After weeks of relentless monsoon rains and swelling rivers, a cautious sense of hope is returning to Pakistan’s eastern Punjab province. On September 15, 2025, displaced families began trickling back to their homes as floodwaters finally started to recede, according to officials cited by the Associated Press and multiple local news outlets. The devastation, however, is hard to overstate: more than 2.5 million people were forced from their homes, and about 100 people lost their lives during the deluges that struck the region.
For many, the return home is bittersweet. Social media has been awash with stark images: fields that once flourished with crops now lie under layers of sand and silt, a haunting reminder of nature’s force and the fragility of rural livelihoods. As families arrive to survey the damage, the reality sets in—replanting and rebuilding are the only options. There’s no quick fix here; the road to recovery will be long and arduous.
One of the hardest-hit areas was Panjnad, where five major rivers—Jhelum, Chenab, Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej—merge before flowing into the Indus. Irfan Ali Kathia, director general of the Punjab Disaster Management Authority (PDMA), told reporters that floodwater levels at Panjnad have been falling, offering a glimmer of relief. Yet, rescue and relief operations are still underway in several districts, underscoring that the crisis is far from over for many communities.
Personal stories from the flood zone paint a vivid picture of hardship and resilience. Nargis Bibi, a 46-year-old woman from Kasur district, recounted the frantic escape she and her family made as the Sutlej river surged into their village. "We waded through 5 to 6 feet of water to reach a safe place, but the flood came so suddenly that we couldn’t take even a needle with us," she told the press. "When we returned, everything was destroyed." Her words echo the experiences of thousands who left everything behind in a desperate bid for safety.
For Muhammad Sajjad, a 43-year-old farmer near Multan, the receding waters of the Chenab river brought a chance to return home. He described how the water had dropped by about six feet, making it possible for his family to come back and start picking up the pieces. "It’s not just about rebuilding our house," Sajjad said. "We have to start from scratch in our fields, too." The sentiment is widespread—livelihoods, not just homes, have been swept away.
The scale of the disaster is staggering. According to the PDMA, over 4,500 villages in Punjab were inundated during the weeks of torrential rains, compounded by repeated water releases from overflowing dams in neighboring India. The flow of water in the Ravi and Chenab rivers has since returned to normal, and water levels on the Sutlej river continue to fall, offering some relief to battered communities.
India’s role in the crisis has been a point of contention. Officials from Pakistan’s National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) noted that India shared at least six flood alerts in recent weeks, but the timing and volume of water releases from Indian dams exacerbated the situation downstream. Pakistani authorities have argued that the flooding would not have been as severe if India had released water more gradually. The cross-border dynamics of water management add another layer of complexity to the disaster, highlighting the need for better coordination between the two countries, especially as climate change makes extreme weather events more frequent.
The aftermath is not just a story of loss; it’s also one of monumental effort. Punjab’s government mounted one of its largest rescue and relief operations ever, with provincial teams working alongside the military. Stranded families in remote villages like Liaquatpur and Jalalpur Pirwala are still receiving aid, and many displaced residents have already returned to towns such as Narowal, Okara, Kasur, Bahawalpur, and Bahawalnagar. Kathia emphasized the ongoing nature of the relief work, saying, "Returning residents should follow instructions from local administrators so they can receive government assistance or stay in camps if their villages remain unsafe."
But the crisis is not confined to Punjab. The floodwaters are now moving south toward Sindh province, which bore the brunt of Pakistan’s catastrophic 2022 floods. That disaster killed more than 1,700 people nationwide and remains a painful memory for many Pakistanis. The specter of further flooding in Sindh is a grim reminder that the monsoon season’s dangers are not yet over.
Since late June 2025, more than 950 people have died in flooding across Pakistan, a figure that underscores the persistent vulnerability of the country’s rural communities. The government has urged returning families to heed local warnings and take advantage of support services, but the scale of need is daunting. For many, the choice is stark: return to devastated homes and try to rebuild, or remain in temporary shelters with little certainty about the future.
As rescue teams continue their work and the government assesses the damage, the focus is shifting to recovery and prevention. The repeated pattern of monsoon floods, made worse by upstream dam releases and climate change, raises urgent questions about infrastructure, preparedness, and cross-border cooperation. Can the lessons of 2025 prompt a more coordinated response in the future? Will investment in flood defenses and early warning systems finally match the scale of the threat?
For now, families like those of Nargis Bibi and Muhammad Sajjad are left to face the aftermath, drawing on reserves of resilience and community support. Their stories are emblematic of the broader struggle in Punjab and beyond—a struggle to reclaim not just land and property, but a sense of normalcy after disaster.
As the muddy waters recede, the scars of this year’s floods will linger. But so too will the determination of those who return, rebuild, and hope for a safer tomorrow.