Ceasefire: A word too brittle to mean peace!

Raju Korti
By all counts, "ceasefire" is an exclamatory term, not a resolution. It is a word that momentarily halts the symphony of shells and skirmishes -- but often with the fragility of glass. The recent so-called ceasefire, hurriedly brokered and unilaterally declared by the United States under the theatrics of President Trump, is a stark reminder of this hollowness. For a country like India, which has historically and firmly rejected third-party interventions in its bilateral matters with Pakistan, this declaration was not only presumptuous but an affront to diplomatic protocol.

And yet, Pakistan played along -- only to turn the entire gesture into a farce. While Indian diplomacy maintained composure, avoiding the bait, Pakistan postured like a victor. The delusion ran deep, its military feeding fairytales to its own people while licking wounds inflicted by India’s resolute military response. The theatre of bluster could barely mask the panic in Islamabad. Behind the veneer of defiance, there was a flurry of SOS messages to Washington. Ironically, the same Washington that, for the initial stretch, preferred to be a passive onlooker as Indian forces decisively neutralized terrorist infrastructure in Pak-occupied Kashmir and across the border.

What followed next was predictable. A string of self-proclaimed “strategic analysts” emerged from the woodwork, pontificating about ceasefires, corridors of diplomacy, and regional stability -- as if these terms had intrinsic value amid the wreckage of facts on the ground. The reality was starker. India’s message was simple, direct, and powerful: terrorism is war, and any future attack on Indian soil will be treated as such -- with full-spectrum retaliation.

This wasn't rhetorical grandstanding. It was policy.

After the Pahalgam terror attack that left 26 innocent and unsuspecting civilians dead, the government finally drew its red line in thick, permanent ink. There would be no ambiguity. Every future misadventure by Pakistan would be met with decisive force. Operation Sindoor,

 India’s expansive retaliatory strike on May 7, targeting nine terror sites deep within Pakistan and PoK, marked not just a military maneuver but a strategic declaration: the days of disproportionate restraint are over.

It is worth noting that Pakistan, already teetering on economic collapse, couldn't afford a prolonged escalation. Its desperate need for the $1 billion IMF tranche reportedly became a lever for the US to push for a ceasefire. According to reliable sources, Washington tied the disbursement to Pakistan's acceptance of a halt to hostilities -- an equation that laid bare the leverage of global finance in regional geopolitics. While India stood tall as a sovereign actor, Pakistan was being externally managed like a failing enterprise.

The IMF, meanwhile, has increasingly begun to look less like a multilateral financial institution and more like an enabler of geopolitical coercion. Social media’s rebaptism of the body as the International Mujahideen Fund might be snide, but it echoes a widely shared sentiment in India. A nation that has gone to the IMF 25 times since 1950, borrowed over $48 billion from the World Bank, and now survives at the mercy of China and the Gulf monarchies, has no business masquerading as a peer on the geopolitical chessboard.

India, in contrast, stands in a different league. It is the world's fifth-largest economy, a global tech and services powerhouse, and a growing military-industrial actor. It doesn’t just buy arms -- it builds them. Its macroeconomic resilience and geopolitical maturity allow it to absorb provocations without knee-jerk belligerence. It didn’t lash out at Trump’s meddling pronouncement. It didn't crumble under media pressure or jingoistic frenzy. Instead, it let results speak.

And the results are telling. The Indus Waters Treaty remains suspended, the right to retaliate remains intact, and India’s war on terror continues with unflinching resolve. There has been no let-up in operational preparedness. In fact, the armed forces have made it unequivocally clear: while India will honour the ceasefire understanding, any act of aggression will be met with overwhelming force.

For Pakistan, the writing on the wall is clear. It has lost the war, lost the narrative, and is haemorrhaging what little economic credibility it had left. Its only utility now, to the powers that once propped it up, is as a pawn -- a geopolitical hitman rented for shadowy missions. Its army runs a state within a state, its polity is weak, its institutions corroded. Extremism festers where reform should have taken root. Corruption thrives where competence is needed most. And a tragically disengaged civil society ensures that this cycle of dysfunction remains unbroken.

At this juncture, Pakistan stands at a dangerous crossroads. But to call it a turning point would imply a plausible path forward. I am not convinced it has one. Trapped in its own web of militarism, ideological extremism, and economic bankruptcy, Pakistan is not rising. It is sinking -- fast, and possibly beyond retrieval.

India, meanwhile, must stay the course. Vigilant, composed, and confident -- not because it seeks conflict, but because it has learnt to confront it with clarity and strength. Ceasefires may come and go, but India's security doctrine now rests on one non-negotiable principle: deterrence through dominance.

And if there is a lesson in all this, it is that peace can never be declared by third parties. It has to be earned -- often, through the kind of resolve that doesn’t flinch when provoked, doesn’t pause when tested, and doesn’t break when pressured.