It was once said that future wars would not be fought over land or ideology, but over something far more elemental — water. As the 21st century unfolds, this prophecy seems to be inching closer to reality. Across the parched deserts of West Asia, the dusty plains of Africa, the sprawling river basins of Asia, and even parts of Europe, water is emerging as the ultimate prize — and the ultimate weapon.

Among the most enduring waterrelated agreements in history was the Indus Waters Treaty (IWT) of 1960, a pact painstakingly brokered by the World Bank between two bitter rivals: India and Pakistan. Even while they fought full-scale wars in 1965, 1971, and 1999, and engaged in countless skirmishes across the Line of Control, both countries honoured the treaty for over six decades. But the patience of history can wear thin. And when civilians were massacred by Pakistanibacked terrorists in Pahalgam, Jammu and Kashmir, India decided enough was enough. In an extraordinary move that can only be described as a diplomatic surgical strike, India announced its withdrawal from the Indus Waters Treaty.

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It was a masterstroke of foreign policy — bold, calculated, and devastatingly effective without firing a single bullet. The impact was immediate and electric. Punjab and Sindh, Pakistan’s agricultural heartlands, depend almost entirely on the waters of the Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab rivers. These rivers irrigate their fields, power their turbines, and fill their drinking reservoirs. With India cutting off or severely restricting these flows, Pakistan’s fragile economy — already teetering on the brink due to inflation, debt, and political instability — faces an existential threat.

Pakistan’s reaction was predictably theatrical. It declared India’s move an “act of war” and even muttered nuclear threats under its breath. But empty threats cannot build canals, irrigate crops, or generate electricity. In a desperate counterattack, Pakistan cancelled the Shimla Agreement of 1972, a landmark accord signed after its crushing defeat in the Bangladesh Liberation War. The Shimla Agreement had established that all disputes would be resolved bilaterally, without third-party intervention. By tearing it apart, Pakistan essentially burned one of the last bridges it had with India.

The significance of these two cancellations — the IWT by India and the Shimla Agreement by Pakistan — cannot be overstated. For the first time in 65 years, the foundational structures that kept India-Pakistan relations from spiralling into total chaos are crumbling. The seeds of the water conflict were sown at the very birth of these nations. On 1 April 1948, India halted water from the Firozpur headworks to Pakistan. Though supplies were restored after an interim agreement, the trust deficit was stark. By 1951, both sides agreed to World Bank mediation, leading to nine gruelling years of negotiation.

Finally, in 1960, Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and President Ayub Khan signed the Indus Waters Treaty in Karachi. Under its terms, the six rivers of the Indus system were divided. India got full control over the three eastern rivers — Beas, Ravi, and Sutlej — while Pakistan received the three western rivers — Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab. Even so, India was permitted limited use of western rivers for hydroelectricity and irrigation, but under strict conditions that protected Pakistan’s interests.

In effect, India sacrificed about 80 per cent of the Indus system’s water volume to ensure regional stability. To sweeten the deal, the World Bank funded massive infrastructure projects in Pakistan, including the Mangla and Tarbela dams and a network of link canals. A Permanent Indus Commission was also established to monitor treaty compliance, exchange data, and resolve disputes. This extraordinary generosity by India held for 65 years, through wars, betrayals, and terrorism.

But patience, like rivers, has its limits. India’s cancellation of the treaty is not just a reaction to one terror attack. It is recognition of a deeper truth: Pakistan has used terrorism as state policy for decades, even while expecting India to honour water obligations that sustain its economy. India’s new approach is simple — there can be no water without peace. The withdrawal from the treaty is far more potent than any missile strike or border skirmish. It strikes at the very lifeline of Pakistan without violating international law or inviting global condemnation.

Water, after all, originates within India’s territory. International law recognizes India’s sovereignty over its natural resources. Moreover, the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties allows states to withdraw from agreements if there has been a fundamental change of circumstances — a clause Pakistan’s terrorism certainly satisfies. Pakistan’s decision to tear up the Shimla Agreement is equally revealing. By doing so, Islamabad is essentially internationalizing the Kashmir issue once again — precisely what it had agreed not to do in 1972.

But the world is unlikely to sympathize with a country that harbours terrorists and uses nuclear blackmail as casual diplomacy. Today, 40 per cent of the world’s population already faces water scarcity. By 2025, thirty nations will be classified as water-scarce. In this reality, control over rivers is power. Rivers are no longer just geographical features; they are political weapons, economic tools, and strategic assets. India has understood the new geopolitics. For decades, it fought Pakistan’s proxy wars with restraint and patience.

Now, it is using water — the most vital resource of all — as its new instrument of strategic coercion. This diplomatic surgical strike changes the entire chessboard of South Asia. India has proven that it can retaliate asymmetrically, economically, and lawfully. It has seized the narrative, forcing Pakistan to react rather than act. Most importantly, it has demonstrated that true power lies not in bombs or battleships, but in the quiet, relentless flow of a river — or its sudden, devastating absence. As the Indus basin — cradle of one of humanity’s oldest civilizations — now stands at the crossroads of history, the lesson is clear: treaties are sacred, but only as long as trust endures. When trust is murdered by terrorism, treaties are but dead letters on forgotten paper. The river changes course, and with it, so does destiny.

(The writer is Professor, Centre for South Asian Studies, School of International Studies & Social Sciences, Pondicherry Central University.)