An elderly woman was isolated entirely, lying stranded in a house submerged in 12 feet of water for more than a week. The grocery store, her usual cot, and the earthen chulha on which she daily cooked food were no longer in sight. Nor did she have the strength to wade through the water to save a few items to survive these difficult times.

Her husband and her only son passed away years ago. For days, she was alone until a volunteer came on a boat to save her. The woman, in tears, was unable to say anything. This is one of the heartrending videos to emerge from the recent floods that have affected many states in North India.

This is not the only video. There are several stories that remind us of life's fleeting nature, of how a sudden surge of water can change the lives of not just one person but hundreds of thousands. Over the last few weeks, we have seen nothing but visuals of destruction. Nature, which has mostly been kind, unleashed fury like never before.

The humongous man-made structures built to protect us from floods could no longer hold the water. Their gates had to be opened, and water, with all its force, rushed out. The swollen Sutlej and its tributaries spilt into towns and villages, submerging homes, schools, and fields. So did the Beas, the Ravi, the Ghaggar, and the Yamuna. The effects were also visible in low-lying areas of Delhi, where water entered several homes. And the rains have refused to relent.

Be it Himachal Pradesh, Jammu, Punjab, or Uttarakhand, we have seen videos of houses, buildings, cafes, and hotels collapsing like sandcastles. These structures were once full of life and stories. The water not only took them away; it left a huge void that can perhaps never be filled, burying countless dreams and untold stories. It spelt a massive crisis for the people who once owned them. No insurance or compensation can undo this immense loss.

Drone footage shows nothing but barely visible rooftops surrounded by swirling brown waters. Families have been forced to live for days on terraces, waving helplessly at helicopters that dropped food packets from above. At times, the packets would sink to the bottom of the water.

The numbers speak volumes about the losses incurred. At the time of writing, in Punjab alone, nearly 40 people have lost their lives. Over four lakh people across 23 districts have been affected. More than 1.75 lakh hectares of crops have been completely ruined, spelling devastation for an agrarian state already struggling with farmer distress. Amritsar alone has reported losses of over 56,000 acres of farmland, followed closely by Mansa, Kapurthala, Tarn Taran, and Ferozepur.

Over 20,000 people have been evacuated. Several thousand are still huddled in 160-odd relief camps. Drone deliveries of rations have become a talking point in official communication, but ask those stranded for days without clean drinking water, and you hear stories of despair rather than gratitude.

Yet what has been equally deafening is the silence from the highest echelons of leadership. For over a fortnight, as Punjab battled its worst floods in decades, our Prime Minister chose to remain silent, forgetting to visit or even issue a statement. Not only this, but the news was scarcely covered by mainstream media. Without social media, people in other parts of the state would not have been aware of the tragedy. The advent of the mobile phone certainly proved to be a saviour, as people were able to mobilise support and volunteers.

Only after mounting criticism did a belated telephonic call come from the highest leadership of this country. The absence of the country's most powerful voice, especially from someone commended for his oratorical skills, speaks volumes about our political will. A disaster of this magnitude certainly demands acknowledgement from the highest office. This is the least we expect.

Of course, an announcement has been made. Farmers who have lost their crops will be given ?6,800 per acre in compensation! In normal circumstances, this announcement should have given some relief. Instead, it has become a laughing stock, as the amount barely covers the cost of seeds, let alone labour and other input costs.

Leaders have been demanding at least ?50,000 per acre while pressing for the release of nearly ?60,000 crore in pending central funds. Like any other disaster, these floods have also become a political issue, with one blaming the other. Whether it is the state or the Centre, no one wants to take responsibility.

The politics of compensation has become a ritual. Relief becomes a bargaining tool to secure higher aid. The state wants this declared a "national calamity," while the Centre has been trying to push it under the carpet. Unfortunately, the people who have lost homes, livelihoods, and loved ones have become spectators to a bureaucratic drama that will be used for political advantage rather than to rewrite the story of development.

Be that as it may, it is essential to remember that floods are not just an "Act of God." They are amplified by us, Homo sapiens—the only species with brains and bodies, and the ones responsible for mass destruction, too. The encroachment of floodplains, unchecked construction on riverbanks, rampant sand mining, silted canals, and poorly maintained embankments have all conspired to turn heavy rain into catastrophic inundation.

Experts have long warned of the perils of ignoring Punjab's fragile river system. Yet, little has been done to desilt rivers, upgrade drainage systems, or strengthen embankments. Rivers like the Sutlej, Beas, and Ghaggar, once termed lifelines, now carry vast amounts of sediment, choking their flow.

Not only this, our disaster preparedness has its own story to tell. The National Disaster Response Force (NDRF) has been deployed in the state, but their numbers are far fewer than required. The local administration has been struggling with an inadequate staff and a lack of equipment. Evacuation plans exist only on paper.

When the deluge came, people were left to fend for themselves, relying mostly on volunteers, gurdwara networks, and community boats. That a 70-year-old widow had to wait alone in a submerged house for a week before being spotted tells us all we need to know about the reach of our so-called systems.

Disaster management has been reduced to a spectacle, where announcements are made with adept photography of ministers during cheque distribution ceremonies. Once the formalities are completed, one hears little about corrective or remedial action, as if the entire system has been put under deep anaesthesia until the next monsoon.

It is equally important to re-examine the state's agrarian model with a focus on crop diversification and an impetus on climate-resilient crop varieties. Not only this, but we also need crop insurance that actually works for the benefit of farmers, rather than for the benefit of insurance companies. Otherwise, every flood will deepen farmer distress, and every relief package will remain a band-aid on a festering wound.

When the waters recede, life might appear usual. Attention to the crisis may fade. However, farmers will have much to face. The soil that supported their sustenance will be filled with sludge. Crop production might take a huge hit. It is essential to anticipate these issues and provide support to the farmers. These floods should not lead to a chain of suicides, as they find it difficult to service the debt they took on to grow crops.

Unless this catastrophe leads to structural reforms, states like Punjab will remain trapped in a vicious cycle of recurring floods accompanied by a relief drama and another round of blame games. It should be perceived as an opportunity to build a resilient disaster management system that is prepared and responsive to all kinds of warnings.

It must move away from the politics of compensation and lead to a framework rooted in prevention, accountability, and the enforcement of civic rights. For the widow rescued from her flooded home and for every citizen of this country, what is needed is not charity wrapped in politics, but a system that upholds their survival as a right and not as a favour.