When People Refuse to Sink

Punjabis and Muslims in Pakistan have opened dam-gates on their side of the border to ease the waters in India's Punjab. It is truly extraordinary to see this gesture across the barbed wire—people in Lahore and Kasur helping

- RAJEEV NARAYAN

"Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on Earth." — Mohammad Ali

Punjab, a land known for its rivers, has been betrayed by them. The Ravi, Beas, Ghaggar and Sutlej, once lifelines, have turned hostile, swelling with relentless monsoon rains and the release of mountains of water from catchment dams in Himachal Pradesh. More than half of Punjab has been inundated in what is the worst flood disaster in decades. Fields that were merry and ready for harvest just weeks back lie submerged in knee-deep water, while water under bridges roars in torrents that make onlookers and motorists flinch. The roads above these bridges, national highways no less, resemble streams in which even SUVs are scared to swim, let alone drive through. For lakhs of families, their homes, livestock, shops and farms have been swallowed with little mercy and little warning.

Amid the gore and misery, there are sights that are as ironic as they are iconic. Muslims and Punjabis in Pakistan have opened floodgates on their side of the border to ease the waters drowning India's Punjab. It is an extraordinary gesture across a bitter border, as communities in Lahore and Kasur allow their own fields to be inundated so that their Indian brethren might breathe easier. At a time when the authorities wring their hands and declare relief work "impossible", and funds for the work crawl through the sludge of procedure, help is coming from where it was least expected — from an enemy, from farmers, from singers and actors.

It is a paradox that defines the floods. The authorities, armed with their blueprints, experts and funds, are paralyzed. But everyday people—farmers, volunteers, madrasa students, SUV-owners and artists—are showing what resilience looks like. The catastrophe has laid bare not only the fury of the monsoon, but also contrasting human and institutional instincts.

Rivers Hostile, Fields Drown