- By: Dr. Muhammad Tayyab Khan Singhanvi (Ph.D )
Rain is a mercy of nature. Yet, when it collides with human negligence, failures in planning, the destruction of ecological balance, and the incompetence of state institutions, it transforms into a calamity that devours thousands of lives. Today, Pakistan’s northern and mountainous regions Buner, Shangla, Bajaur, Swat, Gilgit-Baltistan, Azad Kashmir, and Mansehra stand at the brink of what can only be described as a minor doomsday. Torrential rains, catastrophic floods, and devastating landslides are scripting a harrowing chapter in human history. Water pours from the sky, the earth collapses, rivers have become monstrous, mountains are crumbling, villages are vanishing and all we do is count: the dead, the damage, the promises, and the excuses.
In Gilgit, recent torrential rains have not only altered the course of the Hunza River but wreaked widespread devastation across the entire Baltistan Division damage so profound that its scars will linger for generations. Naltar, once a paradise for tourists, now stands as a grim portrait of ruin, where roads have been washed away, homes lie powerless, and families remain trapped. A significant section of the Naltar Expressway has collapsed. Three powerhouses are inoperative, and electricity supply is entirely cut off. In Skardu, the Sadpara powerhouse has also shut down. Tourists, local residents, and rescue workers alike are stranded and helpless.
Bishonrhi, once considered a spiritual and cultural hub of Pir Baba’s region, is now a relic of the past completely erased from existence. Not a single house remains, no alley stands untouched, and hundreds have vanished without a trace. In Buner alone, within just 48 hours, 204 lives have been lost, with various agencies placing the death toll at 213. The air in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa’s most affected district hangs heavy with grief. Funeral after funeral. Multiple coffins in single lines. Graves dug side by side. So many corpses that even the caskets have run short.
Rescue agencies, local administrations, and the Pakistan Army are striving within their limited capacities to provide relief. Yet, what can human hands do when roads are obliterated, bridges swept away, mountains obstruct passage, and waters breach all defenses? The recovery of bodies from the rubble continues. Locals are forced to retrieve their dead through self-help. Other areas such as Tor Ghar, Mansehra, Bajaur, Swat, Battagram, and Lower Dir are also grappling with similar disasters. Thousands of homes have been destroyed, livestock washed away, crops obliterated, shops and vehicles consumed by raging torrents.
A conservative estimate places the death toll in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Gilgit-Baltistan, and Azad Kashmir at over 351. In Gilgit-Baltistan alone, since June, 35 people have died, 35 have been injured, 318 homes completely destroyed, and 674 partially damaged. The districts of Baltistan, Diamer, Hunza, and Ghanche lie in shambles. In Shangla, the flood-related death toll has reached 37, and villages like Koz Paw, Choga, and Puran have become emblems of this apocalyptic episode.
This is not merely a natural disaster it is the cumulative consequence of our collective failures. In the nationwide floods of 2022, over 33 million people were affected, and economic losses soared into the billions. But what followed? Was a comprehensive disaster policy drafted? Were the National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) or Provincial Disaster Management Authorities (PDMAs) equipped with modern tools, adequate personnel, or empowered systems? Were environmental impact assessments conducted in vulnerable regions? Were early warning systems upgraded or even activated? The answer is a deafening silence an eerie void echoing across valleys where the past cradles a buried future.
Climate scientists have long warned that Pakistan is among the nations most vulnerable to the catastrophic effects of climate change. Sharp rises in temperature, disrupted monsoon patterns, accelerated glacier melt, and increasingly intense rainfall all pointed to the urgent need for climate resilience. Yet our development plans, political rhetoric, and budget priorities veered elsewhere. And now, we stand on the edge of a disaster where sympathy is insufficient, and only decisive action can avert further tragedy.
Forecasts now warn of cloudbursts in Punjab’s districts Mianwali, Chakwal, Talagang, and Attock. The collision of eastern and western air systems is expected to further intensify the monsoon spell. Urban flooding and sudden cloudbursts may engulf cityscapes. But are we prepared? Are our hospitals, shelters, drainage systems, food supplies, and communication networks equipped to withstand this onslaught? The answer, once again, is no.
In the current crisis, emergency aid is vital but far from enough. The state must formulate an integrated national policy on environmental protection, water management, and disaster preparedness on a war footing. This includes improving water reservoirs, upgrading drainage infrastructure, relocating populations from high-risk zones, and deploying trained local volunteers. Additionally, NDMA and PDMA must be transformed into autonomous institutions with authority, funding, and accountability. Provincial governments and district administrations need resources and operational freedom. Public awareness campaigns must be launched at scale.
What is unfolding in the affected regions is not a cinematic scene or a historical tragedy it is an undeniable reality. A reality burying hundreds of families alive each day. A scene that no lens can fully capture. Cries drowned out by the roar of rain. Silent sighs swallowed by the torrents. And unanswered questions entombed with every body: “Had we been prepared, could this life have been saved?”
If we still refuse to learn, then the minor doomsday we are witnessing today may well grow into a major one tomorrow. And when history writes this chapter, we will not be remembered merely as victims of natural calamities but as culprits of our own undoing.