The Indus River, ancient and indomitable, courses through the veins of a region steeped in millennia of history and myth, binding what is now Pakistan with a force far greater than any political alliance or nuclear arsenal. It is the sublime river of time, shaping civilizations and eroding the conceits of transient powers. From its formation 50 million years ago to the rise of Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro, the Indus has been the silent witness to humanity’s shared destiny, its waters a mirror reflecting the continuity of cultural and linguistic heritage.
In Sindh, protests now erupt—leaders of nationalist movements, lawyers, poets, and students join their voices in lamentation over the proposed canals that threaten to distort this primordial lifeline. The Indus is not merely a river; it is the elemental force that connects provinces and peoples, shaping their history as inexorably as it carved its banks.
The Water Apportionment Accord of March 21, 1991, an achievement unparalleled since the Indus Waters Treaty, sought to give form and fairness to this divine inheritance. With Punjab accorded 47%, Sindh 42%, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa 8%, and Baluchistan 3%, the Accord distilled the essence of historical precedent into pragmatic legislation. It remains a perfect artifact of human intention, unchallenged by any province. Yet, perfection on paper falters in practice, where IRSA—the regulator born to embody the Accord’s spirit—has become the very source of dissonance. The discord lies not in the Accord’s percentages but in the mechanics of its implementation: an arithmetic of error, compiled by a bureaucratic machinery ill-suited to its monumental task. It is here, in the gap between the vision and its execution, that the tragedy unfolds. This is no mere administrative squabble; it is a fracturing of unity, a challenge to the shared identity forged by the Indus over centuries.
The Indus flows as it always has, indifferent to the squabbles of those who draw lines upon maps and tables. It is the eternal arbiter, reminding us of the sublime fragility of human constructs. In this latest dispute, as in all struggles over its waters, the river humbles us once more, confronting us with the unyielding truth that the unity it offers must be earned anew in each generation, lest it dissolve into the sands of time.
To bridge the trust between the provinces, telemetry was installed, which turned into a nightmare. Regarding the complaints from Sindh and Balochistan, no credible information was available about the location and timing of the flow, and there was a lack of storage and diversion capacity to fully utilize the available water in the Indus Basin. Telemetry was envisioned in 2001 as the panacea to Pakistan’s water disputes, a live coverage mechanism to satisfy every stakeholder, from provincial governments to farmers at the end of canals. The data displayed transparently on the web was to be the foundation of trust, eroding suspicions of manipulation and ensuring that each drop was accounted for. But the dream quickly soured.
The story of the telemetry system in Pakistan’s Indus Basin irrigation network is a tragedy of mismanagement, resistance, and institutional inertia, unfolding against the backdrop of one of the world’s most ancient and vital water systems. So, the Telemetry system, the automated collection and transmission of data from remote sources, plays a crucial role in building confidence in IT systems by providing insights into performance, security, and user behavior, enabling proactive issue resolution and informed decision-making. The first telemetry system was installed almost 111 years ago on the Panama Canal in 1914 to monitor locks and water levels.
Installed in June 2004 at a monumental cost of Rs 450 million, this system was a technological marvel, designed to ensure the transparent collection and dissemination of real-time data on water flows and diversions at 23 critical sites across barrages, dams, and canals. It promised nothing less than a revolution in water governance, a digital testament to fairness and accountability in a land shaped by the ebb and flow of the Indus River.
Unfortunately, the Control of the telemetry system was transferred to IRSA and WAPDA, a decision so calamitous it might well have been carved into the peaks of the Himalayas as a monument to folly. IRSA, untrained and unwilling, was ill-equipped to manage this technological marvel. Its non-technical employees resisted the system from the outset, viewing it as a threat to their authority and, perhaps more damningly, their control over the opacity that had long governed water management.
Within months, the system was shelved, becoming a cautionary tale against digital transformation. The resistance was emblematic of a broader institutional malaise: an aversion to transparency and automation that threatened entrenched power structures. The telemetry system, which could have dismantled the very foundation of water data manipulation, instead became its victim. Like the thwarted efforts to computerize land records in Islamabad and Punjab, telemetry faltered under the weight of bureaucratic sabotage and systemic inertia.
How has real-time water flow data dissemination solved the water dispute over the Danube River, Europe’s second-longest, on which ten countries depend? After the waters are meticulously monitored and managed, with real-time data accessible to all ten countries. This model of transboundary water governance showcases the power of transparency and technological integration.
