Indus Waters Treaty Suspended: How Water Became the New Frontline Between India and Pakistan

The Hindu

28-04-2025

Published : Apr 28, 2025 13:49 IST - 11 MINS READ
It was a treaty that withstood wars, coups, and crises—a rare triumph of diplomacy in a region otherwise defined by turbulence and mistrust.
For over six decades, the Indus Waters Treaty (IWT) acted as a stabilising firewall between two nuclear-armed neighbours, shielding water from the incendiary pressures of geopolitics. But that fragile firewall has cracked in 2025.
A brutal terror attack in Pahalgam in which 26 tourists were killed allegedly by Pakistan-backed militants has led India to suspend the treaty—a punitive measure against Pakistan that reverberated through the capitals across the world. However, even prior to the Pahalgam incident, the Permanent Indus Commission—the teams of experts from India and Pakistan that attempt to resolve disputes regarding the sharing of the waters of the Indus basin—had not convened since 2022.
In 2023, India had called on Pakistan to 'renegotiate' the treaty, citing changed circumstances including demographic shifts, increased water requirements, climate-related catastrophes, and the rising threat of cross-border terrorism. India was primarily demanding to evolve a new dispute resolution mechanism, as the existing one had become obsolete.
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Under the IWT, India cannot create significant hydropower storage on the western rivers—Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab—and must maintain water flows to avoid disrupting Pakistan's agriculture.
India's hydropower projects like Kishanganga and Baglihar are 'run-of-the-river,' diverting but not halting flows. Nevertheless, Pakistan routinely accused India of tweaking designs to control river flows. India clarified that any design changes aimed solely at maintaining project viability, not weaponising water.
A key question now is whether India must formally notify the World Bank about its decision to suspend the IWT, or whether informing only the Neutral Expert—currently examining the India-Pakistan dispute—would suffice.
Michel Lino, President of the International Commission on Large Dams (ICOLD), was appointed Neutral Expert by the World Bank in 2022. New Delhi may opt to notify just him, effectively halting the Kishanganga-Ratle dispute mechanism and placing the IWT into suspension. Officials called it 'a proportionate response,' but the suspension sent a stark signal: the era of hydro-diplomacy was over.
Immediate Measures
India, now unshackled from the treaty's obligations, is actively exploring ways to exert hydraulic pressure on Pakistan. Among the immediate measures: India plans to alter the seasonal release of water from its reservoirs.
In what some are calling an eco-strategic chokehold, New Delhi will now flush and refill reservoirs not during the monsoon, but in the dry season—from October to February—thus disrupting Pakistan's sowing season. A Pakistani agriculture scientist told Frontline that major Kharif crops such as cotton, maize, sugarcane, pulses, and oilseeds are expected to be significantly affected, plunging the region into food insecurity.
And in the long term, India plans to construct and upgrade a cascade of dams along the Indus system, raising fears of both ecological degradation and regional destabilisation. Mohan Guruswamy, a scholar and author, reflects on the enduring realities of geography: 'After the Uri incident, our Prime Minister said, 'blood and water cannot flow together.' The truth is that the flow of blood can be stopped, but water will continue to flow.'
Guruswamy highlights that while revisiting the treaty made sense due to Pakistan's persistent misuse of the IWT's dispute provisions to block India's legitimate hydel projects, physically halting the waters of the Indus, Chenab, and Jhelum remains near-impossible.
The Kashmir Valley, a picturesque but isolated bowl just 100 km wide and 15,520.30 sq km in area, is enclosed by the Pir Panjal range—an imposing 5,000-metre-high wall separating it from the plains of northern India. Water transfer across this formidable barrier is not feasible.
Of the three Western rivers allocated to Pakistan, the Indus crosses into Pakistan-controlled territory near Kargil; the Jhelum, originating near Verinag, snakes through Srinagar and the Wular Lake before entering Pakistan-occupied Kashmir; and the Chenab rises in Himachal Pradesh and plunges through narrow valleys into Pakistan's Punjab, dropping as much as 24 metres per kilometre—making harnessing it economically and technically challenging.
