Pakistan bleeds again under the weight of merciless skies. This time, it was not the long dread of the monsoon season but the sudden, brutal fury of a cloudburst that drowned entire regions in minutes. The heavens split open with a violence that no land could withstand, and within hours, villages, roads, and entire valleys vanished beneath walls of water. At least 507 lives have already been claimed, more than 700 people lie injured, and countless others remain missing. Behind every number is a story ripped apart by nature’s rage: a mother clutching her lifeless child in her arms, a farmer watching his crops dissolve into muddy torrents, a father standing in silence as the roof of his home floats away. In Pakistan, the skies have always promised rain to quench the earth, but this time, they unleashed a calamity to break it.
In the north of the country, the destruction was more obvious than anywhere else. The cloudburst disaster was most severe in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Gilgit-Baltistan, which were already vulnerable due to their steep mountain valleys and melting glaciers. Bridges, houses, and the lives of people who didn’t anticipate it were all washed away when a sudden flood of water in Chitral ripped through villages with the force of a thousand rivers. In a matter of hours, entire valleys were destroyed, leaving survivors to cling to rocks and treetops while gazing into the void where their world used to be. The landslides caused by the cloudbursts in Swat and Dir buried entire communities, blocking roads and leaving families without access to food, water, or hope. As urban drains overflowed, transforming streets into rivers, automobiles into wreckage, and homes into ruins, Karachi was further stinging from this wrath. From the busy bazaars of North Nazimabad to the peaceful mountain villages of Gilgit, the catastrophe struck everywhere.
A cloudburst is a nighttime thief, in contrast to the gradual accumulation of monsoon rains. Unexpectedly, it hits, releasing torrents of water so heavy that no wall, no soil, and no human body can withstand them. Families were unable to escape, pack their belongings, or even take a moment to pray. In a matter of minutes, histories were erased, villages were submerged, and lives were turned upside down. Pakistan experiences the brutality of floods every year, but the unexpectedness of a cloudburst is terrifying in its own right, a calamity that permits no planning, only sorrow.
The causes of this tragedy are as complicated as they are frustrating. With its mountainous north and brittle glaciers, Pakistan is right in the path of the global cloudbursts that are becoming more intense due to climate change. The result is apocalyptic as rising global temperatures cause glaciers to melt at an alarming rate. However, the devastation is not solely the result of nature; rather, it is a sin that we have committed against ourselves. Due to widespread deforestation, our mountains are now barren and unable to withstand floods or prevent landslides. Because of urban mismanagement, drainage channels are clogged in our cities, causing every unexpected raindrop to become a flood. Above all, the country is ill-prepared due to decades of carelessness by succeeding administrations. We were aware that cloudbursts were imminent, all experts cautioned that the threat posed by climate change would only increase but no actual defense was put up, no evacuation plans were made, and no walls were built. Promises that fade like footprints in mud once more cost the people of Pakistan dearly.
However, statistics and causes only provide a portion of the picture. We need to look into the eyes of those who survived this catastrophe in order to see its true face. Imagine the Gilgit-Baltistan family who slept laughing and woke up to cries as their house was ripped apart. Imagine the Charsadda farmers’ hope for survival being swept away as they watch their year’s harvest turn into a brown torrent. Imagine a child in Swat drinking tainted, diseased water because the flood destroyed everything that was clean. These are not statistics; rather, they represent Pakistan’s beating heart, shattered by an unforgiving storm.
But heroes still emerge in the midst of this destruction. The National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) has thrown all of its resources into the fight, sending medical teams, boats, and helicopters where few people dare to go and rushing aid to areas that are cut off. With their soldiers wading through chest-deep waters, carrying infants on their shoulders, and erecting tents where the land has been erased, the Pakistan Army once again serves as the nation’s shield. The nation laments the loss of five courageous individuals who were martyred when their rescue helicopter crashed while rescuing stranded families, demonstrating that their bravery has not come without sacrifice. Instead of fighting an enemy, these soldiers sacrificed themselves for their people so that others could live. Their sacrifice is indelibly etched in Pakistani history as a reminder that although homes may be submerged by floodwaters, the protectors’ spirits will always endure.
One question, however, pierces through all the pain as we mourn and pay tribute to the fallen: how long will Pakistan shed the same tears? Today’s cloudburst is merely the most recent in a string of calamities that recur every year. Every time, the people of Pakistan suffer as the skies let loose their fury. We need to break this cycle. Food for the hungry, clean water for the thirsty, medicine for the ill, and shelter for the homeless are all urgently needed in the impacted areas. Every Pakistani living abroad, every organization that can help, and every citizen must answer this call because even the smallest deed of kindness can mean the difference between survival and hopelessness.
But for the time being, one fact cannot be disregarded: Pakistan is drowning, not just in floodwaters, but also in sorrow. The country cries out from the overcrowded streets of Karachi to the broken valleys of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, from the destroyed hamlets of Gilgit-Baltistan. Before the next cloudburst silences another child’s laughter, the world needs to pay attention and take action. Because the skies, to which we look for mercy in Pakistan today, suddenly turn against us. And until we band together and fix everything to reduce the damage caused by climate change, every cloud in the sky will bring tragedy rather than rain.
But we need to aim higher than relief: prevention. Pakistan cannot continue to depend on its skies. Stronger defenses are required, including early warning systems that can notify villages before a disaster occurs, embankments along rivers that could burst, and adequate drainage systems in every city. In order to restore the natural armor that protects against landslides and floods, we must plant trees to heal our mountains. No matter how tough the choice, we must move communities that are located in high-risk floodplains because leaving them there would be like condemning them to death. Above all, our leaders need to act on their words because the price of carelessness is now measured in lives rather than dollars.
Pakistan is the fifth most affected country by climate change, yet after this year’s deadly cloudbursts and floods, it may climb even higher in vulnerability. The tragedy is that Pakistan contributes less than 1% to global emissions, yet pays one of the heaviest prices. The world must step up spare funds to help Pakistan fight these disasters, and take real action to cut the global carbon footprint. Pakistan did not cause this crisis, but it suffers the most from its consequences.
This cloudburst’s waters will eventually subside. The news cycle will continue after the mud dries up and the skies clear. However, the pain will never go away for those who have lost their children, their homes, or their futures. Like rivers carved into their land, they will carry them with them forever, etched into their hearts. Pakistan must decide whether to continue to be a victim of floods, monsoons, and cloudbursts for all time or to rise and get ready for a time when rain will once more bring life rather than death. We have a choice, and the moment has come.
But for the time being, one fact cannot be disregarded: Pakistan is drowning, not just in floodwaters, but also in sorrow. The country cries out from the overcrowded streets of Karachi to the broken valleys of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, from the destroyed hamlets of Gilgit-Baltistan. Before the next cloudburst silences another child’s laughter, the world needs to pay attention and take action. Because the skies, to which we look for mercy in Pakistan today, suddenly turn against us. And until we band together and fix everything to reduce the damage caused by climate change, every cloud in the sky will bring tragedy rather than rain.
