In 1950, the American lawyer David Lilienthal travelled to Pakistan and India to report on the emerging disputes between the two new nation states. Lilienthal was a prominent public servant in the United States. In the post war atomic era, he had been appointed to lead the United States Atomic Energy Commission. His visit to India and Pakistan, however, happened because of his credentials as director of the Tennessee Valley Authority, where he was responsible for managing flood control on the Tennessee River and charting plans to harness this mighty river for hydroelectric power.
During his time in the two countries, Lilienthal made some decisive observations. In a report written for Collier’s Magazine, he claimed that the Kashmir dispute was intractable, but there were other areas of mutual concern of the two nations where agreement could be found – such as the allotment of the water of the Indus River. The issue of water, Lilienthal felt, was the most vital to the future stability of the region, and it was Pakistan in particular that stood threatened.
“No armies with bombs and shellfire could devastate a land so thoroughly as Pakistan could be devastated by the simple expedient of India’s permanently shutting off the source of waters that keep the fields and people of Pakistan green,” he wrote in a report that would later become vital in efforts by the World Bank to broker the Indus Water Treaty of 1960.
That devastation is now knocking at our door.
The past few weeks have seen India and Pakistan engage in an armed conflict that overflowed into major cities, caused civilian deaths, and was the closest the region has been to all out war since both countries became nuclear armed. There is little need to recount the events of what transpired over the course of four days from the 7th to 11th of May seeing as most of our readers will have lived through it and any who did not will have anxiously followed every update. What is worth noting is that the public mood since the ceasefire was announced has been celebratory.
Yes the government and military leadership are enjoying their moment in the sun with billboards, full page newspaper advertisements, jet shows, television events and all the other thrills and frills of claiming victory in war — that is all well and true. But it has also become clear that most Pakistanis have walked away from this conflict with an overwhelming sensation of triumph and security.
The danger, however, is far from over. The biggest blow to Pakistan was already delivered well before the first airstrike was launched when India announced it was going to be pulling out of the Indus Water Treaty.
To put this in context, the Indus Water Treaty was signed in 1960 between President Ayub Khan and Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru. In 1964, Nehru died and in 1965 Pakistan and India went to war again. Despite the newness of his government, Nehru’s successor Lal Bahadur Shastri did not abrogate the treaty. Here is how ironclad the treaty is: as part of its provisions, India was meant to pay Pakistan £62 million in 10 equal installments. One of the installments was due in October 1965, which India paid despite the fact that the two countries had fought a war just three weeks prior!
The treaty continued to be in place through the 1971 war and again up until the Kargil conflict of 1999. The treaty has survived terror attacks and rising tensions between the two nations for decades. As global treaties go, it is as inviolable as they come.
Which is why India’s announcement in the wake of the Pahalgam Attack that they were exiting the treaty is unprecedented. It was not an announcement made lightly. Even though active hostilities have ended, the Indian state machinery is rapidly moving to choke Pakistan’s waterways. While Pakistan might celebrate what it views as a diplomatic and military victory, the country’s leadership would do well to remember chest thumping cannot drown out the very real threat of India squeezing Pakistan’s rivers dry.
While it might take years for India to do this, if they remain committed to this bit the results for Pakistan’s economy and society would be absolutely devastating. In the years to come, Pakistan will need firm and sensible leadership that can understand the issue of the Indus Water Treaty, parlay with India and be able to diplomatically find a solution to sharing natural resources, particularly at a time when climate change is making the region’s river systems severely unpredictable.
Right now the only person we have to offer for such a job is Ishaq Dar. This fact alone should strike more fear into the heart of the average Pakistani than the threat of any kind of missile, drone, or artillery fire. So how do we go about Pakistan’s problems with its rivers? The first step is to understand how the Indus flows, and why India has the valve that can cut us off.
A precarious lifeline
About 50 million years ago, in the Mesozoic era, the shallow sandy Tethys Sea upfolded and formed the Great Himalayan Ranges because of the collision of the Indian plate and the Siberian plate. The Indus basin comprised lofty Himalayan mountains in the north and flat plains of Punjab and Sindh in the east and south. These mountains with immense snow cover gave birth to the Indus River and its tributaries.
The river originates from Lake Mansarovar in Tibet, China, which stretches over 3200 kilometres. It flows through the Hindukush, joined by tributaries from Gilgit, Swat and Kabul, before flowing into the Punjab near Kalabagh. This is where five different freshwater tributaries which give the Punjab its name — Jhelum, Chenab, Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej — join the Indus before flowing together in a single mighty river all the way down Sindh and into the Arabian sea.
For centuries this has been the flow of the Indus. It has changed course, warped itself around cities, and spurned them when they have grown too large. It has, at the same time, been open to the manipulations of human civilization.
