The canal project is a $3.3bn value project under Pakistan’s green initiative (GPI) which was inaugurated by Pakistan’s Military Chief General Asim Munir and Prime Minister Mr Shahbaz Sharif in July 2023. The project aims to build six new canals five from Indus River and one from Sutlej River to irrigate 4.8 million acres land across Sindh, Baluchistan, and Punjab. According to Government sources this task will develop the agriculture and irrigate barren lands for the role of corporate agriculture.
Academic Critics argue that in a country where there is not enough water to fill the existing dams and other reservoirs, where melting glaciers are existing nontraditional security threat to Pakistan which is a clear sign of less water in our rivers. As water shortage is alarming for Pakistan, but irrigation department has been tasked to start the controversial Canal project without the consent of people who rely on the water of Indus saga
For millennia, the mighty Indus River has been the lifeline of Indus valley civilization, cultivating civilizations, nourishing lush plains, and sustaining societies across what is now Pakistan. Flowing from the tall foothills of Tibetan plateau to the Arabian Sea, the Indus is more than a river; it is the story of centuries old civilization, it is a symbol of endurance, spirit, and artistic identity.
Rising struggle over water distribution, particularly between the provinces of Punjab and Sindh. The federal government’s recent drive to build six new canals across over the mighty Indus River, apparently to cope with water shortage and improve agricultural yield, has been met with mounting concern and outrage in Sindh. To the people living downriver, these initiatives represent more than infrastructural development; they signal the slow death of a civilization.
The Indus River is not just a source of water for Sindh it is the substance of its economy, its ecosystem, and its soul. As Aitzaz Ahsan expressively writes in The Indus Saga and the Making of Pakistan, “The people of this region are the children of the Indus, not the Ganges.” This feature is not merely geographic it is profoundly historical and civilizational. The Indus shaped a unique identity long before borders were drawn and statehood defined. It gave recognition to Mohenjo-Daro, one of the world’s oldest urban foundations, and persists in defining the cultural heartbeat of Sindh today.
Yet, notwithstanding its historical and environmental centrality, the Indus is being diverted and neglected. Downriver localities are witnessing reduced flow of Indus, increased saltiness, and a creeping environmental collapse. The Indus Delta—once a vibrant ecosystem pouring with biodiversity—is now drying up, its mangroves dying, its fishermen displaced. Fields in interior Sindh are turning barren, and groundwater levels are falling at an alarming rate.
The constitutional rights of natural resources are clearly mentioned in Article 172(3): 18th amendment 2010 “Subject to the existing commitments and obligations, mineral oil and natural gas within a Province or the territorial waters adjacent there to shall vest jointly and equally in that Province and the Federal Government.” This ecological degradation is worsened by political negligence.
Water distribution among Pakistan’s provinces is governed by the 1991 Water Accord, but its functionality remains unequal and obscure. But the problem is implementation of law . For many in Sindh, water is not just a resource, it is a matter of survival, justice, and autonomy. People of Sindh call them the children of Indus River; mighty Indus was once the center of poetry and mythology but now struggling for survival.
Aitzaz Ahsan indicated in The Indus Saga and the making of Pakistan “A nation that forgets the source of its being, the cradle of its civilization, cannot hope to survive in history.” Pakistan risks doing just that. By prioritizing upriver growth without considering downstream significance, the state is deteriorating the very structure that holds this country together. The Indus holds Pakistan not just hydrologically, but historically and culturally.
The problem is not simply about Punjab versus Sindh, or one project over another. It is about reimagining water superiority in Pakistan. Climate crisis has already made water scarcity a national level issue. Glacial melt, asymmetrical pattern of monsoons, and rising temperatures are dropping our water accessibility. In such situations, constructing more canals without ensuring environmental equilibrium and interprovincial equity is a hazardous path.
Sindh’s voice must be acknowledged. And the flow of the Indus must be sheltered, not just for the sake of a province, but for the survival of the century’s old civilization and history itself. We must shift focus from water diversion to water conservation. From infrastructure-heavy solutions to ecologically sustainable policies.
This is not only concern of policy, but also a matter of identity. As Aitzaz Ahsan reminds us, “The Indus is the fountainhead of a distinct civilization… a civilization that is as old as Egypt or Mesopotamia.” To lose the Indus is to lose a civilizational inheritance that no modern development can replace.
What is needed now is a national dialogue enrolled in mutual respect, merit, and scientific data. Federal power must ensure that the 1991 Accord is implemented in both letter and spirit. Mighty Indus restoration must be made a national priority, we must adopt modern irrigation technology, rainwater storages, mountain reservoirs and mass public awareness campaigns to decrease waste and promote sustainability.
Pakistan’s future heavily depends on its rivers and none more so than the Indus. We owe it to history, to nature, and to the millions who call its banks home to protect this lifeline. The people of Sindh should not be made to choose between survival and heritage, nor should they be penalized for living at the tail end of a river that has served all of us for centuries.
The Indus has shaped our past. Whether it shapes our future depends on the choices we make today. The Indus cannot wait, and neither can the millions whose lives, histories, and hopes flow with its waters.
