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By:

Dr. P. K. Singh and Dr. Kishore Paknikar

22 November 2024 at 10:39:13 am

From Cleaner Rivers to Healthier Rivers

A river can look clean and still be unhealthy. Water may meet prescribed standards while native fish disappear, seasonal flows change, floodplains shrink and groundwater connections weaken. New pollutants may go undetected. A river is more than water flowing between two banks; cleaning it is necessary, but does not by itself restore its health. As India looks towards Viksit Bharat@2047, the focus must shift from water quality to river health. Programmes such as Namami Gange are already moving...

From Cleaner Rivers to Healthier Rivers

A river can look clean and still be unhealthy. Water may meet prescribed standards while native fish disappear, seasonal flows change, floodplains shrink and groundwater connections weaken. New pollutants may go undetected. A river is more than water flowing between two banks; cleaning it is necessary, but does not by itself restore its health. As India looks towards Viksit Bharat@2047, the focus must shift from water quality to river health. Programmes such as Namami Gange are already moving beyond pollution control towards biodiversity conservation, ecological flows and biological monitoring. The next measure of restoration should be whether a river is functioning as a living ecosystem. Beyond Clean Water The Central Pollution Control Board’s 2025 assessment, based on monitoring during 2022 and 2023, identified 296 polluted stretches across 271 rivers, compared with 351 polluted stretches identified in 2018. These figures describe pollution, and not river health. Suppose a river meets prescribed standards while its natural flow declines, native fish disappear or its floodplain is built over. Would we call it healthy? No physician would declare a person healthy after measuring blood glucose alone. Rivers, too, need a broader assessment that includes flow, aquatic life, sediments, groundwater and floodplains. European and Australian programs recognize this approach. Scientists at IIT (BHU) have developed and tested a River Health Index for the Ganga at Varanasi, bringing together measures of river condition across locations and seasons. Subsequent research has examined pharmaceutical pollutants and biological responses involving algae, small aquatic animals and fish. Aquatic organisms experience river conditions continuously. A water sample tells us what was present when it was collected; changes in aquatic life can reveal what has been happening over time. Emerging threats include medicine residues, personal care chemicals, microplastics and antimicrobial resistance. Studies of Indian rivers have detected antibiotic-resistant bacteria and genes associated with antibiotic resistance in water and sediments. Sewage, hospital waste, agricultural runoff and industrial discharges can introduce these threats into rivers, linking the health of people, animals and the environment. This is where the One Health approach becomes relevant. High flows, low flows and seasonal floods move sediments, create habitats, connect floodplains and support aquatic life. In many rivers, groundwater helps maintain flow during dry periods. In monsoon-dominated India, when and how water flows matter as much as its quantity. We often try to restore rivers by working on the rivers themselves. Yet many problems begin far from their banks. Deforestation and farming change runoff and erosion. Urban growth reduces the amount of rainwater entering the ground. Excessive groundwater pumping can reduce river flows. Dams alter water and sediment movement, while sand mining and construction damage riverbeds and floodplains. A river cannot ultimately be healthier than the basin that sustains it. Restoration must include tributaries, wetlands, groundwater, vegetated riverbanks and natural drainage routes, not merely treatment plants and riverfronts. The Sahibi illustrates this challenge. Rising in Rajasthan and passing through Haryana before entering Delhi, it has undergone major changes in its flow and surrounding landscape. Its links with Najafgarh Jheel and the Najafgarh Drain show how urban growth, sewage, altered flows and drainage works become intertwined. Treating water in its channel alone cannot restore the wider river system. India’s rivers also differ greatly. A Himalayan river fed by snow, glaciers and monsoon rain cannot be assessed exactly like a seasonal river in Rajasthan or a dam-regulated peninsular river. We need common principles, but different measures and restoration goals for different rivers. Climate change makes this task harder. Unpredictable rainfall, longer dry periods and extreme floods can alter flows, water quality and habitats. Restoration plans must account for these changes, while monitoring should tell us whether improvements last. Viksit Bharat@2047 offers an opportunity to establish a national River Health@2047 framework. It should examine water and sediment quality; natural flow patterns; aquatic life; the condition of riverbeds and floodplains; and the relationship between rivers and the people who depend on them. River Health Index These aspects tell us what to measure. But measurement alone cannot restore a river. Rivers need sufficient water through their natural seasonal cycles, supported by groundwater where appropriate. Pollution must be reduced and wastewater treated. Floodplains, wetlands and natural drainage routes must be protected. Aquatic habitats, biodiversity and connections within river systems must be restored. Farming, groundwater use, urban growth and industry must be managed without steadily damaging rivers. Governments, communities, universities, civil society and businesses must work together, with clear responsibilities for monitoring, protecting and restoring them.
A River Health Index can bring measurements together and identify where a river is under stress, why and what might help. Success must be measured by checking whether natural flows have returned and if aquatic life has recovered. Scientific findings must guide decisions about water use, land use and floodplain protection. Otherwise, even sophisticated measurements will achieve little. Importantly, restoration cannot remain the responsibility of scientists and government agencies alone. Technology cannot replace the knowledge of people who live beside rivers. Their observations of changing flows, disappearing fish and shrinking wetlands can help scientists judge whether restoration is working. This is the spirit behind Bharat Discourses on Rivers@2047: Connecting Science with the Society which begins on October 3 at IIT (BHU). The event raises vital questions. What should be different about Indian rivers by 2047? How will we know their health has improved? What is holding us back, and what must we do differently? Most importantly, what one or two actions should begin by 2027 to achieve our goals? Healthy rivers sustain biodiversity and livelihoods, recharge groundwater, carry sediments and accommodate floods. They are not an environmental luxury to consider after development; they are essential to development itself. We must leave the next generation not merely cleaner stretches of water, but living, resilient rivers. The question for 2047 is not simply, “Is our river cleaner?” It is, “Is our river healthier, and is its health continuing to improve?” (Dr. Singh is a Professor of Civil Engineering, Indian Institute of Technology (BHU), Varanasi; Dr. Paknikar is the ANRF Prime Minister Professor, COEP Technological University, Pune. Views personal.)

