The path beyond flood warfare

The 2025 Punjab floods affecting 3,300 villages show why ancient wisdom beats modern warfare against rivers

The images from Punjab this monsoon tell a familiar, heartbreaking story. Villages submerged, families displaced, crops destroyed, and infrastructure crumbling under the relentless force. Over 3,300 villages affected, 1.3 million people displaced - and this is barely two years after the 2022 catastrophe that cost us USD 30 billion and affected 33 million Pakistanis.

We have been fighting this same battle for a long time. Every few years, the Indus and its tributaries remind us who really controls this land. Our response has remained stubbornly consistent: build the embankments higher, pray they hold, and when they inevitably fail, cut emergency breaches and count the casualties.

This approach has failed catastrophically. The time has come for Pakistan’s policymakers to embrace a revolutionary but proven alternative: stop fighting water and start living with it.

In the katcha areas near Rojhan, where communities have lived with floods for generations, a community elder named Ikram Khan speaks truths that our engineers are finally learning to understand: “River is generous, if it will take one crop, it will give you dozens of good ones. Let it flow, don’t enchain it.”

Ikram Khan’s words carry the weight of lived experience. He has watched the river’s seasonal rhythms, seen how floods destroy but also how they deposit fertile silt, recharge groundwater, and sustain the ecosystem that makes agriculture possible. “Indus tells you when it is coming,” he explains, “rises slowly, warning you to make way for the mighty Indus to pass, like a royal entourage.”

His metaphor captures something our engineers have forgotten: the Indus doesn’t sneak up on you like a flash flood. It announces itself with dignity, giving communities time to prepare, to move livestock, to secure what can be secured. But instead of making way for this royal procession, we’ve built walls to block it - and then act surprised when the entourage sweeps away our presumptuous barriers.

The tragic irony is that when floods come, it is often communities like Ikram Khan’s that get deliberately flooded first when authorities cut breaches to save “more important” areas. We sacrifice those who understand water best to protect those who’ve built in places water wants to go.

Thailand faced floods as devastating as ours until King Bhumibol introduced the “Monkey Cheek” concept - inspired by how monkeys store food temporarily before swallowing. Instead of forcing rivers into concrete straightjackets, Thailand created shallow storage areas that “swallow” flood peaks during crisis and “release” water gradually afterward. Areas that once faced annual devastation now use the same spaces as parks, sports facilities, and agricultural land during dry periods.

This approach mirrors what people like Ikram Khan have always known - work with the river’s generosity rather than fight its power. The monkey cheeks clear the path for the royal entourage, creating designated spaces where the mighty Indus can spread with dignity during high flows, then graciously withdraw when its procession is complete.

The solution exists, proven internationally, waiting for Pakistan to embrace it. What we lack is the political will to abandon our failed strategy of perpetual embankment warfare and begin the comprehensive assessments needed to implement this approach.

Pakistan’s river geography offers abundant natural opportunities across all five major rivers. The meandering nature of Indus has left dozens of oxbow lakes and depressions from Guddu to Kotri, including areas near Larkana, Shikarpur, and Dadu.

The Chenab’s shifting course has created natural storage sites from Jhang to Multan, while the Ravi’s meandering has formed depressions near Shahdara and Narowal - the very zones breached during recent floods. The Sutlej’s historic meandering stretch from Kasur to Bahawalpur, and the Jhelum has created wetlands from Mangla to Trimmu. These natural features could serve as flood storage areas. This is exactly what Ikram Khan meant about the river’s generosity - work with natural geography rather than fight it.

Shallow basins (1.0-1.5 meters) minimize displacement while building on traditional practices people like Ikram Khan preserved. This comprehensive water security mirrors royal processions throwing bounties to respectful onlookers - the Indus rewards those who make proper space. Controlled releases would support agriculture during droughts; water stored in monkey cheeks becomes bounty sustaining crops when the royal entourage moves on.

The groundwater recharge would help restore aquifers. The fertile silt deposited during floods would enrich soils for years - another royal bounty for communities wise enough to receive rather than resist the procession. This validates Ikram Khan’s wisdom about working with the river’s generosity, proving his point about “dozens of good crops” when you embrace rather than fight the water.

While countries like Thailand and the Netherlands have gained international recognition for giving rivers space to flow, Pakistan needn’t look abroad for wisdom. Communities like Ikram Khan’s have practiced “room for the river” for centuries. They’ve understood seasonal migration, flexible agriculture, and living with water’s rhythms. Our modern catastrophes stem from abandoning this ancient knowledge in favour of rigid concrete thinking.

This approach demands political courage - admitting that our century old embankment strategy has failed. But consider the alternative: climate change will make floods more frequent and severe. Our children deserve better than watching the same tragedy replay while we build the same failed defenses higher. The potential exists, proven by international experience and Pakistan’s natural geography. What’s missing is the wisdom to listen to voices like Ikram Khan’s - understanding that you don’t chain a generous river, you learn to receive its gifts.

The 2025 floods will recede, as floods always do. Engineers will repair the breaches. The explosives at Muhammadwala will be removed. And we will begin the familiar cycle of damage assessment and promises of “better preparedness next time.” Unless this time is different. Unless we acknowledge that placing explosives on protective infrastructure is crisis improvisation, not flood management.

Unless we finally hear what people like Ikram Khan have been telling us for generations: let it flow, don’t enchain it.

The Monkey Cheek network could have lessened this year’s crisis. Pakistan’s rivers are teaching us the same lesson with increasing violence. The question is whether our policymakers will finally listen to - not just technical experts, but the voices like Ikram Khan’s from the katcha lands.

“Indus tells you when it is coming, rises slowly, warning you to make way for the mighty Indus to pass, like a royal entourage.”

The river is generous, as Ikram Khan says. It’s time we prepared monkey cheeks to clear the path for the royal procession instead of building barricades in its way. It’s time to let it flow.

Copyright Business Recorder, 2025