The Indus does not belong to politicians or generals. It belongs to the farmers in Punjab, the families in Sindh, the fishermen near Karachi, and the communities in Kashmir who have lived along its banks for centuries, writes MA Hossain
HISTORY is a tireless teacher. It reminds us that wars between India and Pakistan have only hardened enmities, deepened poverty, and imperilled the broader region’s stability. Today, as tensions mount once again over the Indus Waters Treaty, a sobering truth confronts both New Delhi and Islamabad: peace is not an idealistic luxury — it is a survival imperative.
The immediate spark was a brutal and condemnable act: the killing of 26 Indian tourists in Kashmir on April 22, a grim reminder of the unresolved tensions in the region. India, furious and under intense domestic pressure, suspended its participation in the 1960 Indus Waters Treaty — a pact once hailed as a rare diplomatic triumph between two nuclear-armed rivals. Pakistan, equally predictably, warned that any attempt to obstruct the flow of water would constitute an ‘act of war’ meriting a full-force response.
The temptation to escalate is understandable, particularly in democracies where leaders are acutely sensitive to public anger. Yet history, geography, and basic prudence all demand a different course. In the cold calculus of realpolitik, neither side can afford to weaponise water. If anything, the perilous road they are now tempted to tread will lead not to victory, but to mutual impoverishment.
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Fragile lifeline of Indus
THE Indus Waters Treaty has survived wars, political upheavals, and decades of bitter recriminations. Brokered by the World Bank in 1960 after years of arduous negotiations, the treaty divided the six rivers of the Indus Basin between the two countries. India was given control of the eastern tributaries — the Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej — while Pakistan retained rights to the western rivers — the Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab. Importantly, while India could use the western rivers for limited purposes like hydroelectric projects, it was prohibited from any consumptive use that would significantly diminish Pakistan’s flows.
That the treaty has endured for 65 years is not an accident. It is a testament to the fact that neither India nor Pakistan can afford the catastrophic consequences of disrupting the river system that sustains hundreds of millions of lives. Pakistan, in particular, relies on these waters for 80 per cent of its irrigated agriculture. To tamper with that supply would be to invite famine, mass displacement, and potentially, the collapse of a fragile state. For India, the risks are scarcely smaller: regional instability, international condemnation, and the not-so-distant prospect of full-scale war with a nuclear adversary.
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Sabre-rattling and its limits
TECHNICALLY, as experts on both sides acknowledge, India does not currently possess the infrastructure necessary to significantly choke off the flow of the western rivers. Diverting or storing the massive volumes of the Indus and its tributaries would require the construction of enormous dams and canals across some of the most difficult terrain on Earth — a process that would take years, not weeks. Even if undertaken, such efforts would be politically costly and economically ruinous.
Yet the dangers lie less in immediate engineering feats than in the corrosive effects of escalation. India’s decision to suspend the treaty, although largely symbolic in the short term, undermines the spirit of a rules-based order that has kept the worst impulses of nationalism in check. It also sets a dangerous precedent that could rebound on India itself. After all, China holds the headwaters of the Brahmaputra River, vital to India’s northeast. If India chooses to treat international river agreements as disposable under pressure, why should it expect better from others?
Pakistan’s reaction, too, demands scrutiny. Its leaders have declared that any obstruction of the Indus waters would amount to an act of war, vowing to respond with ‘full force.’ This is a dangerous and reckless posture. By framing water flows as an existential trigger, Islamabad risks locking itself into a position where diplomacy becomes impossible and escalation inevitable. More measured voices should prevail, recognising that mutual interdependence on shared rivers is not a vulnerability — it is a lifeline.
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Strengthening the treaty
THERE are, of course, longer-term challenges to the treaty that cannot be ignored. Climate change is rapidly altering weather patterns across the Himalayan region. Glaciers are melting at alarming rates, monsoon seasons are becoming more erratic, and the demands of swelling populations are placing unprecedented strains on water resources. Both India and Pakistan must adapt to a future where the current water-sharing arrangements will be under increasing pressure. But adaptation requires cooperation, not confrontation.
The immediate crisis offers both countries an opportunity to reframe their relationship around pragmatic coexistence rather than perpetual hostility. Instead of tearing down a 65-year-old framework, India and Pakistan should work to strengthen it—modernizing the dispute resolution mechanisms, enhancing information sharing, and establishing joint protocols for dealing with emergencies like floods or droughts. Such initiatives would not only reduce the risk of miscalculation but also demonstrate to their own populations and the world that both nations are capable of responsible leadership.
Narendra Modi, India’s prime minister, has famously declared, ‘Blood and water cannot flow together.’ It is a potent line, but one that must be applied with wisdom. Blood has already been spilled; adding the weaponisation of water would not redeem those deaths but compound the tragedy. The true tribute to the victims would be an unyielding commitment to peace, however difficult or imperfect it may be.
For Pakistan, too, there is a choice. Instead of viewing every Indian infrastructure project as an existential threat, it should invest in better water management, technological upgrades in agriculture, and diplomatic engagement that addresses legitimate concerns without turning every dispute into a casus belli.
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True ownership of Indus
ULTIMATELY, the Indus does not belong to politicians or generals. It belongs to the farmers in Punjab, the families in Sindh, the fishermen near Karachi, and the communities in Kashmir who have lived along its banks for centuries. Their future should not be held hostage to the dangerous fantasies of those who mistake conflict for courage.
In a world increasingly defined by scarcity and competition, sharing water must be seen not as a concession but as an act of collective survival. There is no glory in turning rivers into weapons. There is only ruin.
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MA Hossain, political and defence analyst based in Bangladesh.