On March 28, 2025, the ground beneath Myanmar trembled with a force that hadn’t been felt in over a century. A 7.7-magnitude earthquake, followed by a powerful 6.4-magnitude aftershock, ripped through the nation, leaving behind a trail of devastation that stretched from the bustling streets of Mandalay to the quiet floodplains of the Irrawaddy River. For the people of Myanmar, it was a day of chaos, loss, and survival. But for those of us watching from afar, it’s a story that’s only beginning to unfold—thanks to the remarkable eyes in the sky provided by the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO).
ISRO’s Cartosat-3 satellite, a marvel of modern technology, has captured haunting before-and-after images that peel back the layers of this disaster. These pictures don’t just show buildings reduced to rubble or bridges swallowed by the earth—they tell a human story of resilience, fragility, and the raw power of nature. As I sit down to write this, I can’t help but feel a mix of awe and sorrow. Awe at the technology that lets us see this tragedy from 500 kilometers above the Earth, and sorrow for the lives forever changed by a few moments of seismic fury.
The Day the Earth Shook
It started near Mandalay, Myanmar’s second-largest city, a place steeped in history and culture. The epicenter, pinpointed at 22.013°N, 95.922°E, was just 10 kilometers beneath the surface—shallow enough to unleash maximum destruction. The first quake hit with a magnitude of 7.7, a force so immense that it was felt not just in Myanmar but in neighboring Thailand, where people in Chiang Mai reported swaying buildings and cracked walls. Minutes later, a 6.4-magnitude aftershock struck, as if nature wasn’t done reminding the region of its power.
For the people on the ground, it was a nightmare come to life. Roads buckled, homes collapsed, and landmarks that had stood for generations crumbled in an instant. The death toll quickly climbed past 1,700, a number that feels both staggering and impersonal until you realize it represents mothers, fathers, children—entire families wiped out in seconds. The tremors didn’t discriminate, tearing through urban centers and rural villages alike, leaving behind a landscape scarred by loss.
Cartosat-3: A Window into the Chaos
High above, ISRO’s Cartosat-3 was watching. Launched in 2019, this satellite is no ordinary piece of machinery. It’s a third-generation imaging tool capable of snapping pictures with a resolution of less than 50 centimeters—fine enough to spot a car or even a person from its perch 500 kilometers up. On March 29, just a day after the quake, Cartosat-3 turned its lens toward Mandalay and Sagaing, two of the hardest-hit areas, capturing images that would later be compared to pre-quake shots taken on March 18.
What those images revealed was heartbreaking. In Mandalay, the historic Ava Bridge—known locally as the Inn Wa Bridge—lay in ruins. Spanning the Irrawaddy River, this structure had been a lifeline for the nearby city of Inn Wa, a symbol of connection and continuity. The “before” image shows it standing proud, its arches reflecting centuries of engineering. The “after” image is a gut punch: the bridge is gone, swallowed by the river, leaving only jagged remnants as a testament to the quake’s force.
Then there’s the Irrawaddy River floodplain itself. Before the quake, it was a patchwork of green and brown, a fertile expanse that sustained local communities. Afterward, the satellite captured something eerie—cracks snaking through the earth, signs of liquefaction where the saturated soil lost its strength and turned to mush under the shaking. It’s a reminder that the damage wasn’t just above ground; the very foundation of the land shifted that day.
The Human Cost in Pixels
The numbers—over 1,700 dead, countless injured—are staggering, but the satellite images make it real in a way statistics can’t. In Mandalay, the city’s infrastructure took a brutal hit. Residential buildings, once packed with families, are now piles of debris. Roads that once buzzed with motorbikes and vendors are split open, impassable. The university, a hub of learning and youth, suffered damage that will take years to repair. And then there are the cultural losses: pagodas and temples, sacred to the people of Myanmar, reduced to rubble.
One image that sticks with me is of the Ava Bridge. I imagine the people who crossed it daily—farmers heading to market, kids running to school, elders sharing stories. Now, that connection is severed, and with it, a piece of their daily lives. It’s not just a bridge; it’s a lifeline, a thread of normalcy that’s been cut.
In Sagaing, the story is much the same. The Ma Shi Khana Pagoda, a spiritual anchor for the community, was heavily damaged. Monasteries, places of peace and reflection, didn’t escape the quake’s wrath. These aren’t just buildings; they’re the heartbeat of a culture, and their loss ripples through the lives of those left behind.
Why Myanmar? A Geological Perspective
ISRO’s statement accompanying the images offers a clue to why this happened. Myanmar sits near the convergent boundary of the Indian and Eurasian tectonic plates, a volatile meeting point where the Indian Plate is grinding northward at about 5 centimeters per year. It’s a slow dance on a geological timescale, but when the tension snaps, the results are catastrophic. The Sagaing-Mandalay border, where this quake struck, is a hotspot along this fault line, making it prone to seismic activity.
This isn’t Myanmar’s first rodeo with earthquakes, but it’s the worst in over 100 years. The shallow depth of the quake— just 10 kilometers—meant the energy didn’t dissipate deep underground. Instead, it hit the surface with full force, shaking everything in its path. It’s a sobering reminder of how vulnerable this region is, caught between the relentless push of tectonic plates.
Beyond Myanmar: A Regional Ripple Effect
The quake didn’t stop at Myanmar’s borders. In Thailand, the northern city of Chiang Mai felt the tremors, strong enough to crack walls and send residents scrambling outside. Videos online show water sloshing out of rooftop pools in Bangkok, a surreal sight that underscores how far the shockwaves traveled. It’s a stark illustration of how interconnected our world is—geologically and humanly.
For the people of Myanmar, though, the focus remains local. Rescue efforts are underway, but they’re hampered by damaged infrastructure and the country’s ongoing civil conflict. Roads are blocked, bridges are down, and communication is spotty. The military junta has declared a state of emergency, and international aid is trickling in, including from India under “Operation Brahma.” Two C-17 aircraft have delivered supplies to set up a 60-bed field hospital in Naypyidaw, a small but vital lifeline for the injured.
Technology Meets Humanity
What strikes me most about these ISRO images is how they bridge the gap between cold technology and human experience. Cartosat-3 isn’t just a machine orbiting Earth; it’s a tool that helps us understand, respond, and maybe even heal. These pictures aren’t just data points—they’re a call to action, a visual plea to pay attention to a nation in crisis.
As I look at the “before” and “after” shots side by side, I can’t help but think of the people who lived in those spaces. The families who called those collapsed houses home, the monks who prayed in those shattered monasteries, the kids who played near that broken bridge. The images are a snapshot of loss, but they’re also a testament to survival. Amid the rubble, people are digging, searching, rebuilding—not because it’s easy, but because it’s all they can do.
A Call to Reflect
This earthquake, captured so vividly by ISRO, is a wake-up call. It’s a reminder of nature’s power and our fragility in its face. For Myanmar, it’s a long road ahead—rebuilding homes, restoring landmarks, grieving the lost. For the rest of us, it’s a chance to reflect on how we respond to such tragedies, how we support those in need, and how we prepare for the inevitable quakes that will come again.
