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n Early morning light, the sky is felt near the coast of Asta. Some old folks say that the ocean, once distant and gentle, feels so close.
There is a growing awareness of climate change and its consequences in Khata, Bunbur, Kati Bunder and Kharu Chan. Some of the mangrove forests that once stood between land and sea are dying. People who depend on them are losing jobs, memories and hopes.
The Indus Delta is spread over about 600,000 hectares. It is one of the largest dryland deltas in the world. According to the Forest Department and FAO, Pakistan’s mangrove cover is now between 170,000 and 200,000 hectares. About 95% of it is in Sindh. Mangroves are a green wall against the Arabian Sea.
The trees held the sea
Mangroves are more than trees. It is nature’s coastal defense system. Their dense roots anchor the soil, absorb sediments and trap carbon at a rate three to four times higher than most terrestrial forests. Without them, Earth and life unfold.
“Without mangroves,” says Professor Dr. O Gandahi, an environmental and soil science expert at Sindh Agriculture University, Tandujam, “the coast is bare.”
They have warned that their loss will accelerate both erosion and climate-driven migration across southern Pakistan. Fertile lands, once rich in rice, are turning saline and barren through seawater intrusion. The impact is exacerbated by freshwater runoff and reduced mangrove barriers.
Ending the beach
Homelessness and desperation are daily realities in the villages of Kharo Chin Island and Kati Bunder. The essential lesson here is to see the human condition as part of biodiversity—one disappears with the other. Since the construction of the Kotri Barrage in 1955, the once-strapped delta settlements of Kati Bunder and Kharo Chan have been permanently emptied. The barrage reduced the flow of freshwater, allowing seawater to engulf farms and villages. In Kharo Chan, the population declined from about 26,000 in 1981 to 11,000 in 2023. 28 of its 42 DEHs (Production Villages) have disappeared under sea water. Across the Indus Delta, more than 1.2 million people have been permanently displaced.
Ayub Dablo, a fisherman in his fifties, says he has moved eight times in his life. “We don’t expect a recovery anymore. We’re still alive,” he says. “There was a time when we grew rice and lived with dignity. It’s gone. Mangroves are being planted, but our lands are still being depleted. We have no idea what to do.”
For older residents like 73-year-old Zulekha, the memories are tinged with grief. “There was grass and crops,” she recalls. “We used to harvest red rice. Now there are only sea waves where my house once stood.” “I am about to say goodbye to this life,” she says, “but the agony of being displaced from my place of birth has made me sad.” “
Social activist and president of the United Communities Development and Welfare Organization, Shakeel Ahmed Memon, has partnered with WWF and IUCN in re-planning campaigns. “We see the devastation deepening,” he says. “Communities have migrated. My family had 800 acres before the sixties. Now there is nothing but the sea.”
“The water we drink is not fit for animals and yet, we drink it,” says Jan Muhammad Katiyar, another fisherman from Banbur. Across the delta, marine and coastal species – crabs, estuarine fish, river dolphins and migratory birds – have suffered severe declines. Loss of mangrove roots collapses fish nurseries and allows saltwater to mix with groundwater.
How did it happen?
Experts say that this is a natural and man-made problem. Decades of upstream diversion from the Indus for agriculture and cities have starved the delta of freshwater. The Kotri Barrage, which was completed in 1955, was the turning point. Since then, the annual flow of freshwater to the ocean has decreased from about 70–80 million acre feet (MAF) to less than 10 MAF, often averaging 5 MAF or less in the 2000s.
Urban waste, industrial pollution, illegal logging and unregulated shrimp farming worsen this decline. “The Indus Delta is not just dying because of climate change,” says development practitioner Tariq Ahmad Korai. “It is dying because we have disrupted the flow of water in rivers, stripped it of trees and neglected its people.”
Green Shield
While much of the delta is scarred by salt and silence, parts of the lower Indus are quietly rewriting a different story — one of recovery.
Between 1990 and 2023, satellite imagery shows that mangrove cover in Pakistan has declined from less than 86,000 hectares to more than 200,000 hectares.
The department, supported by WWF, IUCN and UNDP, has planted 150 million mangroves since 2009, one of the largest coastal deforestation efforts in the world.
Local participation has been important. “We protect these trees like our homes,” says Allah Ta’ala Mujar from Katy Bunder. “Because if they die, so do we.”
Beyond planting
Complete restoration requires more than planting:
Guaranteed atmospheric flow – At least 10 MaF per year must reach the ocean to restore salinity balance.
Community Management – Local cooperatives must be empowered to protect forests.
Blue Carbon Finance – Pakistan’s mangroves store millions of tonnes of CO2, acting as a delta for international carbon credit markets.
Sustainable Livelihoods – Integrate conservation with ecotourism, aquaculture, and carbon-based payments.
Innovation monitoring-remote sensing and AI-based tools now accurately track mangrove survival rates.
Some climate models suggest that by mid-century, up to two million Pakistanis could be displaced by climate and water-related stress. Cities like Karachi are increasingly vulnerable to the same climate that destroyed Thatta and Katybunder.
In Katy Bunder, the tide is rising once again. Ayub claims the sea as another line of land. “The sea is nearer now,” he says. “Maybe if the Indus freshwater flow increases and the trees can be maintained, we can live.”
The author is a development practitioner in Hyderabad, Sindh. He holds a master’s degree in English literature. He can be reached at quaxigm@gmail.com
