India’s shadow war against Pakistan is hardly a new chapter in South Asia’s troubled history. The two countries have lived in the long shadow of Partition, each decade scarred by conflict, mistrust and the suspicion that one side is always seeking to undercut the other. Yet in recent years, the brazenness with which New Delhi continues its covert operations has become impossible to ignore. Through proxies, covert operatives and well-funded networks, India persists in stoking unrest across Pakistan, even as our own security forces remain engaged in the exhausting task of neutralizing these designs. Too many of our young men – soldiers, police officers, even ordinary citizens caught in the crossfire – have laid down their lives in defence of this soil, a sacrifice the wider world too often overlooks or wilfully forgets.
For the first time at the United Nations this year, Pakistan has chosen to lift the veil on what it bluntly calls Indian state-sponsored terrorism. That choice was significant. For decades, Pakistan has been the accused rather than the accuser at international forums, often forced into defensive positions on terrorism. By presenting evidence of India’s interference, Islamabad has attempted to flip the narrative and remind the world that violence in South Asia does not flow in one direction. India too has blood on its hands. There is precedent for these suspicions. The killing of Hardeep Singh Nijjar, a Sikh separatist activist gunned down in Canada in 2023, still reverberates through international diplomacy. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau publicly accused Indian intelligence of involvement, sparking a diplomatic freeze between Ottawa and New Delhi.
Ajit Doval, India’s former spymaster turned national security adviser, remains persona non grata in Canada, a symbol of a state machinery accused of exporting its vendettas abroad. The same shadowy fingerprints have been noted in the US and the UK, where investigative journalists and intelligence leaks have pointed to covert Indian operations targeting critics and dissidents. What once seemed like whispers from the margins is now a matter of growing concern in western capitals. Operation Bunyān al-Marsoos – the exposure of Indian networks operating within Pakistan – was another episode that rattled the Modi government. A state already captured by the fever of Hindu nationalism found itself on the back foot, embarrassed at being unmasked. In response, Indian representatives have lashed out in every available forum, from the Shanghai Cooperation Organization summit to the Quad meetings with Washington and Tokyo.
The tone is one of indignation: how dare anyone question India, the self-proclaimed rising power, the indispensable partner, the “world’s most populous nation” with an apparently unstoppable economy. However, slogans cannot conceal contradictions. Yes, India boasts a population of 1.4 billion. Yes, it trumpets itself as the world’s third-largest economy. Nevertheless, what does that mean in human terms? Strip away the rhetoric and the statistics, and the picture is less flattering. More than 700 million Indians – half the population – still depend on government food rations to survive. This is not the profile of a nation surging toward superpower status. Rather, it suggests a country where growth is uneven, inequality rampant, and development an unfulfilled promise. For the poorest, India’s rise is an abstraction. For the ruling party, it is a slogan to be chanted on campaign trails.
The cracks in this supposed miracle deepen further when electoral politics is examined. The ruling BJP has repeatedly blurred the line between welfare and vote-buying, most starkly illustrated in Bihar where women voters suddenly found 10,000 rupees deposited in their bank accounts ahead of state elections. That the Election Commission of India offered no protest reveals much about the erosion of institutional checks. Democracy becomes distorted when welfare is weaponized for partisan gain. It is not governance but transactional politics: the theft of votes dressed up as generosity. Such contradictions should matter to India’s international allies, who increasingly present the country as a bulwark against China and a trusted partner for the West. The temptation is always to look away from the uglier truths when geopolitical convenience demands otherwise.
However, peace in South Asia will remain elusive so long as India is given a free pass on its destabilizing actions. A neighbor that funds extremist outfits meddles in internal conflicts and exports its security state abroad cannot be treated simply as a benign partner. For Pakistan, the challenge is not only to expose these actions but also to convince the world that ignoring them has consequences beyond our borders. Instability in Pakistan is not self-contained. It spills into Afghanistan, it shapes the calculations of militant groups, and it reverberates into the wider Middle East. Each time India interferes, it undermines not just Pakistan’s security but regional stability. The dream of South Asian peace – already a fragile one – cannot survive such sustained sabotage. It is also time to acknowledge the human cost.
Behind the language of “proxy wars” and “covert operations” are shattered families, widowed mothers, and children who will never see their fathers return home from duty. Behind every intelligence file and every political speech lies grief that is rarely registered outside our borders. For the world, these are footnotes in a geopolitical contest. For Pakistanis, they are lived reality. The Modi government thrives on polarization. Its Hindutva project needs enemies – within and without – to sustain its appeal. Muslims in India know this all too well, facing the erosion of their rights under a government that sees them as perpetual outsiders. Pakistan becomes the externalized version of this domestic logic: a convenient adversary, a canvas on which to project nationalism. However, there is a danger in constantly feeding the fire of hostility.