Latur, 33 Years On: Memories of a Mega-Cataclysm

Quaid Najmi
2 hours ago
5 min read

A veteran journalist recalls the devastation, the race to Ground Zero and a remarkable night with Sharad Pawar following the earthquake that shook Maharashtra and India.


Flashback: Latur, circa September 29–30, 1993

As the world woke to an unprecedented calamity that had engulfed Maharashtra, I was probably the first outstation journalist to reach Latur — barely 15 hours after the earthquake struck in the dead of night on September 29–30, 1993.


It was around 3:56 a.m. when the earth shook. Homes became graveyards as villagers slept, unaware of the catastrophe unfolding around them, and were mostly buried alive.


Rattled myself, I nevertheless managed to reach the Indian Express office earlier than usual, as the first reports of the devastation began trickling in. This was an India still largely unfamiliar with the cacophony of blaring private news channels. Information travelled through official channels, often staid or understated Doordarshan ‘khabrein’, news-agency tickers, landline calls to the administration, and a network of local journalists, activists and other contacts.


At barely 10 a.m., my then News Editor, the late Ervell Menezes, greeted me with a scowl.


“So late? There was an earthquake in Latur… Rush there. Coordinate with your Boss!”


Soon after, my then City Editor, the late D. K. Raikar, came huffing and puffing into the office. Since I was still the only person around, he ordered me to prepare for an immediate trip to Latur. He arranged a cash advance and telex cards, advised me to pack a change of clothes if possible, and get moving. I did exactly that.


As a train ticket or private taxi were being organised, a call came from Thakiyuddin Abdul Wahid, founder and managing director of the now-defunct East West Airlines. He informed us that the private carrier was operating a special relief flight to Solapur that evening.


Sensing an opportunity, my bosses asked whether they could send a reporter along. Wahid readily agreed. With barely enough time to grab some food and clothes from home, I was all set to fly to Ground Zero — Latur.


The large EWA aircraft landed at Solapur that evening. Even the autorickshaw ride into the city proved a grim curtain-raiser.


“Sir, entire villages are flattened. Thousands are dead,” the driver said sombrely, referring to the devastation across Latur and Osmanabad, the worst-hit areas.

Fortunately, through some helpful contacts, a local colleague and I managed to secure a room at the Circuit House and had supper there.


