When water reclaims its right
By: Dr Aftab jan
The devastating flood of 2014 still lives in the memory of every Kashmiri, a disaster that did not simply arrive with water but with pain, destruction, and humiliation that no one can forget.
In that year, the Jhelum overflowed its banks, canals burst, and Srinagar along with many districts turned into islands of suffering. Families were stranded on rooftops, homes drowned under filthy waters, orchards were uprooted, and bridges collapsed like toys.
The Valley, once called paradise, looked like a sea of ruin. Thousands of people lost everything they had built with their lifetime of effort. And yet, even in that catastrophe, there was a lesson that Allah placed before us: that rivers, canals, and wetlands are not ours to grab, choke, or destroy.
They are trusts, lifelines, and natural pathways designed to protect us if we protect them. But a decade later, in 2025, the bitter truth stares at us: we did not learn. Instead of reform, we chose neglect. Instead of humility, we chose arrogance. Instead of preservation, we chose greed. The reality is simple—‘hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya’.
Every canal we filled, every wetland we encroached, every dumping ground we created on the banks of Jhelum, every illegal house built on flood channels—these were not the works of nature, but of human hands. And when nature responded with fury, it was only reclaiming what we had stolen.
Today, when in Pulwama a seven kanal orchard has been swallowed by floods, it is not the cruelty of water but the justice of nature. The stream that once had a clear path was blocked by our constructions, narrowed by our greed, suffocated by our waste, and when water demanded its right of passage, it tore down walls and orchards to carve its way. The farmer who lost his orchard did not deserve such pain, but society as a whole must accept that the fault lies in our collective negligence. The truth is harsh but undeniable: hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
The Qur’an has already warned us in words that echo over Kashmir today: “Corruption has appeared on land and sea because of what the hands of men have earned, so that Allah may let them taste some of what they have done, in order that they may return.” (Surah Ar-Rum, 30:41).
The floods are not accidents; they are the taste of our own corruption. The canals that kings of old built to protect Srinagar were destroyed by modern greed. The great Wular Lake, which once absorbed excess waters, has been eaten away by encroachment and silt. Dal Lake, instead of shining as a jewel of Kashmir, is suffocating under sewage and constructions.
The Nallah Mar, which used to carry water through Srinagar and reduce flood risk, was filled decades ago for a road, and since then the city has lived under constant flood threats. We thought we were clever by replacing rivers with roads, wetlands with markets, and canals with colonies, but the result is that water now flows into our living rooms instead of its natural channels. The punishment is of our own making, because hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
The Prophet Muhammad (SAW) said: “Do not waste water, even if you are on the bank of a flowing river.” (Musnad Ahmad). Yet we did worse than wasting—we destroyed water itself, its routes, its homes, and its beauty. We turned rivers into drains, wetlands into garbage pits, and streams into real estate plots. How then can we expect mercy from nature when we suffocated it with our own hands?
The Qur’an reminds us again in Surah Al-A’raf (7:56): “Do not cause corruption on the earth after it has been set in order, and call upon Him in fear and hope. Surely, the mercy of Allah is near to those who do good.” But we reversed this order. Where Allah had created balance, we created imbalance.
Where He had given flowing rivers, we blocked them with concrete. Where He had given fertile floodplains, we replaced them with shopping complexes. And today, when the floods wash away our dreams, we cry as victims but refuse to accept our role as culprits. Yet the truth is louder than our cries: hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
The social reality of Jammu and Kashmir deepens the wound. Our youth, instead of inheriting clean lakes and fertile orchards, inherit unemployment, drug addiction, and broken lands.
The Valley that once breathed with harmony between man and nature now gasps under pollution, garbage, and overpopulation. Government after government promised action, but very little was done beyond paperwork. Encroachments were documented but not removed, illegal constructions identified but left standing, restoration projects announced but rarely completed. Politicians took photographs at wetlands, officials prepared reports after floods, but when the waters receded, the urgency evaporated. The system failed to be guardian, and society failed to be custodian. Together, in silence and greed, hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
In Pulwama, the farmer who lost his orchard is only one among thousands who suffer. Every family in flood-prone areas lives in fear during heavy rains. They know that a single night of downpour can destroy years of toil. And yet, at the same time, powerful people continue to extend their walls, grab lands, and build structures where water once breathed.
This contradiction is the essence of our tragedy: the weak suffer the most, while the strong profit from encroachment. Justice is drowned, fairness is buried, and only destruction remains. The orchard lost in Pulwama is not just land washed away; it is a symbol of our collective failure, a reminder that hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
The problem is not unique to Kashmir. Around the world, from the floods in Sindh to the drowning villages of Bangladesh, from the overflowing rivers of India to the submerged towns of Europe, humanity is paying the price of tampering with nature. Climate change is no longer theory; it is reality.
Glaciers melt, rains intensify, storms grow frequent, and weak societies crumble under the pressure. But in Kashmir, the tragedy cuts deeper, because our Valley was once known for balance between human life and nature.
Our ancestors respected rivers, maintained canals, and preserved wetlands. But we broke that chain of wisdom. We became arrogant, thinking we could control what Allah had created, forgetting that we are only caretakers, not masters. And when caretakers betray their trust, the trust itself turns into punishment. This is why, even in global terms, Kashmir’s story is not just about floods—it is about betrayal of amanah. The Prophet (SAW) said, “The world is sweet and green, and verily Allah is going to install you as vicegerents in it in order to see how you act.” (Sahih Muslim). But instead of proving ourselves worthy as vicegerents, hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
The Jhelum, once called the Vitasta, has been the mother river of Kashmir. It has carried life through centuries, irrigated fields, and inspired poets. Yet today, Jhelum is a river of sorrow, clogged with silt, narrowed by encroachments, polluted by waste. Every time the skies open with heavy rain, the Jhelum rises like a beast, not because it wishes to destroy, but because we have left it no room to breathe.
Water that once flowed with grace is now forced to destroy because we blocked its mercy. In truth, the Jhelum is not punishing us—it is simply reclaiming its right. And when orchards are swallowed in Pulwama, when colonies drown in Srinagar, when villages tremble in Anantnag, the message is clear: water reclaims its path, because hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
The Qur’an’s principle is crystal clear: “Indeed, Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.” (Surah Ar-Ra’d, 13:11). Kashmir will not change until we change. No government policy, no international aid, no technology can save us unless we first accept responsibility. We must change greed into gratitude, arrogance into humility, negligence into responsibility. We must restore wetlands, revive canals, protect rivers, and treat water bodies not as land for sale but as sacred trusts.
The government must act with courage, removing encroachments no matter how powerful the grabbers are, and society must support such actions even if it hurts short-term interests. If not, floods will return again and again, each time fiercer, each time more painful, until nothing remains.
Nature is patient but not forever. 2014 was a warning. 2025 is a reminder. The next may be a punishment too great to bear. If we continue as we are, then every orchard lost, every home drowned, every child displaced will testify against us on the Day of Judgment. On that day, excuses will not save us, because we cannot say Allah was unjust. The truth will be simple: ‘hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya’.
Kashmir was once paradise on earth, but paradise cannot be preserved with greed, corruption, and negligence. It can only be preserved with humility, responsibility, and justice. If we want to protect this Valley for our children, if we want orchards to bloom instead of drown, if we want rivers to flow with life instead of destruction, we must act today.
Otherwise, water will continue to reclaim its right, and history will record that a people who were blessed with paradise destroyed it with their own hands. For the final verdict is already written in our land, our rivers, and our floods: hum ne khud sab barbaad kiya.
(The author is a Researcher and a teacher)
