What the Pakistani military laid before the world this week is not merely a regional concern; it is a test of the global community’s commitment to truth, justice, and the values that underpin democracy. At the heart of the ISPR’s briefing—delivered by Lieutenant General Ahmed Sharif Chaudhry—is a deeply disturbing claim: that India, long perceived as the democratic counterweight to authoritarianism in South Asia, is running an elaborate state-sponsored terrorism campaign across Pakistani territory. These are not vague accusations muttered at the margins of international diplomacy. These are detailed, documented, and substantiated claims with names, faces, wire transfers, intercepted communications, and chilling intent.
On 25 April, a man named Abdul Majeed was arrested near Jhelum. He is described not as a lone radical, but as a trained operative allegedly acting under the orders of Indian military handlers. The charges are grave: involvement in a string of attacks, including a bombing targeting a military vehicle, injuring several soldiers. Beyond this, what Pakistan says it uncovered are money trails pointing to Indian officials, videos detailing how to assemble bombs, and instructions demanding civilian casualties. That word—civilian—strikes with particular force. It removes any notion of strategic ambiguity or military gamesmanship. If accurate, this goes beyond espionage. It drags innocent lives into the calculus of conflict, cheapens humanity, and tears at the fabric of regional peace.
It is not enough to scoff or dismiss this as propaganda. If such evidence were laid at the door of any other state, there would be international commissions, stern rebukes, and perhaps sanctions. But here, because India has built a carefully curated image as a democratic economic powerhouse, there is hesitation. There is silence. There is complicity. The shadow of Kulbhushan Jadhav, the Indian naval officer caught in Pakistan in 2016 and convicted of espionage and terrorism, looms large. That case was already a diplomatic powder keg. Now, this new arrest revives and reinforces Pakistan’s claims that what Jadhav represented was not an anomaly—but policy.
International observers would do well to view this in the context of what is unfolding globally. In Canada, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau stunned the world last year by accusing India’s intelligence agency of orchestrating a political assassination on Canadian soil. In the United States, law enforcement uncovered a plot to kill a Sikh activist, allegedly with links to Indian ‘RAW’ officials. These are not accusations whispered in conspiracy forums. These are statements of grave concern issued by democratic governments—India’s supposed peers. If even one of these cases holds water, they shatter the carefully tended narrative of India’s benign democratic rise.
But perhaps the most terrifying element in Pakistan’s account is not the evidence itself but the motive. That the handlers allegedly demanded civilian corpses turns this from an issue of national security into a grotesque example of what happens when strategic ambitions turn sociopathic. The demand for blood—not just disruption—suggests an ideology of vengeance that should alarm not only Pakistanis but anyone who believes diplomacy should triumph over death. This is not merely a bilateral grievance between Islamabad and Delhi. This is a global concern. In an age where cross-border subterfuge is increasingly common—where drones, proxies, and economic blackmail are tools of foreign policy—the world must draw a line.
If Pakistan’s military is indeed presenting genuine, verifiable facts, then democratic capitals from London to Washington owe it to their values to engage, question, and investigate. To ignore these revelations is to allow state terrorism to exist under the cover of democratic legitimacy. India’s silence in the face of these accusations is deafening. Its dismissals, when they come, are often laced with ridicule rather than responsibility. But ridicule is no answer to grieving families. Deflection cannot mend shattered limbs or broken homes. A responsible government would confront such charges head-on. It would invite neutral scrutiny. It would open the doors to independent investigation. And if it is innocent, it would have nothing to hide.
There are no victors in a shadow war. Only the people bleed—schoolchildren who walk past explosive devices hidden in rickety bags, roadside vendors whose livelihoods vanish in a flash of fire, and young soldiers who become targets not for what they have done, but for the uniform they wear. It is they who pay the price for geopolitical games played in dark rooms and across encrypted channels. And the world? It has a decision to make. It can continue to look the other way, favoring trade partnerships and military alliances with Delhi, or it can uphold the values it claims to cherish. It can start asking questions—hard ones. It can insist that the rules of international conduct apply to all, not just the weak or the friendless. It can stop pretending that democracy is defined by elections alone, and recognize that when a democracy turns its hand to covert violence, it becomes a danger not just to its neighbors, but to the global order itself.
Pakistan, for its part, must also remain open to scrutiny. Transparency and truth go hand in hand. It should facilitate international bodies in verifying these claims, because accountability, when consistent, is the only true form of justice. This is a moment that calls for restraint, for facts, and for voices in the international system to do more than nod diplomatically and move on. If these allegations are true, India has crossed a line that no nation should be allowed to cross without consequence. And if they are not, the world must still ask why the accusation feels plausible at all in light of recent history. Either way, this is a crisis that can no longer be ignored. The stakes are too high, the region too fragile, and the cost of inaction too grave.