As the river stands today, a basic geography reminder might be pertinent to understand how each of the river’s tributaries flow in Pakistan and how they are related to India:
Chenab: Originating in the Himalayas in India’s Himachal Pradesh, the Chenab flows through Jammu and Kashmir and into Pakistan’s Punjab, where it joins the Indus near Chiniot.
Jhelum: Flowing from Indian-administered Jammu and Kashmir, the Jhelum River winds through Muzaffarabad in AJK, and enters Punjab, meeting the Indus near Mithankot.
Ravi: The shortest of the major tributaries, the Ravi also originates in India and enters Pakistan, where it converges with the Chenab and Indus near Jhang.
Sutlej: The Sutlej begins in the Tibetan Plateau and flows through India’s Himachal Pradesh and Punjab before entering Pakistan, where it joins the Indus at Muzzafargarh.
Together, these rivers form a network of canals, lakes, and distributaries that feed the Indus Basin. The region around Multan, Sahiwal, and Faisalabad has some of the most vital and expensive agricultural land in Pakistan as a result of the direct access to the water from these rivers. With vast stretches of wheat, cotton, and rice fields irrigated by the waters of the Indus and its tributaries, a large portion of Pakistan’s agrarian economy is sustained through these select locations.
During the Raj, the British realised the strategic importance of controlling the Indus waters. They spearheaded one of the most ambitious irrigation projects in world history, transforming the Indus from a seasonal, often unpredictable river into the primary lifeline for millions of acres of farmland. The British constructed the Punjab Canal Colonies, a series of canals that diverted water from the Indus and its tributaries to create fertile farmland in what was once arid land. These efforts created a massive agrarian economy in Punjab, which produced wheat, cotton, and rice for the British Empire.
The canal network, while a technological marvel, also had significant ecological consequences. The waters of the Indus were diverted in a manner that dramatically altered its natural flow, causing the river to become more regulated and often less seasonal, yet prone to both floods and droughts due to the sudden changes in flow patterns. The extensive irrigation systems developed by the British paved the way for Pakistan, which would rely heavily on the river for decades to come.
By the time that the British left, the Indus River System was divided by political borders. Pakistan inherited the lower half of the system, but with a major issue: the majority of the river’s tributaries and control over much of its upper reaches were now in India. This led to tensions over water allocation, which have only been exacerbated by growing populations, climate change, and the increasing need for irrigation in an agrarian economy.
The Indus Water Treaty
The brutality of partition went far beyond communal violence. Not only had the British displaced millions of people and forced the greatest mass migration in history, they had also cleaved a great country into two. One of the most fascinating aspects of studying geography is how scholars that study rivers see them as living beings. They have personalities, will, history, and life in them. The Indus was a river that had long been suffering. Since the middle of the 19th century, it had been going through a series of unnatural changes as described above with the introduction of the Punjab Canal Colonies. Partition made this worse.
When the British Empire receded from the Indian subcontinent in 1947, it left behind more than a jagged border. It cleaved a living river system in two. The Indus River and its tributaries that had irrigated fields, fed civilizations, and defined regions for millennia now flowed through two hostile states, one upstream, the other downstream. The birth of India and Pakistan brought with it the question: Who owns a river that does not respect the lines on a map?
The geography behind the Indus Waters Treaty (IWT) is central to understanding its power and fragility. As we have mentioned above, the Indus River system originates in the Tibetan Plateau and flows through the Indian-administered region of Jammu and Kashmir before descending into Pakistan, where it fans out into the fertile plains of Punjab and Sindh before meeting the Arabian Sea. The system consists of six rivers: the Indus itself, along with the Jhelum, Chenab, Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej.
At Partition, India inherited control of the headwaters of all six rivers. The new border placed Pakistan downstream—a precarious position for a nation whose economy was, and remains, overwhelmingly agricultural. In the words of water expert Daanish Mustafa, “Partition turned a hydrographic reality into a geopolitical liability.”
This upstream-downstream dynamic meant India, at least in theory, could alter or interrupt the flow of rivers on which Pakistan’s survival depended. In April 1948, India temporarily stopped the flow of water to Pakistani canals from the Ferozepur headworks on the Sutlej, asserting sovereign rights over the eastern rivers. This was a bombshell event that had never before been expected while India was whole. At the time, the operating theory in international relations was the “water wars rationale” that held countries would go to war when their water resources were threatened.
Nehru’s India understood this and knew that war would not be worth it for either side. As a result, India and Pakistan became the exception to the rule. Liaqat Ali Khan made a phone call to Nehru requesting the water flow be restored, and Nehru personally intervened with the West Punjab government to have the water up and running again. It was a moment that gave hope to future water sharing negotiations.
