Raju Korti
By all accounts, it was meant to
be a sharp, swift deterrent. A tactical punch delivered after Pakistan’s grave
provocation. On the night of May 10, Islamabad crossed an unspoken Rubicon when
it launched a Fateh tactical ballistic missile towards New Delhi. Indian air defences
intercepted it near Sirsa in Haryana, a moment that could have triggered
nuclear escalation had the warhead been armed with more than conventional
explosives. India’s calibrated, restrained yet precise retaliation was
surgical: BrahMos cruise missiles struck key Pakistani nuclear storage tunnels
in Sargodha, Chaklala, and the sensitive Chagai Hills region.
While New Delhi has officially denied targeting Pakistan’s nuclear assets, a more uncomfortable truth has quietly leaked through seismic monitors, radiation detectors, and flight logs of foreign aircraft. The impact of those strikes was far from symbolic. They may have permanently altered the nuclear equation in South Asia -- not just strategically, but environmentally.
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A file grab of Nur Khan base |
In their aftermath, a low-flying Beechcraft aircraft was observed over Chagai and the Kirana Hills region, gathering radiological data. Within 24 hours, an Egyptian IL-76 aircraft equipped with Boron-10 -- an isotope commonly used to suppress nuclear reactions -- landed at Nur Khan Airbase near Islamabad. The urgency with which Boron-10 was brought in all but confirms an attempt to contain a radiological release.
Radiation does not respect borders. If reports of radioactive release are accurate, large swathes of central Pakistan -- specifically Balochistan, Punjab, and parts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa -- may now be vulnerable to contamination. Prevailing winds could push radioactive particulates south eastward, impacting both local populations and eventually crossing into Rajasthan and Gujarat, depending on atmospheric conditions.
The Chernobyl disaster on April 26, 1986, offers a chilling historical parallel. A safety test gone wrong led to reactor meltdown and massive radioactive release, the effects of which are still felt in Ukraine and Belarus decades later. The Chernobyl explosion released radioactive isotopes like Iodine-131 and Cesium-137 into the atmosphere, contaminating soil, air, and water sources, and increasing cancer rates and birth defects across Europe.
Pakistan’s radiological crisis, if confirmed, could follow a similar path. The difference? Chernobyl had one reactor breach. Pakistan may be dealing with multiple compromised storage sites, with enriched uranium or plutonium potentially exposed.
The swift arrival of foreign aircraft carrying radiation-suppressing materials hints at either inadequate domestic capability or lack of preparedness. Pakistan has long claimed to have a robust nuclear command and control structure, but its ability to respond to a radiological incident, especially one involving underground facilities, has never been tested at this scale.
There’s little evidence that Pakistan has initiated a comprehensive civilian evacuation or issued radiation advisories. The country’s National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) has not released any public statements. If any decontamination efforts are underway, they are cloaked in secrecy. Contrast this with Japan’s Fukushima response in 2011, where radiation zones were immediately demarcated and hundreds of thousands evacuated in a matter of hours.
This opacity is dangerous. Unacknowledged radiation exposure will not only raise long-term cancer rates but also erode public trust in institutions. Worse, it leaves bordering countries like India in the dark about possible secondary contamination through water bodies or migratory winds.
India may have neutralized a serious nuclear threat, but it is not insulated from the consequences. Northern India shares a porous geography and airspace with Pakistan. Radiation clouds do not carry passports. Depending on wind patterns, radioactive isotopes could reach Indian airspace, soil, or even food chains through shared rivers and aquifers.
The Indian government has likely activated its own radiological monitoring systems in Rajasthan and Punjab, though no public alert has been issued so far. The Defence Research and Development Organisation (DRDO) and the Bhabha Atomic Research Centre (BARC) have capabilities to track atmospheric radiation and are presumably working silently in the background.
It is telling that while Israel and the United States have long debated the feasibility of neutralizing Iran’s fortified nuclear sites, India has seemingly managed to cripple multiple Pakistani storage sites in one coordinated night. This is both a strategic statement and a diplomatic dilemma. The international community, particularly nuclear watchdogs like the IAEA, will now be forced to reckon with the idea that South Asia is not merely a flashpoint. It is a laboratory of modern tactical deterrence, where doctrines can change in hours.
There are whispers that the US may have raised false nuclear alarms to pressure India into a ceasefire. If true, it reflects Washington’s deeper fear: a nuclear-armed Pakistan, with compromised command and control, may be more dangerous in its desperation than in its power.
As an Indian, I find it hard to cheer what seems like a strategic victory, knowing full well that radiation is a weapon that lingers long after the missiles fall silent. Whether or not Pakistan acknowledges the scale of the incident, the region will live with its consequences.
This moment calls not just for military vigilance, but for scientific transparency, cross-border environmental protocols, and public health preparedness. South Asia has long played with nuclear fire. This time, some of it may have escaped its containment.
Postscript: In the shadow of Chernobyl, Fukushima, and now Chagai, one truth emerges: Nuclear stewardship is not merely about deterrence. It is about responsibility. And it is a responsibility that cannot be dodged behind denials or buried under mountains.
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