The bureaucratic push to 'green' Cholistan and Thar has resurfaced with renewed vigor, yet it remains anchored in outdated methods: canals that siphon water from distant barrages, routed through engineered pathways into the deserts of Punjab and Sindh. These initiatives not only ignore the unique ecology and rich heritage of the Indus Valley Civilisation but also disregard the resilience of the communities that have endured this harsh landscape, hoping for the revival of a river that had virtually dried up during colonial rule. They echo the same logic that disrupted the Indus' natural flow and drained its delta—divert, control, and colonise. In doing so, new canals have deepened mistrust and ignited outrage in downstream areas, where locals view these projects not as development, but as a continuation of extractive policies that undermine their rights and water security. Amid Pakistan’s dire economic crisis and fragile political stability, this top-down greening agenda is beginning to resemble provocation more than policy.
Floodwater without a Floodplain: A Crisis Engineered
Each year, the Indus and its tributaries carry colossal flood pulses during the monsoon, surging downstream with intensified volume due to accelerated glacier melt and longer rainfall spells. But unlike in the past, the river today no longer has space to spill, meander, or retreat. Its ancient floodplains—once vast, living sponges that absorbed and softened these surges—have been systematically colonised and hardened. When floodwater is denied its space, it finds new, unpredictable paths—breaching dykes, drowning villages, and causing mass dislocation.
The floods of 2010 and 2022 showed just how fragile this engineered system has become. Millions were displaced not because of excessive rainfall alone, but because the river has been robbed of its right to overflow safely. Infrastructure intended to tame the river has instead amplified its rage.
Hakra River: A Forgotten Floodway of the Indus Basin
Yet, what if we reversed course? What if, instead of imposing canals where none existed, we reactivated a river that once flowed? What if, instead of choking rivers with embankments, we gave them room to breathe—and to heal?
The Hakra River’s dry bed in Pakistan stretches from Fort Abbas to Umarkot and onward to the edge of Kutch. This was once a living river—a distributary of the Indus system, draining excess water from Punjab’s uplands toward the desert delta of the southeast. For centuries, it functioned not just as a flood outlet but as an ecological corridor, sustaining a rich mosaic of wetlands, pastures, and agriculture across what are now the Cholistan and Thar deserts.
Pakistan can lead by example: showing how ancient rivers can guide us through modern crises, not just by remembering where they flowed, but by allowing them to flow again
But this natural lifeline was gradually severed by colonial and post-colonial interventions. The first disruption came with the construction of the Ottu Weir on the Ghaggar-Hakra system during British rule, which diverted monsoonal flows toward irrigation schemes in present-day Haryana and Rajasthan, cutting off seasonal water supply to the Hakra’s lower reaches. This was followed by the Sutlej Valley Project, a cornerstone of British irrigation planning, which further re-engineered the basin by diverting the Sutlej through a network of canals and barrages to serve canal colonies and intensive agriculture in central Punjab, stripping the Hakra of one of its key feeders. Finally, the Indus Waters Treaty of 1960 formalised this hydrological rupture by allocating the eastern rivers, including the Sutlej, to India. With upstream flows now dammed, diverted, or depleted, the Hakra’s channel was left to desiccate, transformed from a dynamic seasonal river into a forgotten scar on the landscape—its ecological role abandoned, its cultural memory fading.
A Gentle Reawakening of a Riverbed
In this context, reviving the Hakra is not about draining floodwater that would otherwise “go to the sea untapped.” It is about channelling this excess—temporarily and seasonally—into a long-dormant floodway that once formed part of the Indus Basin’s drainage logic. It is about giving the water somewhere safe and ecologically meaningful to go.
Restoring the Hakra is not about digging a new canal. It is about gently reopening a forgotten path. The terrain remembers: the gradient, the alignment, and the floodplain zones are still traceable. The bed is around 500 kilometres long in Pakistan, with a historic floodplain up to 15 kilometres wide in parts. A seasonal release of floodwater—say 1.5 million acre-feet per annum during monsoon months out of the colossal 145 MAF in the Indus system—can be guided into this corridor. It would recharge underground aquifers, rewet dying wetlands, and lay the foundation for a unique desert ecology that once existed here.
This ecological revival would bring numerous benefits. Native grasses, shrubs, and trees would return, supporting livestock and revitalising grazing grounds. Migratory birds and wetland-dependent species would find new refuge, while pastoral communities, currently forced to migrate or rely on brackish groundwater, would regain access to life-sustaining resources. Flash floods upstream would be less destructive, as the Hakra could serve as a pressure release valve for the Indus.
Beyond ecological gains, the restoration of the Hakra River holds substantial potential for the tourism industry. The banks of the Hakra are home to many significant remains of the Indus Valley Civilisation, offering a rich historical and cultural tapestry for exploration. The revitalisation of this area could foster the development of heritage tourism, attracting visitors keen to experience the ancient cities, archaeological sites, and stunning landscapes that are often overlooked. With proper infrastructure and sustainable development, this could become a vibrant cultural tourism hub, creating jobs, boosting the local economy, and offering a new avenue for preserving and celebrating the region's unique heritage.
Heal, Not Just Build
We live in a time of multiple tipping points: climate, water, food, and ecological collapse. Yet within this crisis lies an opportunity. The desire to green Cholistan and Thar is noble. But greening cannot mean extracting more water from a river system already under stress, or creating infrastructure that undermines local resilience.
Instead, it must mean healing what was broken. Reviving the Hakra, using seasonal floodwater to animate its bed and wetlands, is a bold but grounded idea. It can reduce flood disasters upstream, restore biodiversity downstream, and reconnect people to their rivers, not as hazards to be feared, but as partners in life.
In doing so, Pakistan can lead by example: showing how ancient rivers can guide us through modern crises, not just by remembering where they flowed, but by allowing them to flow again.