But the matter of water is so existential that it left an imprint of the Pakistani imagination. Though the interruption lasted only a few weeks, it sparked panic in Pakistan and revealed the high stakes of river politics. While the water war never went kinetic and both countries maintained diplomatic lines over this issue, the threat did loom large. Recognizing the danger, the World Bank — then known as the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development — stepped in. Eugene Black, its president at the time, offered to mediate. Negotiations began in 1952 and stretched on for eight years.
The eventual result was the Indus Waters Treaty, signed in 1960 by Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and Pakistani President Ayub Khan in Karachi. The treaty was quite simple. India would retain control of the three eastern rivers, the Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej. Pakistan would have rights over the three western rivers, the Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab.
While India agreed to allow “unrestricted flow” of the western rivers to Pakistan, it retained limited rights for domestic, non-consumptive use, and to develop run-of-the-river hydroelectric projects—projects that, by design, cannot store water. As political scientist John Briscoe notes, “The treaty is notable in that it allocated not just water, but entire rivers,” making it unique in the history of international water-sharing agreements.
At first glance, it appears India gave away a strategic advantage. So why agree? For starters, it was clear to everyone involved that if an agreement was not reached there would be war. India had control of the tap at the top, and if they were to use it, Pakistan would feel they had no option but to fight back.
Sun Tzu, in The Art of War, describes a concept called “Death Ground”: placing one’s enemy in a position where they have no choice but to fight because to not fight means accepting death. India’s post-Partition leadership was sensible enough to realise that to not have a clearly defined treaty governing the rivers would mean putting Pakistan on death ground.
At the signing, Nehru tried to frame India’s rationale for signing the treaty as being for peace and stability. He said “We may have to make some sacrifices to ensure peace in the subcontinent,” at the occasion. But there were practical considerations as well. India’s water needs were being met by the three rivers it ended up getting, and the World Bank was offering substantial funding to develop infrastructure that would help both countries manage their allotted rivers.
For India, the treaty clarified its rights over the eastern rivers and paved the way for the development of projects like the Bhakra-Nangal Dam, which became a symbol of modern India’s engineering ambitions. In essence, the treaty exchanged some of India’s theoretical control over the western rivers for clear legal authority over the eastern ones. It also got them international goodwill and the funding that came with it.
For Pakistan, the treaty was nothing short of existential. At the time of signing, 80% of its irrigated agriculture depended on the Indus system. Without guaranteed access to water, its economy — and food security — would be devastated. Pakistani negotiators viewed the treaty as a “life insurance policy.” The funding it unlocked allowed Pakistan to build the Mangla and Tarbela dams, part of a vast replacement works project that re-engineered its irrigation system around the new division of rivers.
Even today, over 90% of Pakistan’s water use is for agriculture, much of it tied to the Indus Basin. The treaty, then, is not just a legal document. It is of vital importance to national security as well as food security. As such, the modern Pakistani economy we know today is possible only because of the Indus Water Treaty.
While in both countries, it enabled large-scale agricultural expansion, hydropower generation, and rural development, it is disproportionately more important for Pakistan than India.
As things stand
This, to sum it up, has been a long winding explanation of both the Indus River and the treaty that governs it between two sovereign nations. This is not to say that the treaty has been perfect. There have been many calls to renegotiate the agreement and revisit what was set out in 1960. While the treaty was heralded as a peaceful resolution of water issues between the two countries and was seen as serving the purpose for the last five decades. Even during full-fledged war the treaty remained enforced and effective. However, India, taking advantage of the provisions of the treaty, initiated some projects including Kishanganga, Baglihar and Wullar that (dams) revived, rather heightened water related tensions.
India’s current moves are similar to this historic trend. Because they have the ability to stop the water, India continues to rationalise exercising this power. Recent visits by this correspondent to barrages across Punjab and Sindh revealed a stark contrast in water quality, flow, and infrastructure — exposing a deepening crisis that directly affects millions of farmers and rural communities.
Other witnesses also present a bleak picture. At Sulemanki Barrage, the Sutlej River, once a lifeline for southern Punjab has become a carrier of death. The water runs black, laced with white chemical froth. Local officials confirm that during winter, particularly in January and February, no actual river water reaches the barrage, only raw sewage. In these months, the river to wastewater ratio plunges to 0:100. The stench can be unbearable; standing near the barrage is described as nearly impossible.
Groundwater in the region is saline, making canal water the only source for drinking, cooking, and farming. The people of nearby Cholistan, one of Pakistan’s harshest deserts, depend on this tainted water often boiling it before use, but with no alternative in sight. This is not just environmental degradation; it is a slow burning humanitarian crisis.
