As a leader of one of the world’s oldest surviving gnostic religions, Sheikh Nidham Kreidi al-Sabahi follows a strict spiritual rule: he must drink only water drawn from a flowing river. Even at 68, he remains faithful to this tradition, despite growing warnings about pollution and disease.

With a long grey beard resting on his tan robe and a white cap covering hair he is forbidden to cut, Sheikh Nidham cuts a quiet figure on the banks of the Tigris in Amarah, southern Iraq. For decades, the river has been central to his daily life and faith.

“I have never fallen ill from drinking this water,” he says calmly. “As long as water is flowing, it is clean.” Yet that belief is now under threat, as the Tigris itself faces an uncertain future.

Once a symbol of abundance and civilisation, the Tigris is now heavily polluted and shrinking. Reduced rainfall, rising temperatures, dam construction upstream, and poor water management have pushed the river toward ecological collapse.

For Iraq’s Mandaean community, the consequences are existential. Water is not merely a resource, but the foundation of their religious identity. Every major life event, from birth to marriage to death, requires immersion in naturally flowing river water.

“No water, no life,” Sheikh Nidham says. “For our religion, the importance of water is like air.” He has been immersed in the Tigris since infancy, beginning when he was just one month old.

Mandaeans have lived in southern Iraq for more than a thousand years, particularly in Maysan province. Amarah, their spiritual heartland, grew around the river that sustained both faith and livelihood.

Marriage ceremonies must begin in water, symbolising purity and renewal. In death, believers are expected to be taken to the river for a final cleansing before burial, completing a spiritual cycle bound entirely to flowing water.

But in recent years, that cycle has been disrupted. Sections of the Tigris now run shallow, stagnant, or contaminated with sewage and industrial waste. In some seasons, access to suitable ritual water becomes nearly impossible.

Environmental experts warn that without urgent intervention, parts of the river could dry up entirely. Climate change has intensified droughts, while upstream dams in Turkey and Iran have reduced water flow into Iraq.

The impact extends beyond religion. Millions of Iraqis rely on the Tigris for drinking water, agriculture, and electricity. As water quality declines, health risks increase, and livelihoods vanish.

For minority communities like the Mandaeans, the stakes are even higher. Many have already emigrated after decades of conflict and instability. The loss of the river could accelerate the disappearance of their culture from its ancestral homeland.

“The Tigris is not just a river,” Sheikh Nidham says quietly. “It is our history, our faith, our connection to creation itself.”

As Iraq grapples with water scarcity, activists and religious leaders alike are calling for regional cooperation, pollution control, and sustainable water policies. Without them, the Tigris may cease to flow — and with it, one of humanity’s oldest living faiths may fade into history.

This article was created using automation technology and was thoroughly edited and fact-checked by one of our editorial staff members