From Lifeline to Death Route: Munak Canal's Descent into Darkness

 New Delhi, May 26, 2025 — Once constructed as a vital artery to supply clean water to the capital, the Munak Canal—stretching over 100 kilometres from Karnal in Haryana to Delhi's Haiderpur Water Treatment Plant—has, over time, acquired a grim reputation. Known among locals by its unsettling moniker, “Khooni Nahar” (Bloody Canal), the waterway today is as much a symbol of horror as it is of hydraulic engineering.

What was envisioned as an infrastructural lifeline has quietly transformed into a corridor of death.

The Bawana stretch of the canal, in particular, has become synonymous with macabre discoveries. Over the past three years alone, at least 91 bodies have been recovered from its murky waters—a staggering average of 30 deaths a year, or more than two per month. From bloated, unidentifiable remains to mutilated torsos, the canal has become a routine dumping ground for evidence of violent crime.

Earlier this month, a headless, limbless corpse—remarkably the tenth this year—was retrieved near the Haiderpur Water Treatment Plant. A staff member discovered the torso lodged against the iron filter grate. Shockingly, the discovery did not disrupt operations nor evoke alarm. “It has become normal,” said one staffer, echoing a chilling normalization of violence in the very place tasked with purifying Delhi’s drinking water.

A Convenient Cover for Crime

The Munak Canal is divided into two major sections—the cement-lined CLC and the unlined DSB—both running through Haryana before entering Delhi. With little surveillance and virtually no monitoring, the canal has become a convenient site for criminals to dispose of bodies, weapons, and vehicles.

“There’s no CCTV, no patrol units, and no system to track what’s thrown into the canal,” confirmed a senior police official from KN Katju Marg Police Station. DCP Rohini Amit Goyal added that the canal features in multiple murder investigations, often serving as the final destination for both victims and their murder weapons. “Each month, we receive two to three cases involving unidentified bodies recovered from this canal,” he said.

Of the 91 bodies recovered between January 2022 and April 27, 2025, only 28 have been successfully identified—a grim statistic highlighting the challenges authorities face in the absence of reliable forensic markers or identification documents.

The most recent identified victim was Anoop, a 27-year-old whose body surfaced on April 23. Reported missing shortly after Holi, his identification was made possible only because two Aadhaar cards were found on his decaying person. His autopsy suggested he had been in the water for approximately 40 days.

“Perpetrators often go to great lengths to erase identity,” said SHO Pramod Anand. “Faces are disfigured, limbs are tied, and weights are attached to prevent resurfacing. In some cases, the heads are entirely removed.”

Even in presumed suicide cases—another subset of the canal’s fatal toll—victims often carry no identification, making closure for families nearly impossible.

A Community Numb to Horror

What’s perhaps most disturbing is the public desensitization to the canal’s deadly legacy. Once a spectacle that would draw crowds, body recoveries now barely raise eyebrows. “Earlier, people would gather around when a body was found,” recalled a tea vendor near Bawana. “Now, they just call the police and move on.”

Children play near the canal’s edge. Labourers cross its footbridges without a second glance. Fishermen continue casting their nets, indifferent to what the waters may yield next.

What was designed to sustain Delhi’s thirst has become a quiet graveyard of secrets—a place where the city’s undercurrents of violence and neglect merge, flow, and ultimately resurface.