While the Danube may seem distant and unrelated to Pakistan’s context, a more compelling example lies closer to home. Learning from Pakistan’s failure with its telemetry system, India took decisive action to modernize its water management. On December 3, 2008, India launched a web-enabled real-time data system to monitor water flows from 433 dams. This initiative was not only a technological advancement but also a master class in fostering trust among stakeholders. Yet how India solved the water-sharing dispute between East Punjab, Haryana, IHK and Rajasthan is a model for Pakistan.
The Indian model effectively manages the waters of the three eastern rivers—Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej—allocated to India under the Indus Waters Treaty. These rivers, constituting just 20% of the entire Indus River system, sustain vital urban centers such as Chandigarh and Delhi, while supporting extensive irrigation networks across Haryana, East Punjab, Rajasthan, and parts of Himachal Pradesh. By leveraging real-time telemetry data, India has achieved an unprecedented level of transparency, ensuring equitable distribution and minimizing disputes among its seven key stakeholders.
This seamless integration of technology and governance has eliminated disagreements over water sharing, setting a standard that Pakistan might emulate. The Indian example underscores a crucial lesson: transparency, enabled by robust systems, is the bedrock of trust in water management—a principle as vital as the rivers themselves.
In August 2024, WAPDA awarded an astonishingly high contract worth 21.534 billion rupees for installing a telemetry system at 27 key points of the Indus Basin Irrigation System (IBIS), with completion slated for December 2026. The price tag provokes dismay—how long will vultures circle over such vital national projects? A comparison with the cost-effective real-time telemetry system on India’s Krishna River, addressing disputes among five states with precision, underscores the urgency of prudence and transparency. That system integrates Earth Observation, in-situ measurements, and hydrological modeling to ensure equitable water use, ecological balance, and resilience against floods and droughts.
India, managing just 20% of the Indus system, uses every drop for maximum productivity, supplying water to a population far larger than Pakistan’s. Shouldn’t this provoke action to improve water utilization in Pakistan, where inefficiency abounds? Instead of nepotism steering decisions, merit must prevail—just as patients seek the best doctors regardless of creed or affiliation.
The moment demands the retirement of IRSA’s antiquated mechanisms, even if it entails shelving the institution itself—IRSA risks undermining the strongest natural bond holding the federation of Pakistan together. An Artificial intelligence (AI)–powered telemetry system must take its place, empowering farmers across the country, including those in Sindh and Balochistan, with real-time updates on their WAA-allocated water, accessible via mobile phones. By embracing technological advancement and shedding the paralysis of political maneuvering, Pakistan can restore honor to the enduring lifeline of the Indus.
Is Pakistan’s relentless quest for nuclear capability the unifying thread binding its four provinces and three territories? Perhaps. Yet, as history and human experience whisper through the corridors of time, the truest and most enduring bond lies not in power, but in water. When shared with justice and wisdom, water emerges as a timeless force, weaving together the fabric of a nation with unmatched grace.
Nature has generously bestowed upon Pakistan a symphony of interconnected rivers, a gift that transcends the divides of geography. The two main rivers of Balochistan, the Zhob and Kundar, carve their origins from its rugged heart, journeying onward to embrace the Gomal River in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK). Together, they flow toward the mighty Indus, a lifeline threading through Punjab and finally Sindh, where it breathes life into fields and communities. In the intricate choreography of rivers and canals, there lies a profound truth: nature, when nurtured and shared with equity, holds the power to bind the hearts of a nation. In these flowing waters, the spirit of unity finds its most enduring roots.
The bond between provinces was further fortified in 1969, with the completion of the Pat Feeder Canal for Balochistan, a triumph that drew life from the Indus at the Guddu Barrage. As the largest irrigation project in Balochistan, the canal transformed the arid lands of Nasirabad and Jafarabad districts. Pakistan’s irrigation history shines with this success story, which sparked agricultural prosperity and bridged Baluchistan’s socio-economic gap with the rest of the country, fostering shared growth.
Buoyed by this success, the vision of the Kachhi Canal Project was born in 2002—a bold endeavor stretching over 500 kilometers, drawing water from the Taunsa Barrage on the Indus and channeling it deep into Balochistan. Designed to irrigate 720,000 acres of land, nearly triple the reach of the Pat Feeder Canal, this project held the promise of transforming the lives of those in Dera Bugti, Naseerabad, Sibi, and Jhal Magsi. These districts, among the most impoverished and troubled in Balochistan, were poised for a renaissance, their fates intertwined with the life-giving waters of the canal.
