After Pahalgam and Sindoor: Questions India Must Ask Itself

If Operation Sindoor began as a limited attack on nine locations linked to Pakistan-based terrorist groups, the Pakistani response prompted the Indian defence forces to undertake a number of actions aimed at Pakistan's military establishment. Through precision strikes on militant infrastructure, followed by carefully calibrated aggression, the Indian Air Force and Army degraded key assets while preventing any substantial damage to our own military or civilian infrastructure.

The response to the massacre at Pahalgam carried out by terrorists linked to Pakistan was measured but resolute. It was aimed at prompting Islamabad to reassess its state policy of harbouring and sponsoring terror. India’s declaration that all acts of terrorism will now be treated as acts of war marks a significant shift in doctrine.

That said, six weeks after the Pahalgam tragedy and nearly a month since the cessation of hostilities, several critical questions remain unanswered by both our security and political leadership.

The first is whether Operation Sindoor achieved its stated objectives. The Prime Minister, in a Cabinet Committee on Security (CCS) meeting, gave the armed forces a free hand to destroy the terror infrastructure in Pakistan. On the nights of May 6th and 7th, nine terrorist camps were reportedly neutralized, and numerous militants killed. But can we truly say the infrastructure has been dismantled? Is the deterrent strong enough to prevent future attacks?

The evidence doesn’t inspire confidence. Since the 2016 Uri surgical strikes and the 2019 Balakot air strikes following Pulwama, Pakistan-based terrorists have continued to strike at Indian targets. Pathankot, Kathua, Udhampur, and other places have seen terror attacks even after high-profile retaliatory actions. Supporting terrorism in India appears to be entrenched in Pakistan’s state doctrine. The reported decision of the Pakistani government to offer financial aid to the families of slain terrorists and rebuild destroyed camps signals no intent to step back.

More troubling is the international silence. Aside from muted support from Russia, India has struggled to garner vocal backing from major global powers. In contrast, Pakistan received overt support from China and Turkey—both of whom extended diplomatic cover and material support, including drones and modern aircraft used during the brief conflict.

Despite a two-week window before striking the terrorist camps, India failed to shape global opinion or present a compelling narrative. This diplomatic vacuum echoes the aftermath of Balakot, when Pakistan successfully projected its version of events internationally. The all-party delegations India dispatched to various countries gained limited traction, mostly among nations with marginal influence on global affairs.

This stands in sharp contrast to India's success in 1971 and during the Kargil conflict in 1999, when it managed to effectively justify its actions and rally international opinion. Why the shift? The present government's handling of foreign policy and communication strategy deserves closer scrutiny.

That brings us to the ceasefire itself. By May 10th, Indian forces reportedly had the upper hand. Yet it was the US president who first announced the ceasefire, followed by India’s own foreign secretary. President Trump's repeated claims of having mediated the ceasefire raise uncomfortable questions. Has India, which long resisted international mediation and stood firmly for bilateralism, allowed itself to be hyphenated with Pakistan once again?

While the decision to end hostilities may have been strategically sound, it was an anti-climax for a public whipped into a frenzy by media speculation and political rhetoric. Talk of reclaiming Pakistan-occupied Kashmir and total victory created unrealistic expectations. The actual motivations for the ceasefire remain speculative. It may have been American pressure, given the escalatory risks between two nuclear powers. Or it could have been India's own calculation—that sufficient punishment had been meted out, and further escalation would only risk unnecessary civilian casualties, particularly in areas like Poonch and Rajouri.

The safety of civilians in border areas is another glaring concern. While cities were issued alerts, conducted blackouts, and prepared for contingencies, residents living within range of Pakistani small arms and artillery fire were left dangerously exposed. Civilian deaths and property destruction in border towns were substantial. The state must ensure compensation and future protection for these vulnerable populations.

The economic implications of conflict also merit discussion. India, now a $4 trillion economy, has far more to lose than Pakistan in a prolonged war. With vast developmental needs and social infrastructure demands, even short conflicts strain national resources. A quick resolution to conflict is, in this sense, in India’s own interest. But that only makes the need for a coherent and sustainable response doctrine even more urgent.

Our new policy of equating terror attacks with acts of war raises critical strategic questions. What is the threshold for retaliation? Would attacks outside Kashmir trigger the same response as those within? Does the number of casualties factor into the decision? Can every incident justify cross-border action without risking long-term regional stability and international isolation?

Notably, India's responses have escalated over time—from Uri to Balakot to Sindoor. Where does this trajectory end, especially with a politically unstable and militarily erratic neighbour? The potential for future Chinese involvement further complicates matters. India's strategic community must urgently engage with these questions.

Yet, above all, the most urgent question remains: how was the Pahalgam massacre allowed to happen in the first place?

Why did our intelligence agencies fail to detect preparatory activity? How did they miss the apparent increase in satellite imagery demand for Pahalgam in February? Such lapses are inexcusable—they cost 26 innocent lives at Pahalgam, and many more in the conflict that followed.

These intelligence failures are not isolated. They follow a disturbing pattern seen in Pulwama, Pathankot, Udhampur, Kathua, Mumbai, and other attacks. Yet accountability remains elusive. Why was there no security detail at such a high-profile tourist site? Who in the chain of command failed—the SP, DIG, IG, or DG? Are our forces overly fixated on protecting politicians and VIPs at the cost of ordinary citizens?

Some may argue that providing security everywhere is impractical. But complete absence of police presence at a known tourist destination is indefensible. Did complacency set in after the abrogation of Article 370 and the successful state elections, leading officials to believe that the threat had passed?

And finally, why do these tragedies keep recurring? Has any impartial inquiry been conducted into past lapses? Have recommendations been implemented? The public has a right to know whether lessons are being learned, or merely filed away.

These questions may sound rhetorical. But unless they are asked, addressed, and acted upon, we risk reliving the same tragedy. The lives lost at Pahalgam demand more than patriotic fervour and retaliatory strikes. They demand introspection, accountability, and a strategy that looks beyond the immediate headlines.

Sanjiv Krishan Sood was additional director general of the BSF.

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