When Rivers turn against us
By: Ruhail Maqbool Sheikh
I write today not just as a professional working on water, but as a son of this soil—born and raised among the rivers, lakes, and forests of Kashmir. For more than a decade, I have studied, sampled, and walked along the Jhelum, Dal, Wular, and countless mountain streams.
I have seen their beauty, their strength, and their pain. And what I have witnessed fills me with deep sorrow: we are slowly killing the very lifelines that sustain us.
Our ancestors considered rivers sacred, wetlands as the valley’s guardians, and forests as our natural shields. Yet, within a single generation, we have misused and abused these precious resources. Our rivers are choked with untreated waste and plastic, our wetlands encroached and suffocated under illegal construction, and our forests cut down without mercy.
I have seen it myself during my work—lakes once rich with lotus blooms and fish are shrinking, streams once crystal-clear now carry sewage and garbage, and catchment areas lie barren where tall chinars and deodars once stood. Each test I conduct, each sample I analyze, and each survey I complete is not just scientific data—it is a mirror reflecting our negligence and greed.
The floods that devastate us are not accidents. They are warnings. The great deluge of 2014 should have been a turning point, a wake-up call to rethink our relationship with nature. Yet, what did we do? Instead of respecting the warnings, we continued building on floodplains, filling wetlands, and treating water bodies as dustbins.
Today, intense rainfall lashes our valley with growing frequency, cloudbursts strike without warning in our mountains, and flash floods sweep away homes, bridges, and lives in minutes. These are not isolated events—they are nature’s way of reminding us that we cannot survive if we destroy the balance that protects us.
This crisis is not just environmental; it is moral and spiritual too. The Holy Qur’an had already warned us about such consequences:
“Corruption has appeared on land and sea because of what the hands of people have earned, so that He may let them taste part of what they have done, that perhaps they will return.” (Surah Ar-Rum, 30:41)
Is this not exactly what we see today? Our misuse, our greed, and our neglect have brought corruption to the very earth and waters that sustain us. Floods, landslides, droughts, and changing climate are not punishments—they are reminders from the Creator to pause, reflect, and return to balance.
And yet, despite the grim reality, I refuse to give up hope. I have seen hope in the eyes of schoolchildren who plant saplings with me, in the determination of houseboat owners who clean Dal Lake, and in the voices of young volunteers who campaign against plastic. It is not too late to heal our land. But the question we must all ask ourselves is: if not now, then when? If not us, then who?
We can still protect our rivers by ensuring no untreated sewage or plastic waste flows into them. We can restore our wetlands by removing encroachments and giving them legal protection as nature’s sponges against floods.
We can replant our forests on barren hillsides and revive catchment areas to ensure groundwater recharge. We can adopt responsible waste management and make eco-friendly choices in daily life. We can change the way we build our cities, plan our roads, and live as communities. Every single action matters: a tree planted, a drain cleared, a wetland saved, an awareness spread.
This is not the government’s fight alone. It is our collective fight—yours and mine, for our children and their future. Policies and laws can help, but without community responsibility, no government can save nature. We need to see rivers not as drains but as living entities, wetlands not as wastelands but as protectors, and forests not as timber but as our life insurance.
My dear people of Jammu & Kashmir let us not allow negligence to define our legacy. Let us be remembered as the generation that stood up for its rivers, its lakes, its forests, and its people. Let us create a culture where every citizen feels responsible for nature—where throwing waste into a river feels as wrong as throwing it into our own living rooms, and where cutting a tree without reason feels like hurting a family member.
Nature has always been generous to us in Kashmir. It has given us snow-capped mountains, gushing streams, lush meadows, and lakes that have inspired poets, saints, and travellers for centuries. It is time we show gratitude by protecting what we have left. The future of Dal, Wular, Manasbal, and the mighty Jhelum depends on the choices we make today.
This is my heartfelt appeal—as a Water Warrior of Kashmir, but more importantly, as your brother, your fellow Kashmiri, who dreams of a valley where nature and people live in harmony once again.
I dream of a day when our children can play by rivers without fear of pollution or floods, when our farmers can rely on clean water for their fields, and when our wetlands and forests thrive as guardians of the valley.
Let us heal our relationship with nature before it is too late. Let us ensure that our rivers, lakes, and forests remain treasures for future generations, not ruins of our carelessness. Together, we can make sure that our waters remain lifelines, not threats.
The choice is ours—destruction or restoration, negligence or responsibility, greed or gratitude. May we choose wisely, for the future of Kashmir depends on it?
