By Uzma Ehtasham
It was a sobering week for India. Stripped of its tough-talking veneer and exposed before the world, the self-proclaimed regional power found itself humiliated, not only on the battlefield but also on the diplomatic front. Pakistan’s blistering precision strikes under Operation Banyan Mursas shattered more than just Indian military targets — they punctured the illusion of Indian military supremacy and diplomatic poise. What followed from New Delhi was not introspection or restraint but a familiar descent into diplomatic tantrums, the most absurd of which was the threat to “suspend” the Indus Waters Treaty — an agreement that simply cannot be suspended.
India’s conduct after its military rout can only be described as undignified. From initially boasting about offensive capabilities “deep inside” Pakistan to desperately pleading with Washington for intervention, its fall from rhetorical grace was swift. Yet even in retreat, India seems unable to resist flexing with empty gestures. Threatening to suspend a treaty signed in 1960 under the auspices of the World Bank is not just legally incoherent — it is diplomatically juvenile. There is no legal architecture within the treaty that allows for suspension. India cannot simply toss out international agreements when it suits its narrative or political theatrics. The treaty either holds or it doesn’t. Anything else is fiction.
And fiction seems to be India’s chosen response. Four Indian officials speaking to a British news agency doubled down on the suspension narrative, despite having just agreed to a ceasefire brokered by none other than US President Donald Trump, alongside Pakistan’s Deputy Prime Minister Ishaq Dar. In the same breath, these officials insisted that trade bans and visa freezes would continue, citing the Pahalgam attack of April 22 — a murky incident that left casualties in Indian-Occupied Jammu & Kashmir. No independent investigation was carried out. No international observers were welcomed. Yet, the blame was swiftly — and predictably — pinned on Pakistan, without proof, without pause.
This reflex to escalate rather than investigate is not new in Delhi’s playbook. It is a pattern that has grown bolder with time and more reckless with each cycle. Following the Pahalgam incident, India launched its own offensive — Operation Sandoor — targeting not only Pakistan-administered Kashmir but also civilian zones deep within Pakistani territory. Missiles struck homes, schools, and mosques, triggering outrage from rights groups but eliciting little more than cautious murmurs from Western capitals. Once again, the global community’s silence bought India time and cover. That silence ended when Pakistan struck back with surgical precision.
Operation Banyan Mursas was no theatrical flourish. It was a coordinated and disciplined demonstration of military competence. Indian airbases were hit, supply depots were razed, and critical infrastructure was neutralized. The response stunned observers in Washington, London, and beyond. It became clear that Pakistan, often dismissed as economically frail and diplomatically isolated, had both the will and the capacity to redraw the rules of regional engagement. No longer was it about bluff and bluster. This was deterrence — not theoretical but kinetic, not symbolic but tangible.
India, unaccustomed to facing consequences for its aggressions, had no option but to yield. The ceasefire that followed was not the result of Indian statesmanship or diplomatic brilliance. It was forced, negotiated under pressure, and sealed under the watchful eyes of world powers. For once, Pakistan dictated the pace of regional diplomacy. And India’s response? More theatre, more noise, and more of the same outdated tactics. Threatening to weaponize water at this point is not just morally outrageous but strategically desperate. Pakistan’s National Security Committee rightly described India’s treaty brinkmanship as bordering on an act of war. Agriculture, livelihoods, and ecosystems on both sides of the border rely on the continuity of river flows governed by the Indus Waters Treaty.
India’s problem is not Pakistan. It is its own inability to read the room, its obsession with saving face at the cost of regional peace. Instead of acknowledging a miscalculation, Delhi has opted for rage disguised as diplomacy. It would rather destabilize than de-escalate, lash out rather than listen. And that poses a danger not only to its neighbors but to itself. A nation that treats water as a weapon, peace as an afterthought, and treaties as disposable tools is not playing the part of a responsible global actor. It is acting like a child denied its favorite toy — stomping, sulking, and issuing threats it cannot enforce. Pakistan, on the other hand, has found itself in a rare moment of global validation. After years of being cornered, blamed, and branded a spoiler in the regional peace equation, it has demonstrated discipline, patience, and resolve.
By responding not with recklessness but with calculated military and diplomatic action, Islamabad has forced the international community to rethink its assumptions. The ceasefire now in place is not a fragile truce kept alive by goodwill. It is one enforced by clarity — the clarity that aggression will be answered and peace will not be one-sided. The world must now see India’s antics for what they are — diversionary, performative, and increasingly detached from reality. It is not a sign of strength to threaten rivers or trade routes in the wake of military failure. It is a signal of weakness, a failure to lead with reason. The days of impunity are over.
No amount of treaty-suspending, airspace-closing, or rhetoric-spinning can obscure the facts on the ground. Pakistan struck back, India faltered, and the world took notice. If there is a lesson to be drawn from this episode, it is that peace in South Asia cannot rest on fantasies of regional domination or the manipulation of international norms. It must rest on mutual respect, accountability, and a willingness to engage in dialogue rather than destruction. India still has the chance to choose that path. But first, it must put away the theatre and face the truth: deterrence now has a new face, and it does not wear a saffron robe.
(The writer is a public health professional and possesses expertise in health communication, having keen interest in national and international affairs, can be reached at uzma@metro-morning.com)
