The Betwa, once called Vetravati, has been more than a river - it has been a song of life, a flowing hymn of history, a sacred stream woven into the cultural fabric of Madhya Pradesh. Today, however, this river that once gave life to the Vindhyas, nourished kingdoms, and witnessed the footsteps of sages and warriors alike, lies in silence - gasping, groaning, almost gone.
Flowing from the lap of Jhiri village in Raisen, Betwa was known to be eternal - its waters a gift from the Vindhya ranges, flowing through the heart of the land all year round. But now, the river's very origin has dried up. What once flowed freely beneath ancient bridges and through sacred ghats is now barren soil, cracked and thirsty, carrying the stench of neglect and greed.
"Betwa has been flowing since the Vedic times. There was a stepwell at its origin. Now, that too has dried up," lamented Gopal Das Maharaj, a custodian of the river's legacy.
In the Vedas, Betwa was sung about in verses. In the Mahabharata, she was revered as Vetravati - a river of penance, purity, and perseverance. Today, the same river is encircled by cement, her veins punctured by illegal borings, her lifeblood stolen by endless greed.
Around her birthplace, a cement wall now imprisons her spirit, while illegal deforestation and sand mining ravage her body.
The river's natural sources, once replenished by the monsoons and Vindhya's embrace, have withered. The sounds of her flow have been replaced by silence, broken only by the hum of machines boring into her bed.
"From Raisen to Vidisha, Betwa's waters are being siphoned off through borings. The forests that protected her have been cut, and her natural flow blocked. This is a conspiracy to kill Betwa," said Rakesh Meena, an environmentalist whose voice trembles with both anger and grief.
This is not just nature's fury - it is human folly. It is the result of unchecked construction, mindless excavation, and complete apathy. The catchment areas that once stored water for dry months have been consumed by concrete. Villages and fields that once thrived by her side now watch helplessly as their lifeline disappears.
"Betwa is fighting for her life," says Brijendra Pandey, a social worker. "Forty years ago, we protested when Bhopal's dirty water was dumped into her. We appealed to leaders, to authorities, but no one listened. Today, she lies dying, and still, no one cares."
Farmers, too, are witnessing the slow death of their river.
"The water flow is completely broken. The river has been abandoned, just like us," says Laxman Meena is a farmer whose fields now wait for rains that may never come.
The government has little comfort to offer.
"Betwa's origin is sacred. We have planned action, and results will soon be visible," said Collector Arun Kumar Vishwakarma, offering promises where action is desperately needed.
But time is running out.
Rivers do not die in a day. They fade away - neglected, abused, and finally forgotten. And with them, vanish centuries of heritage, of history, of life. If we do not rise now - to conserve, to protect, to restore - Betwa will remain only in textbooks, her songs sung by none. Raisen, Vidisha, and the heart of Madhya Pradesh will lose not just a river, but a legacy.
