and reflection on their gender, caste, class and religion-based prejudices.
These prejudices, and an institutional investment in preserving family units, also explain why women are routinely channelled into counselling, which is neither mandatory under the law nor always preferred by the survivor. Women’s groups in Bengaluru have flagged instances in police stations serving large working-class populations where such counselling is conducted in open spaces; forcing women to disclose deeply personal details in public, compounding their sense of indignity. This is often due to infrastructural constraints within these stations.
Invisible service providers
The law permits associations registered as societies or companies to register as service providers under the Act. They bridge the gap between the police and the courts through documentation, medical assistance, legal aid, and shelter, recording domestic incident reports and forwarding them to Protection Officers, who in turn submit them to courts. While the intent and practical imagination of the law is commendable, this institution is largely unknown and inaccessible even in a city like Bengaluru. Many women’s groups we work with perform these functions without registering under the law.
The contestation with Section 498-A
The PWDVA provides civil remedies to survivors over and above the criminal liability. Women who approach police stations for crisis intervention often remain without relief if the PWDVA is not invoked. Moreover, cruelty as defined in Section 498-A of IPC (Section 86 of BNS) fails to address the whole spectrum of violence women face within the domestic sphere. Women’s experiences of gender-based violence within patriarchal families are often too complex, transient and undocumented to meet the exacting standards of criminal procedure or to prove beyond reasonable doubt. Further, the zero-sum nature of criminal trials is often unsuitable for gender-based violence inflicted within a complex matrix of love, care, inter-dependency, trust, desire, bitterness, etc. This contributes to low conviction rates and fuels the misuse narrative pushed by the Men’s Rights Activist groups.
We advise and assist women to invoke PWDVA — unless circumstances are so dire that criminal proceedings are the only effective deterrent — where they are disinclined towards subjecting their abusers to criminal trial, whether due to financial dependence, children or confidence that court directions may provide sufficient respite from violence and improve their domestic conditions.
The growing judicial tendency to treat Section 498-A as widely misused by “vengeful” wives makes the criminal route more hostile. It signals to women that unless their injuries are grievous and visible, they are unlikely to meet the evidentiary standard. In proceedings of domestic violence cases, the standard is preponderance of probabilities, allowing women to access remedies without proving harm with absolute certainty. The fact that husbands face no criminal liability unless they violate court orders can itself function as a more effective mechanism for addressing violence in intimate spaces.
Interpreting violence before courts
Courts are only one of the many institutions duty-bound under the PWDVA, alongside the police, service providers, protection officers, in interpreting violence into the law.
In our experience, the judiciary has been broadly willing to invoke PWDVA to recognise and provide relief for forms of abuse that police generally dismiss as “too trivial”. PWDVA permits courts to grant creative, and therefore effective reliefs (on paper), to address very particular cases in accordance with the aggrieved woman’s specific circumstances and needs for safety, respite and resources, by the virtue of the procedural flexibility provided by Section 28(2) of the PWDVA.
The law is quasi-civil, where the substantial rights that are civil in nature and breaches are treated as criminal offences. Domestic violence is not itself a criminal offence, but its occurrence entitles women to preventive and remedial rights. However, breach of such a court’s Orders is a criminal offence.
Police officers either do not know or fail to recognise that Section 5 of PWDVA requires them to inform women of all available legal options. They routinely refuse to interfere on the basis that it is a matrimonial dispute, and register an FIR under Section 498-A only in rare cases.
Protection Orders may be obtained for immediate respite and relief even before the respondent is heard in time sensitive matters. Where a prima facie case is not very forthcoming, the court may direct for a Domestic Incidence Report (‘DIR’) before passing orders. In practice, we ensure that a complaint regarding a specific incident is filed before police; even where an FIR is refused, police may be persuaded to provide acknowledgement, which creates relevant documentation to establish a prima facie case.
Once an ex parte protection order is passed, a Protection Officer is appointed and the notice along with the protection order is served on the respondents through the Protection Officer. The further steps in the proceedings are in accordance with the law on criminal procedure.
Overburdened Protection Officers
A Protection Officer from Karnataka we interviewed mostly discharge their duties under the PWDVA alongside their primary position as a Child Development Project Officer (‘CDPO’). Their everyday responsibilities include managing anganwadis, ensuring delivery of supplies, overseeing government schemes, overseeing accounts, and administrative work. It is in addition to this workload that they perform their duties as a PO, for which they are able to set aside only two days a week.
As POs, their responsibilities are to ensure women receive legal counselling, access to shelter where required, and mental health support, but institutional support is weak. Earlier, a lawyer from the Taluk Legal Services Authority (‘TLSA’) would visit their office to assist survivors, but this has stopped in recent months, making it difficult for them to provide even basic legal guidance.
