Abdul Quddir Kundria
For centuries the Chenab River has been remembered as a gift of nature for the people of Jammu. Its waters irrigated fertile lands, sustained crops, quenched thirst, and carried prosperity through the region like the very lifeblood of its people. Farmers rejoiced when their fields glistened under the touch of its waters. Families celebrated the abundance of food and the security it brought. For the villages of Bhabbhar Brahmana & Rasiyalan, Chumbian, and Dera Baba Banda in district Reasi, the Chenab was not just a river. It was the guardian of life and the symbol of hope. Yet in the course of time that guardian has turned into a destroyer. Today the same river has become the embodiment of destruction, swallowing homes, fields, traditions, and dreams, leaving behind a trail of despair that has stretched for more than three decades.
Every year when the monsoon approaches, the people living along its banks are gripped with fear. The sound of thunder in the sky is enough to fill them with dread. Nights become endless vigils. Mothers hold their children close, fathers rush to move cattle to safer places, and every heart silently prays for protection. The villagers know too well that the Chenab does not rise with water alone. It rises with anger. It carries away not only soil but also the hopes, dreams, and peace of generations.
The tragedy that haunts these villages is not new. It has been unfolding for the last thirty five years. In 1989 the people first cried out to the administration, begging for protection. They raised their voice again in 1992. In 2014, after a devastating flood, the people once again demanded help. At that time a project report worth fifty two crore rupees was prepared and submitted to the government when Shahid Iqbal Choudhary was the Deputy Commissioner of Reasi. That project promised to construct a protective wall from Bhabbhar Gijiya Kai Devta to Chumbian, a wall that could have saved lives, land, and heritage. But in 2025 that wall remains a dream. The people are still raising the same demand, repeating the same words, asking for the same protection.
In these thirty five years countless officials and administrators have visited these villages. They have seen with their own eyes the eroded fields and damaged homes. They have listened to the tears and laments of the people. They have given words of sympathy and assurances of action. Reports have been prepared, recommendations have been written, files have been forwarded from one office to another. Yet on the ground nothing has changed. The villagers often wonder whether these files are locked away in dusty cupboards or deliberately hidden to be forgotten. Even the reports that took years to prepare have brought no relief.
Meanwhile the Chenab has continued its ruthless work. Fertile fields that once bore golden maize, rice, wheat, and lush green trees are now only a part of the riverbed. Dozens of kanals of land have been consumed. Farmers who once held their heads high with pride in their harvest now work as daily wage laborers. Families that tilled the land for generations have been forced to leave their homes. Some have migrated in despair, others live in temporary huts, many have sought shelter with relatives, and a few even sleep in the cattle sheds that once housed their animals. For people who believed in dignity, hard work, and self reliance, this transformation is nothing less than unbearable humiliation.
When the river swallows homes, the official help does not arrive in time. By the time relief reaches the villages, the people have already lost everything. Police prepare reports, papers move from one desk to another, but the victims are left stranded. Compensation, when it arrives, is far too little to repair the damage. Rehabilitation projects remain locked in government files. For the people who live through the terror of every flood, the feeling is bitter. They ask whether they are truly citizens of this nation or forgotten voices lost in the noise of bureaucracy.
The story of destruction does not end with homes and fields. It strikes at the heart of cultural and spiritual life as well. For centuries the people of these villages performed the last rites of their loved ones on the banks of the Chenab. Those sacred grounds carried the memories of generations. Today those places too have been consumed by the river. The pain of this loss was most visible when an elderly woman, Vidya Devi, affectionately known as Chachi Ji, passed away. Tradition demanded that her cremation be held on the riverbank as had been done for countless ancestors. But the ground was no longer there. The family was forced to borrow land from another villager to perform the final rites. The entire community wept that day. It was not only the grief of one family but the sorrow of a whole people watching their traditions vanish.
The threat extends to important spiritual and cultural landmarks. Gijiya Kai Devta, Khairvadh Ziarat, and the Gurudwara at Dera Baba are all in danger. These places are not merely sites of worship. They are the spiritual heartbeat of the villages. People pray there for prosperity, health, and wellbeing. They gather there as a community, strengthening bonds of faith and unity. The possibility that these landmarks may disappear under the floodwaters is unimaginable. To lose them would be to lose centuries of cultural identity and shared history.
The destruction has grown worse in recent months. Since August 2025, more land has been washed away, more houses have collapsed, and more families have been displaced. Officials including patwaris and tehsildars have visited the affected areas. They have prepared fresh reports and forwarded them to the Reasi administration. At Dera Baba Seri, houses are literally sinking into the earth. Yet people fear that once again all this will remain only on paper. They remember that since 1989 every flood has followed the same pattern. Reports are prepared, promises are made, and then everything is buried in files.
Recently there was a glimmer of hope when the Deputy Commissioner of Reasi, Ms Nidhi Malik, visited Dera Baba Banda on the ninth of October. The people welcomed her with warmth. They showed her their broken homes and shared their pain. For a moment they felt that someone in authority had finally witnessed their suffering with her own eyes. But deep inside their hearts, a fear remained that this visit too might end as just another gesture of sympathy.
After thirty five years of patience the people can wait no longer. Every flood chips away at their hope. Every wave erases a piece of their past and their future. Yet in all this time they have never broken the law. They have never blocked roads, never raised angry slogans, never turned to violence. They have continued to place their trust in democracy, appealing again and again with dignity. Their restraint is admirable, but continuing to deny them justice is itself a great injustice.
The demand of the people is not complicated. They want a protective wall built from Bhabbhar Gijiya Kai Devta to Chumbian. For outsiders this may appear to be a matter of infrastructure, but for the people it is far more than that. The wall represents safety for their children, dignity for their families, and protection for their traditions. It is not simply a wall of stone and cement. It is a shield for their survival and a promise for their future.
The villagers fold their hands before the government. They plead not to be abandoned, not to be made homeless, and not to be stripped of their traditions and faith. They want to live with dignity in their ancestral lands, not wander as displaced people begging for shelter. This is not just an appeal for protection against a river. It is a struggle for identity, for culture, and for survival.
If action is taken now, many lives and livelihoods can still be saved. If delay continues, the loss will not remain limited to homes and fields. It will break the spirit of entire communities, shatter their bonds, and erase their cultural memory. The people of Bhabbhar Brahamana & Rasiyalan, Chumbian, and Dera Baba Banda have already waited patiently for thirty five years. They cannot endure another thirty five. They want their children to inherit a future of safety and peace, not fear and displacement.
The Chenab continues to flow. At times it is calm, at times furious. For the people of these villages every wave brings a new test. Every flood is a trial of their patience and their faith. Yet they do not let go of hope. They still believe that the government can save them. They still pray that their cries will be heard. They still believe that before it is too late, someone will rise to protect them. |
