Pahalgam and the ugly stability in South Asia
The massacre in Pahalgam wasn’t just a terrorist attack; it was a warning that the system designed to keep India and Pakistan from destroying each other is cracking
On 22 April, 2025, the tranquil valley of Pahalgam in Indian-administered Kashmir became the site of one of the most gruesome acts of terrorism in recent years. Militants, reportedly linked to cross-border extremist networks, opened fire on a group of Hindu pilgrims and tourists, killing 26 people in a coordinated and ideologically motivated attack. Victims were selected based on religious identity, which refers to the darkest patterns of communal violence that continue to haunt the subcontinent.
The horror in Pahalgam is not an isolated tragedy. It is the latest jolt in a long and bitter conflict that has refused to fade. And once again, the familiar pattern of outrage, accusation, and retaliation has returned.
Within days, India suspended the Indus Waters Treaty, a foundational agreement on water sharing with Pakistan that has held steady for over six decades. Islamabad hit back, freezing the 1972 Simla Agreement that governs the Line of Control in Kashmir. Two agreements, carefully negotiated and painstakingly maintained, were shelved in the span of 72 hours.
These actions, taken in the heat of the moment, have set the region on a collision course. They haven't just raised tensions but have dismantled the thin scaffolding that has helped prevent the world's most volatile nuclear dyad from falling into war.
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Beyond the headlines
To understand the gravity of what's unfolding, one has to look past the headlines and into the architecture of regional peace, such as it is. The Indus Waters Treaty, signed in 1960 under World Bank mediation, divides the waters of the Indus River system between India and Pakistan.
For decades, even during war, it remained untouched. That India would now suspend it is a signal of both anger and desperation. Pakistan relies on the western rivers-Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab—for the bulk of its agriculture and drinking water. Islamabad has already likened the suspension to an act of war.
Meanwhile, Pakistan's decision to halt its commitment to the Simla Agreement undermines the only formal recognition of the current borders in Kashmir. In doing so, it potentially greenlights increased militant activity along the LoC; areas like Kupwara, Poonch, and Rajouri could see renewed infiltration efforts, possibly with the tacit blessing of elements within the Pakistani state.
These aren't just diplomatic gestures. They're landmines. Both treaties have functioned as guardrails, keeping the worst impulses of both nations in check. With those gone, there's little standing between low-intensity conflict and something far worse.
A paradox wrapped in deterrence
This, perhaps more than anything, illustrates the paradox that defines South Asia today. It is what scholars call "ugly stability".
On the surface, there's a form of calm; no open warfare between India and Pakistan since 1999. But that calm is not built on understanding, dialogue, or a shared vision. It's built on deterrence. On fear. On the knowledge that one misstep could spiral into nuclear war.
Since both countries went nuclear in the late 1990s, they've danced on the edge of disaster more times than one can count—Kargil in 1999, the Indian Parliament attack in 2001, Mumbai in 2008, Uri in 2016, and Pulwama in 2019. Each time, the expectation of mutual destruction kept them from tipping over. But the conflicts didn't stop. They just changed form, morphing into proxy violence, cross-border terrorism, and cyber warfare.
This latest episode follows that same script. And like those before it, it places immense strain on a system not built to absorb too many shocks. There is no formal crisis mechanism, no hotline that can defuse tension before it explodes. What exists is an uneasy understanding: we won't go too far—until someone does.
Uneven strength, equal risk
On the military front, the imbalance is clear. India has a larger economy, a bigger army, and significantly more advanced naval and air power. Its Cold Start doctrine, which is designed for rapid, limited strikes into Pakistani territory, is meant to punish without provoking nuclear retaliation. But that is a dangerous assumption. Pakistan, acutely aware of its conventional disadvantages, has placed its bets on tactical nuclear weapons and irregular warfare. It has spent years cultivating non-state actors, which it considers an extension of its strategic depth.
And complicating matters further is China.
Beijing's relationship with Islamabad is more than symbolic. Should a conflict erupt that threatens Pakistan's territorial integrity, China might see an opportunity or even an obligation to intervene, particularly along the Line of Actual Control in Aksai Chin. There is also the strategic leverage it holds with the Brahmaputra River, which originates in Tibet and flows into India's northeast. In a worst-case scenario, water could become a weapon on multiple fronts.
This layered chessboard, India versus Pakistan, with China hovering in the background, makes the region one of the most dangerous in the world. And now, two of its few diplomatic shock absorbers are off the table.
A system under strain
Here is the truth: the so-called stability in South Asia isn't stable at all. It's brittle. It's full of cracks, held together by the hope that no one will press too hard. But Pahalgam has pressed hard. And the reactions it has triggered are exposing just how fragile the current setup really is.
Time and again, political leaders have chosen short-term optics over long-term solutions. Dialogue has become performative. Backchannel diplomacy exists, but it's inconsistent. And while states posture and retreat in careful cycles, the violence on the ground never really stops. It just goes unacknowledged until it becomes too big to ignore.
That is the essence of ugly stability: restraint at the top, chaos below. Nuclear deterrence might prevent armies from marching, but it does little to stop a man with a gun and an ideology. And each new crisis, rather than resetting the board, leaves a bit more damage behind. More distrust. More militarisation. More bitterness in public discourse.
What now?
The easy thing to do right now is to wait for tempers to cool. To hope that, as in past crises, a few weeks will pass and normalcy, whatever that means, will resume. But that kind of normal is no longer enough.
The region needs to rethink the foundations of its peace. That means restoring the treaties that have been suspended. It means reopening diplomatic channels — not as a show of civility, but as a matter of survival. It means tackling the harder questions: the unresolved status of Kashmir, the role of non-state actors, and the weaponisation of identity politics.
None of this will happen quickly. And none of it is guaranteed to work. But continuing down the current path, where violence begets diplomacy and diplomacy begets more violence, is not sustainable.
The massacre in Pahalgam wasn't just a terrorist attack; it was a signal. A warning that the system designed to keep India and Pakistan from destroying each other is cracking. Whether it holds or collapses will depend on what happens next.
Anika Tasnim is an undergraduate student in the Department of International Relations, University of Dhaka
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.
