Before she became the dust in my bed, she danced on my surface — danced in love, a love not approved of by society. Every night, Sohni, bold and brave, would defy the world and swim across me to meet her forbidden lover. I let her float to the other side — because I believed in love, too. When the birds stopped singing and the crickets began their song, Sohni would arrive, and I welcomed her with soft ripples. She always carried her earthenware pot to sit on, gliding over my surface with purpose and longing. Her lover was Mahiwal, a cattleman who was also a hermit, a man of solitude who only ever opened his heart to her.

Every night, I saw the glistening in Sohni’s eyes, but that night was different. It was as if her eyes knew something her heart hadn’t yet accepted. She placed her pot on my skin and sat down as she always did, but this time, her body felt lighter. Halfway through her journey, she began to sink. I watched her fall towards me, her breath growing shorter, and her heart pumping slower. My heart shattered as I saw her gasping for air, but I could do nothing. After all, I am only a body of water — water feared by many, but never by Sohni. She was fearless. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t beg. She simply let herself go and accepted her fate as if it were a secret she had already known.

The morning after her death was no different from any other day in the village. News had spread across Sohni’s land that her soul had departed this world and her body was lost to the depths of the Chenab. It was a sorrowful day for me. I had formed a bond with Sohni — a bond she never knew existed. After all, it was through me that she traveled each night to meet her beloved. As traders boarded their boats to cross my waters, I listened to their conversations. They spoke of betrayal, of how Sohni’s mother-in-law had switched her pot with an unbaked, fragile, and doomed-to-crack one. And yet, they still blamed me. They said I had dragged her down and swallowed her whole, but it was not I who drowned her. It was humans.

I welcomed Sohni with open arms, even after death. As she sank to my depths, I cradled her gently. Man is born from dust and returns to it, but Sohni’s end was not an end at all. Instead, she became part of me — part of the riverbed. Night after night, the water within me began to fade. At first, I blamed the merciless Pakistani summer sun, which scorched everything. But this was something else… something deeper.

A few nights later, my water was gone… Now that Sohni was a part of my bed, I believed it was she who trapped all the water. Was it a way of revenge, a cry of justice? Or was it the longing of Mahiwal? Revenge didn’t make sense to me, because it was not I who caused her death.

News had spread in Mahiwal’s side of town. The news spread slowly, but when it reached Mahiwal, he had no purpose left in life. That night, he came to see for himself if this was fake news or a real catastrophe. As he leaned forward to see if his lover was still there, he saw nothing. No water, no Sohni. He sat down and cried. Time had stopped, and he was crying for what felt like a fortnight. His tears hit my riverbed.

As soon as the water from his eyes hit my dry bed, I felt my bed shake. Like all the trapped water was going to gush out. And it does. Sohni knows it’s his tears. With her grace, she let the water flow out like a steady stream. The water did not have strong currents, but instead soft flows, as if it too was grieving. Mahiwal put his hand in the water, so he could feel her touch for the last time, to feel the scent of her final resting place. When he dipped his hand, he froze. Frozen as tears dripped down his face, and memories flooded his brain, a smile cast on his face.

With her mercy, she had let the river rise. She was gone, but not lost. Mahiwal swore that day that as long as the river flowed, so would their love. Every night since then, Mahiwal would sit on the edge of me, and look at the moonlight that danced on my surface, serving as a testament of her sacrifice. Some days, I could see the longing in his eyes, the anticipation, the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all fake, and she would swim towards him.

I flow not just with water — but with Sohni. Every drop that touches the shore is a reminder to the world of their love and how it was crushed. Within my waves are whispers of Sohni. And I remain as a witness of forbidden love, and sometimes, if you listen closely, you can hear her. If you stand at the edge of me at night, close your eyes, then maybe you can feel this love too, timeless, fearless and endless. The crickets sing, and you can feel her still dancing, and still loving. Whenever my water ripples, I know it is her, still floating. Every drop of me carries love, sacrifice, and the story of Sohni Mahiwal.