The pollution is both domestic and transboundary. The Hudaira Drain, infamous for carrying untreated waste from India into Pakistan, delivers a toxic load from both sides of the border. Indian industrial and urban effluents flow into the Ravi River, combining with sewage from Lahore, Faisalabad, and Kasur including waste from tanneries before spilling into the Sutlej. This upstream activity reduces clean water availability for Pakistan in the critical winter season, when snowmelt from the Himalayas is minimal.
At Head Islam and Punjnad Barrages, the story remains grim. Polluted, low flow water reaches farmers too late or in quantities too small to matter. Irrigation officials spend most of their time mediating disputes over dwindling supply.
In stark contrast, Sindh tells a different story. At Guddu Barrage, the Indus flows clean and strong. The Pat Feeder and Ghotki Feeder canals were operating during the visit, and the water was visibly healthier. At Sukkur Barrage, the world’s largest irrigation system, water still commands respect. While right bank canals like the Nara Canal flowed with strength, left bank canals were noticeably weaker as a result of post 2010 flood changes and sediment shifts that have tilted the river’s natural flow.
The contrast between Punjab and Sindh is not merely ecological but geopolitical. India, as the upstream country, controls the flow of the eastern rivers including the Sutlej and Ravi under the Indus Waters Treaty. During winter, when India’s use for irrigation and hydropower increases, the outflow to Pakistan decreases. While permitted under the treaty, the timing and volume of water releases can have devastating effects downstream when no clean water arrives to dilute pollution.
This is not just a local environmental tragedy. It is a test of regional cooperation, science, and governance. Without serious bilateral engagement and investment in pollution control, the rivers of Punjab may soon carry little more than poison if they carry any water at all.
What happens now
This is a description of the scenario as it has existed for the past few years, where pollution flows heavily in from India but water is regularly restricted. Now, India is making moves to develop its river infrastructure in a way that gives it even more control.
After the April 22 attack, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi ordered officials to expedite planning and execution of projects on the Chenab, Jhelum and Indus rivers, three bodies of water in the Indus system that are designated primarily for Pakistan’s use, six people told Reuters.
One of the key plans under discussion involves doubling to 120km the length of the Ranbir canal on the Chenab, which runs through India to Pakistan’s agricultural powerhouse of Punjab, two of the people said. The canal was built in the 19th century, long before the treaty was signed.
This would be a major struggle for Pakistan. As explained by one official from IRSA, India is allowed under the Indus Waters Treaty to take a limited amount of water from the Chenab River for irrigation. However, officials familiar with internal discussions say that India is planning to expand the Ranbir Canal, which would significantly increase how much water can be diverted. Right now, about 40 cubic meters of water per second is drawn, but the new canal could allow up to 150 cubic meters per second. Experts say this kind of expansion would take years to build.
These internal discussions reportedly began last month and are continuing, even after the recent ceasefire between the two countries. Officials from India’s water and foreign ministries, as well as the prime minister’s office, have not made any public comments about the project.
If India continues to ignore the treaty, they will embark on the path to building low dams and hydropower projects that will dry up water in the Western Rivers Pakistan is supposed to have control over.
Death ground
The Indus Waters Treaty is often praised as one of the world’s most successful water-sharing agreements. It has survived wars, coups, and near collapse. Yet it is also a fragile peace. Climate change, population growth, and upstream development are increasing tensions. Academic observers caution that while the IWT remains a “resilient legal framework,” it is under stress. As geographer Isha Ray puts it, “The treaty assumes stationarity in both hydrology and politics, which is an assumption that no longer holds”.
For Pakistan, the logic is quite simple: if India makes efforts to hinder the supply of water to which Pakistan is entitled under the treaty, and on which it is wholly dependent, that is tantamount to putting Pakistan on death ground. Pakistan has no choice but to fight India because to not fight means to accept death.
India’s leadership has long understood this and also that much as they may loathe Pakistan’s leadership, the two countries are stuck next to each other, and to put Pakistan in that position means foreclosing the option of a peaceful coexistence. This generation of Indian leadership, however, appears to be unburdened by such weighty considerations of wise statesmanship. One can hope that the recent conflict will have taught the BJP government to be more cautious in the future, particularly since India has taken a bit of a beating on the world stage.
To them, causing Pakistan pain in increasing doses will cause Pakistan to yield. The problem with that theory is that Pakistan has to believe that India’s demands will be reasonable, and when complied with, the pain will stop. That implies some level of ability to trust.
When someone threatens your water, and therefore your very ability to live, the question of trust is gone. At that point, the choice is simple: fight, or die.
We want to make it very clear: India has NOT yet put Pakistan in this position, merely mused about it. And while Pakistan should use diplomatic means to dissuade India from undertaking any actions against the letter and spirit of the Indus Water Treaty, the language should also make it plain: do not put Pakistan in a position of having to fight for its life.
We are not a nation that will go gentle into that good night.
