Rivers in the sky
MANY monsoons back, in a small remote village there was an old widow who had tied a small cloth pouch to the crook of her walking stick. Inside the pouch were her house keys, a pair of reading glasses, and a tiny whistle. “In an earthquake, the ground dances and everything hides from you,” she would say.
With the pouch on her stick, she knew she could stumble outside, unlock a gate, or call for help. Her mud house was built well away from the path of the frequently overflowing stream. Her monsoon preparedness included placing the most precious items — her pension book, ID card and a handful of old black-and-white photos inside a battered steel trunk that rested on bricks many feet above the ground. She survived numerous storms and earthquakes — for she knew that prevention was better than cure.
Pakistan ignored the ‘preventive’ wisdom of this one-person disaster management authority. Instead, it created a gigantic organisation with 250 employees, an annual running cost of Rs362 million, and an additional Rs8 billion earmarked for procurement of equipment. Despite all this, we lost over 670 lives, hundreds of cattle, thousands of homes and millions in properties in the recent monsoon deluge.
The first priority of all authorities, bureaus and commissions is to protect their own selves and not the public at large. Hence, they focus on enhancing the size of their own budgets, number of employees, seminars conducted, visits made to foreign countries, annual reports and presentations given before VIPs.
The rivers in the sky obey only the laws of physics. Their course is not altered by our finger-pointing at incompetent leaders or blaming distant global carbon emissions. On the contrary, the rivers are enraged when they encounter crumbling embankments or dwellings that obstruct their natural flow.They love to balance the scales of justice by destroying the illegally constructed encroachments of the rich and powerful — built in connivance with the greasy palms of numerous government officials. They are also equally happy to demolish the deforested mountains whose timber has been recklessly stolen by mafias and whose core has been sucked out by illegal mining.
Disaster management is not about waiting for disasters.
Why must citizens bear the burden of our ceremonial ‘disaster management organisations’ whose role seems limited to issuing warnings and alerts? Is it not their job to enforce zoning laws to prevent settlements on riverbeds, nullahs and steep mountain slopes prone to flash floods? Are they not paid to ensure that vulnerable embankments at riverbanks are reinforced? Whose job is it to ensure that storm drains are built in every city and choked nullahs are cleared of heaps of plastic bags and bottles? Who must push for rainwater harvesting by building reservoirs, tanks, lakes, wells, ponds, dams and water retention basins? Who is responsible for exercising the force of the law to check the cutting down of forests or destabilisation of mountains by digging illegal mines?
While all these tasks fall within the routine responsibilities of several government departments, it is the disaster management authority’s crucial duty to demand their implementation and effectiveness. Disaster management is not about waiting for disasters. It is about proactive actions to build resilience in all that we do with nature and our surroundings. They need to be implemented as an ongoing measure of policy and much before the rivers in the sky decide to follow the laws of physics.
Disaster management involves knowing facts, co-nducting ‘hazard identification and risk assessment’ and applying controls to prevent or minimise losses. One does not see any of this on the websites of the disaster management organisations. We have little idea of all the places where trees are being cut, where illegal dwellings have cropped up, where embankments need to be reinforced, where nullahs are permanently clogged or where unauthorised mines are being constantly excavated.
Could we not learn of preventive actions from Sweden that only a few days back, moved the 113-year-old Kiruna Church weighing 672 tons, five kilometres to the left, to save it from being swallowed by a giant underground iron ore mine? Back home, it would have resulted in a familiar media statement — ‘Old church falls down. Forty worshippers killed, 78 injured. PM expresses condolence and a compensation of Rs1m for the dead and half million for the injured’. Our only way forward is to reject foreign-funded ‘pseudo climate resilience’ loans, rebuild our disaster management institutions, and trust our own capacity to act.
The writer is an industrial engineer and a volunteer social activist.
Published in Dawn, August 27th, 2025