Our interviewee informed us that they handle about 2–3 cases a week, most of which are referred through Santwana Kendras with fewer women approaching them directly. Santwana Kendras conduct initial counselling and refer unresolved cases onward.
In practice, they often end up counselling survivors themselves, even though the law does not envisage this role for POs. They also record case histories and prepare DIRs, describing the additional charge as highly burdensome.
They emphasised that balancing these responsibilities with their role as a CDPO is extremely difficult. As a result, they are unable to accompany survivors to court or consistently follow up on their cases. Legal clarifications are usually handled by lawyers, when available. “If a full-time PO is appointed, we can support women more effectively without compromising any aspect,” they said.
They also highlighted structural challenges within the support system. Santwana and Swadhar Kendras, though critical, are severely under-resourced. There is a shortage of staff, and often do not attract qualified counsellors. Funds are insufficient, making it difficult for these centres to function effectively.
While the police respond when approached, they feel more cooperation and support from their end can ensure that POs are also able to discharge their duties more effectively. Court delays remain a concern; clearer directions from courts on how POs should assist at each stage would help them support survivors more effectively and ensure timely relief.
Our own experience, as lawyers working within this ecosystem, reflects and extends many of these concerns. POs are poorly paid, and in some instances, survivors are informally asked to bear costs associated with filing DIRs or travel for field visits. The role also carries risks as POs may have to face the abusers at the time of spot visit to prepare a DIR. Sometimes, when perpetrators are influential, they also have to navigate political pressure. It is also deeply concerning that DIRs are at times prepared at Santwana Kendras by lawyers instead of by POs as mandated, pointing to a breakdown in implementation.
We have further observed weak coordination across stakeholders. In several instances, police personnel have been unaware of the role of POs or how to access them. Survivors often face discontinuity in legal support at Santwana Kendras, requiring them to repeatedly narrate their experiences.
The PO we spoke to emphasised that PWDVA has created an important space for women to report violence, with the office of the POs often feeling more accessible than courts. But for this system to function effectively, the appointment of full-time POs, stronger institutional support, and a more proactive role by legal services authorities to ensure consistent access to legal advice and representation are required.
We now see strategic use of law by the husbands and their families to defeat women’s civil remedies and rights under the PWDVA. The Supreme Court’s phrase “prevent the abuse of the process of any Court or otherwise to secure the ends of justice” grants High Courts a discretion so broad as to be virtually unbounded.
Judicial dilution of PWDVA
Cases of domestic violence are heard at first instance before the Judicial Magistrate of the First Class. In Shaurabh Kumar Tripathi v. Vidhi Rawal (2025), the Supreme Court held that domestic violence proceedings pending before the Magistrate can be quashed under Section 528 of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, 2023 to “prevent the abuse of the process of any Court or otherwise to secure the ends of justice”, just like the criminal cases registered under Section 86 of Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023, the criminal law provision on domestic violence. We now see strategic use of this position of law by the husbands and their families to defeat even women’s civil remedies and rights under the PWDVA. The phrase “prevent the abuse of the process of any Court or otherwise to secure the ends of justice” is so broad that the High Courts have wide discretion. However, where connected matrimonial cases between the parties are pending before the family courts, Section 26 of the PWDVA allows obtaining the reliefs for protection, compensation, residence, maintenance, etc., even through such courts. Therefore, women should try and avail remedies under the PWDVA before the Family Court to overcome this strategy, as the inherent powers cannot be invoked when the matter is pending before non-criminal courts.
Litigation is not always conclusive. Many of our clients, even after overcoming significant barriers to access a lawyer, remain uncertain about pursuing litigation to its logical end. They are forced to weigh whether they have the financial, social, and emotional bandwidth to sustain a legal battle.
For instance, a domestic worker was brought to us by her employer. Despite considerable time having passed since her trial began, there has been little progress. Alongside her own frustration, the domestic worker now finds herself answerable to her employers for this lack of progress. For every day she missed work to attend court, she has had to compensate by working extra hours.
Conclusion
PWDVA disrupted the long-standing assumption that families must be preserved at all costs. As feminist legal practitioners, we believe that misogyny, and devaluation of women are nurtured within home and spill out as crimes against women in the streets. In that respect, we appreciate this law blurring the boundaries between the private and public spheres. However, institutions that are entrusted with the enforcement of this law must eschew working in silos and co-ordinate their actions better in order to make this law effective. The State must seriously invest in sensitising all of these institutions about the social realities around gender-based violence and hold them accountable to their functions under the law.
Lastly, we wish to acknowledge the invisible labour that women’s groups and civil society organisations have been consistently putting in to make the mechanisms established by this law work. Without their work, it would be extremely difficult for women to experience justice through this law.
The Protection Officer’s identity has been kept anonymous for privacy reasons. The authors would like to thank Syeda Saba, Manu Chaudhary, Mamatha Yajaman and the anonymous Protection Officer for their inputs on this piece.
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