annashay 
We are increasing the length of underground water pipes by ten to fifteen feet all over the city, wherever we are called for such a problem,” said my cousin, who is also a plumber, as he adjusted the fitting on our water pump. My mother had summoned him because the pump was failing to pull water from the ground. In that moment I wondered why we felt a sudden need for pipe extensions. The world is seventy percent water and thirty percent dry land. Yet there is never enough to drink. Earth holds about 1.386 billion cubic kilometers of water. Of that, more than ninety seven percent is salt water.
Fresh water accounts for only about two and a half percent and only a fraction of that is liquid on the surface. In practical terms less than one percent of all water on Earth is accessible for human use. Despite this minuscule share we continue to deplete aquifers, pollute rivers, and drain lakes. Climate change and poor management accelerate the loss. The result is a crisis that cannot be ignored.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the so called third world. Nearly seventy percent of the global population lives in countries that lack the infrastructure, technology, and investment needed to adapt. These nations are on the frontlines of water stress. Urban growth outpaces water supply, agricultural needs multiply, and governance often fails. Major cities such as Karachi, Lahore, Dhaka, and Addis Ababa face daily shortages.
When a family cannot rely on a steady supply they resort to digging deeper wells, relying on water tankers, or paying inflated prices. In effect the poor pay more for less. Even wealthier nations will soon feel these pressures. The World Health Organization projects that by 2025 nearly two billion people will live in areas of high water stress. That means one in four individuals will struggle to meet basic daily needs. Yet political will remains weak, investment is limited, and public awareness is uneven. The inevitable result is further strain on an already frail system.
Water has always carried a deeper meaning in human experience. Ancient Egyptians worshipped Khnum, the god of the Nile, who fashioned humans from clay and water. In Vedic philosophy water is a primordial element. The Rigveda describes rivers as goddesses and emphasizes water’s role in purification rituals. In Greek myth the deity Hydros embodied the first waters; from him sprang Earth and all living things. Every civilization has recognized water’s sacred dimension even without modern science. Medieval Christians in Europe bathed infrequently partly for reasons of modesty and partly because of fears of disease. Yet they also held water as holy in baptism. In Islam the Qur’an proclaims that all life is created from water.
The Prophet Muhammad (SAAW) practiced restraint in ablution, using minimal water even when standing beside a flowing river. This spiritual reverence demonstrates that ancient societies understood water as far more than a commodity.
Today, alas, we seem to have forgotten this reverence. We are on the brink of clean water scarcity. Many governments in less developed countries remain indifferent. They pay lip service to sustainable practices but invest little in actual conservation or infrastructure. Experts warn that by the mid 2020s global agriculture will require an extra trillion cubic meters of water each year – enough to flow like twenty rivers the size of the Nile. United Nations studies project that thirty nations will be water scarce by 2025, up from twenty in 1990. South Asia features prominently on that list. India and Pakistan together account for a quarter of the world’s population yet face some of the most severe shortages.
In the past year tensions between Pakistan and India over water have grown more volatile. Both claim rights under the seventy year old Indus Waters Treaty, which was supposed to allocate the waters of the Indus River and its tributaries. India has begun constructing hydropower projects on the Jhelum and Chenab rivers, such as the Kishanganga and Ratle dams. Pakistan fears these projects will reduce downstream flows and damage its irrigation network. Accusations fly in newspapers and on television. Nationalist politicians stir emotions, while reasonable voices call for technical dialogue and cooperation. But when reason retreats, the common man suffers
Farmers in Pakistan’s Punjab region have seen crops wither as canal water dwindles. In India’s Jammu and Kashmir farmers complain of delayed plantings and less urea delivered by irrigation. Urban households on both sides pay higher prices for tanker water. Water mafias exploit the shortage. Children queue for hours at public taps. These hardships are not abstract statistics but lived realities.