It is a sorrowful chronicle of profound negligence, a saga stretching over 23 long years since the Kachhi Canal Project was first envisioned in 2002. Born with the promise of prosperity, it has languished, incomplete, and marred by missteps, its initial cost of PKR 32 billion swelling to a staggering Rs 80.4 billion. The culprits are many, but foremost among them are the project’s consultants and the Planning Commission—names already tarnished by the disastrous Neelum Jhelum hydropower project, a Rs 600 billion blunder almost abandoned due to a fatal design flaw.
The tale of the Kachhi Canal bears a grim resemblance. In the floods of 2022, its 363-km main channel suffered devastating damage as the consultants failed to account for the ferocious hill torrent flash floods cascading from the Koh-e-Sulaiman mountain range. This was no mere oversight but an emblem of systemic neglect.
In Balochistan, poverty casts its longest shadow in rural areas, where livelihoods hinge on agriculture—a lifeline strained by water scarcity. Only 7.2% of the province’s land is cultivable, with water as the primary constraint. Despite this, Balochistan has been denied its rightful share of the Indus River under the Water Apportionment Accord of 1991. Allocated a mere 3.66%—the smallest share among provinces— Balochistan has seen even this pittance squandered by the canal’s non-completion.
In 2020, WAPDA’s then-chairman proclaimed that the canal, once operational, would irrigate 102,000 acres, with 75,000 acres dedicated to Balochistan. Had it been realized, this land could have created 450,000 jobs since 2007, the project’s original completion date—jobs that would have transformed lives, lifted families from poverty and breathed hope into the embattled districts of Dera Bugti, Naseerabad, Sibi, and Jhal Magsi.
The delays are a tragic symphony of bureaucratic failures: shifting project scopes, endless variation orders, and a cascade of overruns in cost and time. Feasibility studies were delayed, designs flawed, contracts awarded without fairness, and construction supervision plagued by incompetence. The dream of cultivating Baluchistan’s barren lands remains deferred, with Phases II and III of the project still unrealized.
As a former Planning Commission director, I developed a real-time monitoring mechanism in 2008 for projects in the remotest areas for the Planning Commission —an initiative designed to ensure transparency, control costs, and maintain quality. Had this been implemented, the Kachhi Canal might today stand as a symbol of achievement rather than a monument to neglect.
This is more than a tale of corruption, incompetence, and missed opportunities. It is a betrayal of the people of Balochistan, who endure deepening deprivation while other provinces see swift infrastructural progress. Lahore and Islamabad boast underpasses built in record time, while Baluchistan’s lifeline remains unfinished after nearly a quarter-century. The delay is not just an administrative failure but a crime against the nation, widening the chasm between the state and its people.
The unfulfilled promise of the Kachhi Canal is more than a lost economic opportunity; it is a squandered chance to fortify the bonds between Balochistan and the rest of Pakistan. In a region plagued by insurgency and despair, this canal could have been a beacon of hope, creating livelihoods and easing the sense of abandonment. Instead, its absence fuels the fires of alienation.
The blood of soldiers, the poison of corruption, and the specter of misgovernance cannot coexist in Balochistan or Pakistan at large. It is time to shelve the dysfunctional Planning Commission and commit to a real-time system, ensuring public funds are used with integrity. If the Kachhi Canal is completed with urgency, it could provide employment, alleviate poverty, and empower Baluchistan’s youth to reclaim their destiny—eliminating insurgents not with force, but through prosperity and inclusion.
As the sun sets over the arid landscape of Balochistan, a sense of despair settles over the land. The promise of water, a lifeline for the parched earth and its people, remains unfulfilled. The Kachhi Canal Project, envisioned over two decades ago, still languishes in limbo, a testament to the systemic neglect and bureaucratic failures that have plagued its implementation. The people of Balochistan wait with bated breath, their lives and livelihoods hanging in the balance. The fate of the Kachhi Canal Project, and with it, the future of the province, hangs precariously in the balance. Will the Prime Minister seize this moment to translate his words into action, or will the status quo prevail, condemning Balochistan to a future of drought, despair, and desperation.
