History, they say, often repeats itself — and sometimes, it does so with eerie precision.
Back in 2018, India was hurtling toward its general elections. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, once the towering figure of India’s political landscape, was facing a growing crisis of confidence. The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) had suffered surprising defeats in key state elections, the sheen of Modi’s “champion of the poor” image was wearing thin, and his government was under pressure from unemployment, rising prices, farmer protests, and the still-smoldering Rafale jet deal controversy.
Then came Pulwama.
On February 14, 2019, a suicide bombing killed 40 Indian paramilitary personnel in Pulwama, Kashmir. Almost instantly, the Modi government pinned the blame on Pakistan. Within days, tensions between the two nuclear-armed neighbors skyrocketed. Modi’s leadership, once beleaguered, was suddenly rebranded as steely and unyielding in the face of external threats. Amid national mourning and flag-draped coffins, the BJP’s election campaign transformed overnight into a drumbeat of nationalism and vengeance.
And then came Balakot.
Indian fighter jets crossed into Pakistani airspace, bombing a site in Balakot claimed to be a militant training camp. Pakistan’s military swiftly responded, downing two Indian jets and capturing a pilot — but by then, Modi’s narrative machine was already in overdrive. The media spun the limited military action into a grand patriotic victory. Political scientist Yogendra Yadav aptly called it “a classic dodge, distract, derail scheme.”
It worked. The BJP didn’t just win the 2019 election — it smashed expectations, expanding its parliamentary dominance and riding a wave of nationalist fervor to fresh victories across the country. Beneath the surface, though, the tragedy of Pulwama revealed a darker political reality: the majority of the slain soldiers were from marginalized lower-caste communities. As journalist Ajaz Ashraf documented, they were effectively used as cannon fodder in a political game to rejuvenate Modi’s waning popularity.
Even more unsettling, years later, voices from within India — including high-ranking political leaders like Mamata Banerjee and former Jammu and Kashmir governor Satya Pal Malik — began questioning the official narrative of Pulwama, calling it “staged,” a “systemic failure,” or even a conspiracy to manipulate the 2019 elections.
Fast-forward to 2025. India is once again embroiled in controversy, but this time the stakes are global.
Under Modi’s watch, India’s intelligence agency RAW has ramped up what can only be called a spree of extrajudicial killings abroad, targeting dissidents in Canada, the U.S., Australia, Germany, and the U.K. These are not whispers — they are well-documented in Western media, with even the FBI thwarting assassination plots on U.S. soil. The Guardian recently revealed that Modi’s government orchestrated as many as 20 cross-border assassinations in Pakistan alone since 2020.
This transnational shadow war has blown up in India’s face. The U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedoms has recommended sanctions. Canada has openly blamed Modi’s government for the assassination of Sikh leader Hardeep Singh Nijjar. India’s global reputation — once cultivated as a rising democratic power — is now stained with accusations of rogue-state behavior.
Then came Pahalgam.
On April 22, 2025, gunmen killed 26 tourists in Pahalgam, Kashmir, an idyllic, VIP-heavy area known as “mini Switzerland.” Almost instantly, Indian media, officials, and pro-government social media accounts pointed fingers at Pakistan, blaming Lashkar-e-Taiba-affiliated groups. But here’s where the pattern looks suspiciously familiar.
How could militants cross the heavily fortified Line of Control, slip through a hyper-militarized zone, reach Baisaran’s tourist meadows — over 100 kilometers inside Kashmir — carry out a 30-minute massacre, and vanish without security forces intercepting them? Why was an FIR filed within minutes, already naming the culprit group? How did social media accounts tied to RAW start blaming Pakistan within five minutes of the attack?
By evening, India’s foreign secretary was on national TV announcing punitive measures: suspending the Indus Waters Treaty, closing border crossings, downgrading diplomatic ties. Sound familiar? It should.
In the context of international backlash against RAW’s assassination plots, the timing of the Pahalgam attack raises legitimate questions. Is this a calculated attempt to shift global focus, once again wrapping the Modi government in the convenient cloak of “victim of terrorism”?
Beyond international optics, there’s a domestic political layer. The victims of the Pahalgam attack came from major urban centers — Mumbai, Kolkata, Hyderabad, Bangalore, Gujarat — sparking widespread public anger, particularly against Muslims. Could the Modi government exploit this outrage to push through controversial laws like the Waqf Amendment Bill, a move critics warn is part of the Hindu nationalist effort to reshape India’s social and political fabric?
And then there’s the water.
India has long sought to revise or scrap the Indus Waters Treaty of 1960, hoping to push through hydroelectric projects on rivers flowing into Pakistan. But tampering with water flow would be no small diplomatic matter — it would be an existential threat for Pakistan, whose agricultural system is 90% reliant on the Indus drainage basin. Islamabad has warned that such a move would be viewed as “an act of war.” Yet after Pahalgam, Delhi seems poised to press that very lever.
For now, India is turning up the heat, diplomatically and militarily. But history has a funny way of resurfacing inconvenient truths. Once the dust settles and war drums quiet, we may well be left asking:
What if Pahalgam, like Pulwama before it, turns out to be another carefully scripted political maneuver?