A crisis of this scale demands a response rooted in reason not impulse. In any dispute over shared rivers it is vital to view water as a human right rather than a weapon. Cooperation must replace rhetoric. Engineers from both countries could develop joint monitoring systems to measure flows and pollution levels. Independent experts from neutral states might audit reservoir operations.
Civil society organizations can organize forums where villagers from both sides of the border share experiences and practices. When ordinary men and women see that their futures are linked they might pressure their leaders to choose dialogue over threat.
Meanwhile, inland and coastal communities face other threats. Groundwater depletion creeps across arid zones. Aquifers that once took centuries to refill are evaporating in decades. Salt intrusion from rising seas contaminates delta regions in Bangladesh, Vietnam, and Egypt. Deforestation reduces rainfall and speeds erosion, clouding once clear rivers with silt.
In Pakistan the Indus Delta is shrinking. In India the Ganges and Yamuna are poisoned by industrial effluent and sewage. Water borne diseases such as cholera and dysentery remain rampant in parts of sub Saharan Africa. These are not distant facts. They shape how people live, work, and die. When a child falls ill from contaminated water, entire families lose wages. When wells run dry, communities migrate. Young men leave villages to seek work in cities or abroad, creating social upheaval.
Still, many hold fast to spiritual ethics that demand moderation. The teachings of the Prophet Muhammad remind us that even small measures matter. The Prophet performed ablution with but a single mudd of water – roughly two thirds of a liter – and took full baths with around three liters. He warned against waste even by a river so wide that water seemed limitless. In the Qur’an God instructs humanity not to be extravagant. “Eat and drink,” the verse says, “but waste not by excess for God loves not the wasters.” This counsel echoes ancient wisdom from the Rigveda and the Old Testament. When every culture venerates water, we see a common thread: water carries moral responsibility.
Translating these spiritual lessons into modern policy means embracing solutions both technological and human. Countries such as Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates have invested heavily in desalination. Israel recycles ninety five percent of its sewage water for irrigation. Singapore captures rainwater in man-made reservoirs and treats wastewater to drinking quality. Pakistan and India could follow suit. Coastal cities could build smaller modular desalination plants to supply drinking water while reducing reliance on rivers.
Rainwater harvesting in villages could replenish local aquifers. Community based sanitation projects could treat wastewater at the source instead of dumping it downstream. Education campaigns can teach farmers about drip irrigation and crop rotation to reduce water use. Local governments can shut down unlicensed borewells that drain groundwater indiscriminately. These are not utopian ideas but practical steps already proven elsewhere.
Yet technology alone is not enough. Reason must guide policy. In the Pakistan India context, leaders need to view shared rivers as bridges not battlefields. Civil society must hold them accountable. Think tanks can model future scenarios – how will climate change shift monsoon patterns over the next two decades? How will melting glaciers alter river flows? These projections should inform water allocations, dam safety measures, and disaster planning. When reason prevails, joint institutions can manage disputes before they turn violent. When impulse prevails, rhetoric overshadows data and lives are ruined.
We face a hydra of challenges. Every time we cut off one problem-say, by building a new reservoir – two more arise: evaporation losses increase, ecosystems suffer, downstream communities are deprived. Every new policy spawns unintended consequences: subsidized electricity for pumping groundwater encourages deeper wells and faster depletion. Pollution controls on one river simply push industries to discharge into another. The heads keep multiplying because we tackle symptoms instead of root causes: our consumption driven lifestyles, our failure to respect nature’s limits, and our short sighted political incentives.
In the end water remains more than a resource. It is the source of life, the wellspring of communities, the mirror of our choices. If we allow rivalry and neglect to govern our shared rivers, we inherit a legacy not of cooperation but of catastrophe. The hydra will be our undoing. Instead let reason guide us. Let spiritual and historical wisdom remind us that water binds us across borders and beliefs. Let technology and policy converge to preserve what little remains. Only then can we claim any right to pass this gift unspoiled to the next generation.