Late that night, the place suddenly came alive with a flurry of activity: scores of police and government vehicles, their red, yellow and blue beacons — still permitted in those days — flashing brightly in the darkness; many babus and officials of varying ranks, armed with files, facts and figures, moving around.


Amid the commotion, I noticed a grim but tall, familiar figure stepping out of a vehicle and briskly walking towards the VIP bungalow in the same complex.


It was Chief Minister Sharad Pawar, dressed in his trademark white shirt and trousers, heading into yet another major crisis-battle of his long political career.


Following the Chief Minister

The next morning, at around 8 a.m., the CM’s huge cavalcade was ready to leave for a tour of the regions ravaged by the earthquake across Latur and Osmanabad.


Spotting an opportunity, I sent word — along with my press card — to a senior official in Pawar’s team, seeking permission to accompany the Chief Minister.


The reply came promptly: “Join the convoy in 20 minutes near the gate…!”

And we did.


Pawar’s entourage sped along the surviving roads at dizzying speeds, eventually reaching some of the worst-hit villages. I followed Pawar’s footsteps wherever he went.

Small groups of farmers and villagers, their eyes moist with grief over the loss of loved ones, stood with folded hands, looking to him for help in rebuilding their shattered lives. The stoic CM met and comforted as many as he could, assuring them that the government would stand behind them. Around him, an alert officialdom hung on to every word and instruction.


We passed through village after village reduced to rubble. An unbearable stench of death and destruction hung in the air, made worse by the heavy rains that had fallen the previous day.


Pawar wore a pair of black gumboots. I sported my regular sneakers. In some places, bodies of victims lay in narrow alleys and muddy pathways, and officials leading the CM stepped on or through them; I kept in tow.


The entire day spent in Pawar’s shadow was, in its own way, a lesson in governance — a close-up demonstration of what happens when the machinery of government is forced to confront a catastrophe of such magnitude.


It showed me ‘what makes Pawar, Pawar’.


A remarkable night at the Circuit House


Late that evening, the weary travellers returned to the Circuit House.


Pawar immediately plunged into a series of quick meetings, firing off instructions, seeking different sets of details and coordinating with State and Central government officials, including then Prime Minister P. V. Narasimha Rao and Finance Minister Dr Manmohan Singh.


I had requested an official to arrange a possible tête-à-tête with Pawar that night.


Fortunately, sometime after midnight, we were summoned. We were shown into his room.


I was taken aback to find Pawar preparing to have a frugal meal of dal, rice, chapatis and a watery vegetable. He invited us to join him, but we politely declined.


During that audience, I gently put several questions to him about the earthquake, its aftermath, the casualties and fatalities, and the steps being taken by the government.


He appeared remarkably composed and in complete control despite the hazardous and exhausting day he had just endured.


Pawar patiently answered my questions between mouthfuls of simple food prepared by the Circuit House cook — and a barrage of telephone calls coming through a hotline.


For nearly two hours, I listened intently as he spoke to an extraordinary roll call of world and Indian leaders: the then Prince of Wales, Nepal’s Chief of Army Staff, kings, presidents and prime ministers from various countries, chief ministers of different States, and others.


I noted down everything.


When I finally sought Pawar’s permission to leave, he rose from the sofa, his ‘dinner’ cold and incomplete, and folded his hands in farewell.


He then returned to work.


I learnt later that he continued his meetings and calls with officials until nearly 5 a.m., before finally retiring for a couple of hours of rest.


Ground Zero

The next morning, still groggy, I managed to write and wire four dispatches through the local post office telex and called my boss, Raikar, to confirm that they had been received.


“Now, what?” I asked.


His reply came in his soft voice: “You have done a good job today… The interview with Sharad Pawar is a masterpiece scoop. You can return now. Others will take over…”


Meanwhile, most roads and highways leading to Latur were clogged with Army convoys, disaster-relief teams and vehicles carrying domestic and international aid. Hordes of Indian and foreign journalists were consequently forced to travel via Pune, Hyderabad, Bhopal, Bengaluru or Goa.


The first wave of the outside media brigade began reaching the disaster zone only around the morning of October 2.


By then, I had already completed my first round of ground reporting.

Relieved, I again coordinated with East West Airlines for its return relief flight from Solapur.


After conquering the maiden challenge, late on October 2, I returned to Mumbai.

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