Noted glaciologist and Vice-Chancellor of the Kashmir-based Islamic University of Science and Technology (IUST) Dr Shakil Ahmad Romshoo, elaborates: 'Let us assume we stop the water supply for the sake of argument. Where would the water go? We do not have infrastructure to store this water. We have not built dams in J&K where we can store the water. And being a mountainous state, unlike Tamil Nadu or Karnataka, you cannot move water to another State. So you cannot stop the water technically.'
Romshoo warns that even if attempts were made, they would collide headlong with harsher realities: 'Climate change is upon us with severe implicit consequences for both countries, but mostly for Pakistan.'
He argues that the IWT was glaringly outdated in the face of climate change. His research shows that precipitation patterns have shifted, snow has given way to rain, and water availability has become erratic. 'The rivers of North India live off Himalayan glaciers. They provide 85% of the water. Yet, there is no mention of climate change or environmental flow in the treaty.'
He also sees missed opportunities. 'Kishanganga could have been a model for cooperation—a joint electricity-sharing project. Instead, it became a legal battle.' Current projections suggest that the Indus River system's flow will dip significantly between 2030 and 2050, dropping 20 per cent below 2000 levels after 2060. Pakistan is not just running out of water; it is running out of time.
The Indus Waters Treaty was signed on September 19, 1960, after nearly a decade of negotiations. Brokered by the World Bank, it allocated the three Eastern rivers—Beas, Ravi, and Sutlej—to India, and the three Western rivers—Indus, Chenab, and Jhelum—to Pakistan. The treaty was hailed as an engineering and diplomatic marvel, offering a structured mechanism for dispute resolution and engineering collaboration.
The Indus River system has a total drainage area exceeding 1,165,000 sq km. Its estimated annual flow stands at around 207 km³, making it the twenty-first largest river in the world in terms of annual flow. Eighty per cent of its cultivated land in Pakistan—about 16 million hectares—relies on water from the Indus system. Nearly 93 per cent of the water from the Indus is used for irrigation, powering the country's agricultural backbone and contributing nearly 25 per cent of Pakistan's GDP.
'When it was negotiated, the goal was to take territorial and political issues off the table and focus solely on sharing water,' says Ashfaq Mahmood, former water secretary of Pakistan. 'It was successful and survived because it compartmentalised water from the rest of the India-Pakistan conflict.'
The treaty allowed India to build 'run-of-river' hydroelectric projects on the Western rivers, provided they did not impound or divert flows. However, disputes over the design and execution of these projects emerged repeatedly. From Wullar Barrage to Kishanganga, the disagreements ranged from the placement of gates to the size of reservoirs and the interpretation of design parameters.
'The IWT was written long before the Helsinki rules. Yet it laid down clear principles: which river belongs to whom, who manages what, and how disputes should be resolved,' said Mahmood. 'But where it falters is not in its structure, but in the lack of trust and the absence of timelines.'
Cumbersome Dispute Resolution
One of the treaty's strengths—its multi-tiered dispute resolution mechanism (DRM)—had increasingly become a source of contention. It involved the Permanent Indus Commission, escalating to the appointment of a Neutral Expert, and finally to the Court of Arbitration by the World Bank.
But as Mahmood pointed out, the treaty never established firm timelines for each stage. 'Talks go on for years. There should be an automatic trigger: if the commission cannot resolve an issue in a year, the next level of DRM should start.' Mahmood recalls negotiating over the Baglihar Dam with Indian counterpart V.K. Duggal in 2004.
'We agreed to halt construction until November while talks continued. But later, India insisted that the agreement remain an unwritten understanding. That's where bilateralism failed.'
Suspending the treaty will allow India to fast-track dam construction on the Western rivers. In Jammu & Kashmir's Chenab Valley, seven major dams are underway: Pakal Dul (1,000 MW), Kwar (540 MW), Kiru (624 MW), Kirthai I and II (1,320 MW), Bursar (800 MW), and Ratle (930 MW). Collectively, they aim to generate over 5,000 MW of hydroelectric power.
Arun Kumar Bajaj, former head of India's Central Water Commission, believes that technological advancements necessitate design changes. 'In Salal, we agreed to Pakistan's demand for high-level gates. Now the dam is 37 metres silted. We can't flush the silt. Our power output has declined.' Bajaj argues that new projects require bottom gates for silt management—a position that Pakistan routinely objects to. 'There's no cooperation when objections are raised on everything.' Even Bajaj, however, cautions against scrapping the treaty altogether. 'Revision will take a century. Supplementary protocols are the better route.'
