When The Five Rivers Turn Fierce: Punjab’s Floods And The 2025 Catastrophe

Punjab, the land of five rivers, has always carried both the blessings and the burdens of water. Its very name comes from the Sutlej, Beas, Ravi, Chenab and Jhelum rivers that crisscross its plains. These rivers made Punjab one of the most fertile regions of the subcontinent, the birthplace of civilisations and the breadbasket of India and Pakistan. But alongside prosperity, they have also brought recurring floods, leaving behind a trail of devastation that stretches from ancient times to the present day.

Floods in Punjab are not new. Historical records and traveller accounts—from Al-Biruni in the 11th century to Chinese pilgrims—describe how the monsoon often transformed the plains into vast sheets of water. The Indus and its tributaries, like the Nile in Egypt, brought silt and fertility but also destruction. Entire villages could be swallowed up overnight if a river changed its course.

Medieval chronicles mention swollen rivers halting invading armies or disrupting trade routes. Seasonal flooding was both feared and accepted, seen as part of the natural rhythm of life. Communities adapted by building embankments or shifting settlements, but no large-scale flood management systems existed.

During Mughal rule, agriculture flourished, thanks to Punjab’s rivers. The emperors encouraged irrigation and sometimes ordered the construction of bunds and canals to regulate water. Yet, floods remained a recurring menace, particularly along the Sutlej and Beas, which frequently changed course.

By the 18th century, as wars and deforestation reshaped the land, rivers became more volatile. Villages frequently suffered inundations. Under the Sikh misls and later Maharaja Ranjit Singh, rulers attempted small-scale embankment projects. But without centralised planning or resources, these efforts only offered partial relief.

The arrival of the British in 1849 changed Punjab’s waterscape dramatically. Engineers carved out one of the world’s largest canal irrigation networks, creating the famous canal colonies. The Upper Bari Doab Canal, the Sirhind Canal, and others transformed Punjab into an agricultural powerhouse.

But canals came with risks. Embankments could break under pressure, and siltation often clogged water channels. Floods struck regularly, and some became legendary, like in 1908 when Sutlej damaged large parts of Central Punjab, 1924 when Ravi and Sutlej overflows inundated parts of Lahore division and 1942 when floods in Chenab River devastated Gujranwala and Sheikhupura. The British introduced flood relief codes and manuals, making flood management a bureaucratic duty. But even with these measures, the province remained vulnerable.

The Partition in 1947 added new layers of complexity. As millions of refugees resettled in East Punjab and began life afresh, the rivers of Punjab continued to bring both prosperity and peril to the region. The 1955 Sutlej floods were among the worst, destroying embankments, crops, and livelihoods. Over the following decades, major dams were built—the Bhakra Nangal (1963), Pong (1974), and later Ranjit Sagar (2001)—to regulate water and generate power. These structures reduced the frequency of catastrophic floods but did not eliminate them. In the last 50 years, Punjab has witnessed several devastating floods that have left deep scars on its landscape and people.

In 1976, the Beas and Sutlej rivers unleashed destruction across Jalandhar, Ludhiana, and Ferozepur, while 1988 brought the worst flood in living memory, with nearly all rivers overflowing, 3.4 million people affected, and close to 9,000 villages submerged. The Ghaggar ravaged Patiala and Sangrur in 1993, followed by Sutlej breaches in 2008 that damaged vast areas of Jalandhar, Nawanshahr, and Hoshiarpur.

In 2010, the Ghaggar and Tangri, once again, inundated Patiala and Sangrur, and in 2019, heavy rains and dam releases triggered widespread flooding in Ropar, Ludhiana, Jalandhar, and Kapurthala. More recently, record rainfall in 2023 caused massive breaches across Ropar, Jalandhar, Patiala, and Sangrur, culminating in the catastrophic floods of 2025—the worst in nearly four decades—which submerged over 1,400 villages and 370,000 acres of farmland. Each of these disasters has followed a grimly familiar pattern of heavy monsoon downpours, sudden dam releases, embankment failures, death, destruction and large-scale displacement of people.

Punjab’s recurring floods are the outcome of both natural forces and human actions. Monsoon rains between July and September often arrive in short, intense bursts that push rivers beyond their limits, as seen in 2025 when extraordinary Himalayan rainfall triggered simultaneous overflows across multiple rivers. The state’s flat alluvial plains further make it easy for rivers to spill over embankments, while climate change has intensified rainfall patterns, making extreme events more frequent.

Human-induced factors compound the crisis: sudden and poorly coordinated dam releases from Bhakra, Pong, and Ranjit Sagar worsen flooding downstream; rampant illegal sand mining weakens embankments, locally known as dhussi bandhs; and widespread encroachment on floodplains by houses, factories, and farms has eroded natural buffers. Corrupt and incompetent state machinery has often failed to clear encroachments, drains and provide timely relief and rescue. Deforestation and unchecked development in the Himalayas reduce soil absorption, adding to runoff and siltation in rivers, while weak infrastructure, from poorly maintained embankments and drainage systems to inadequate early warning mechanisms, leaves communities more vulnerable.

Yet, floods in Punjab are never just about water; they bring profound social and political costs. For farmers, they mean destroyed crops, mounting debts, and cycles of distress; for rural families, displacement and the loss of livestock deepen poverty; and for labourers, often living in the most precarious settlements, the impact is harsh. Politically, floods are a recurring flashpoint between the Centre and the state, with the Bhakra Beas Management Board, under Delhi’s oversight, often accused of mismanaging water releases. Successive governments, whether Congress, Akali Dal, or AAP, have promised embankment strengthening, desilting, timely relief, or compensation, but implementation has consistently lagged. Relief packages, loan waivers, and compensation schemes are frequently announced with much fanfare, yet victims continue to complain of delays, corruption, and inadequate support, turning flood relief itself into a tool of political patronage.

(Views expressed are personal)

Harjeshwar Pal Singh is Assistant Professor, History at SGGS College.