Annukka Lipponen of Finland's Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry points to Nordic examples. Despite tensions from the Russia-Ukraine war, Finland, Norway, and Russia continue their tripartite data-sharing on cross-border rivers. 'Strong legal frameworks and mutual dependence keep cooperation alive, even in conflict.' She suggests India and Pakistan explore similar models. 'The upper riparian needs energy, the lower riparian needs food. Trade electricity for water security. That's how you build peace.'
Michael Kugelman, director of the South Asia Institute at the Wilson Center in Washington, says any future framework must address three factors: climate resilience, ecological protection, and community rights. 'The treaty was written for a different era. Today's realities—glacial melt, seismic zones, displaced communities—demand new thinking.'
Yet trust remains elusive. 'When India wins at the Court of Arbitration, Pakistan complains. When Pakistan gets a favourable ruling, India drags its feet.' Ashfaq Mahmood sums it up: 'The problem is not the treaty. It's the mindset.'
Legal Issues
Yet questions linger about the legal footing of India's suspension. Under international law, particularly the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (VCLT) 1969, changes of circumstances are not recognised grounds for terminating or suspending treaties. In a landmark 1984 case, the International Court of Justice rejected the US argument that it could abandon a treaty with Nicaragua based on changed conditions.
This precedent casts doubt on whether India's invocation of terrorism, population shifts, or climate impacts would justify a unilateral suspension under established international norms. India's decision to suspend the IWT marks a geopolitical and ecological inflexion point. With monsoon flows no longer coordinated and dam-building surging ahead, Pakistan faces a perilous future.
Hydrologists warn of seawater intrusion into the Indus delta. Farmers speak of parched fields and falling yields. And climate scientists fear that without urgent reforms, both nations will find themselves not just in a water war, but in a water catastrophe.
The fast-tracking of projects has already sent shock waves locally. According to researcher Safina Nabi, who documented the displacement in Kishtwar, 36 households in Sewarbatti village alone lost 230 kanals of land to the Pakal Dul project. Compensation was a mere ₹230,000 per kanal—insufficient even to buy land in adjacent villages. Villager Ghulam Hassan Magray lamented, 'We were self-sufficient—we grew our own food. Now our new homes have cracks because of continuous blasting under our hill. We live in fear.'
Asif Hussain, sarpanch of Janakpur's Thachna village, said villagers were promised jobs and compensation for fruit trees—promises that remain unfulfilled. 'We are only being asked to run from one government office to another with a bunch of files.'
A decade ago, when the NHPC began construction of the 330-MW Kishanganga project in scenic Gurez Valley in Kashmir, nearly 300 families of the Dard-Sheena tribe belonging to three villages—Badwan, Wanpora, and Khopri—were dislocated and shifted to Srinagar city.
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Against their peers across the Kanzalwan mountains in Bandipora, they got better compensation—₹5.75 lakh per kanal against ₹2.25 lakh per kanal for more fertile land. But the explanation of their getting better compensation was amazing.
The then Divisional Commissioner of Kashmir, Asghar Samoon, explained that this double compensation was because these people were losing their culture and civilisation, and within a few decades, they would become almost extinct in the bustle of Srinagar city. That is exactly what happened.
What is intriguing is that NHPC officials kept the voluminous Environmental Assessment of Kishanganga River, undertaken by the Centre for Inter-disciplinary Studies of Mountain and Hill Environment, close to their chest. They refused even to share it with the State government.
The ecological cost of making huge dams in fragile mountains is equally worrying. Michael Kugelman warns: 'These dams are in a high seismic zone. Seven major dams in close proximity amplify the risk of a major earthquake.'
Whether the Indus becomes a bridge to cooperation or a faultline of conflict depends on choices made now. The rivers still flow. But will dialogue? The next chapter may lie not in Delhi or Islamabad, but in Kishtwar's blasted hills, in Punjab's thirsty fields, and in the melting glaciers that feed them all.
Iftikhar Gilani is an Indian journalist based in Ankara.