Operation Bunyan Um Marsoos

As a Pakistani, reading the dispatches from that ISPR press conference wasn’t just an intake of information; it was like feeling a collective breath, held in anxious anticipation for days, finally released. Let’s be honest, the air across Pakistan had been thick with a palpable tension, a gnawing uncertainty after India’s rash “Operation Sindoor” violated our airspace and, unforgivably, snuffed out 31 innocent Pakistani lives – men, women, children, elderly – on the night of May 6th and 7th. In such moments, you feel a knot in your stomach. You look at your children, your neighbours, and a silent question hangs: what comes next?. Then came the answer: “Operation Bunyan um Marsoos.” And as DG ISPR Lt Gen Ahmed Sharif Chaudhry, with Air Vice Marshal Aurangzeb Ahmed and Vice Admiral Raja Rab Nawaz beside him, calmly laid out the facts, that knot began to loosen, replaced by a profound, almost solemn, sense of pride.

Twenty-six. That’s the number of Indian military targets, facilities used to sow terror in Pakistan, struck not just in Occupied Jammu and Kashmir but deep within mainland India. This wasn’t a wild, emotional lashing out. This was, as Gen Chaudhry termed it, a “textbook demonstration of integrated tri-services.”

Can we pause for a moment and truly appreciate what that means? In an era where the fog of war is thicker than ever, to execute such a complex, synchronized symphony of retaliation, leveraging real-time situational awareness, network-centric warfare, and seamless multidomain operations – it’s the hallmark of a modern, disciplined, and highly capable fighting force. Does anyone in New Delhi truly believe this level of sophistication was on their bingo card when they greenlit their disastrous adventure? Did they think we’d just absorb the blow, issue a few condemnations, and move on?

I look at the names of those Indian Air Force and aviation bases: Suratgarh, Sirsa, Adampur, Bhooj, Nalia, Bathinda, Barnala, Halwara, Avantipura, Srinagar, Jammu, Mamoon, Ambala, Udampur, Pathankot. The ISPR states they “sustained major damages.” Think about the audacity, the sheer reach. And the Brahmos facilities, instruments of death that had fired into our land and killed our people, now silent, destroyed. This was about re-establishing deterrence, plain and simple. Air Vice Marshal Aurangzeb Ahmed of the PAF, talking about hitting the maximum IAF airfields since 1971 with “unprecedented reach, precision and lethality, while avoiding collateral,” spoke not of jingoism, but of a “bold, aggressive and unwavering resolve.” It’s the kind of language that sends a clear message: we will not tolerate aggression, and our response will be at a time and place of our choosing. He credited the “resolute and clear” leadership. Doesn’t clear instruction from the top, free of dithering, make all the difference in a crisis?

And what of the other side? The Indian military spokespersons, Air Marshal AK Bharti and his colleagues, confirmed their “Operation Sindoor” objectives were met. Grand. But when pressed on the rather inconvenient matter of losing, as Pakistan reported, five of their fighter jets, including prized Rafales, what did we hear? A masterclass in deflection. “Losses are a part of any combat scenario.” A truly profound statement. But the direct question – did you lose those jets? – met with an airy, “At this time I would not like to comment on that, as we are still in combat, and give advantage to (our) adversary. All our pilots are back home.”

Forgive me, but doesn’t that sound a tad… incomplete? If you’ve achieved such a stunning success, wouldn’t you be plastering the evidence everywhere, countering every claim of your losses with undeniable proof? To simply say “all our pilots are back” feels like a carefully constructed phrase designed to mislead. Which pilots, from which aircraft? The silence from New Delhi on those specific losses is deafening, isn’t it? It feels like an admission whispered in the spaces between their words. How can a nation that projects such an image of military might find it so difficult to be transparent about its setbacks? What does that say about the narrative they are trying to sell, both to their own people and to the world?

It’s these moments of stark contrast that make you deeply appreciate the calibre of your own institutions. Vice Admiral Raja Rab Nawaz, describing the Pakistan Navy’s vigilance, wasn’t thumping his chest about confronting a “numerically superior enemy.” He was coolly stating facts about tracking the INS Vikrant, ensuring it knew its boundaries. “If a carrier gets within 400 nautical miles, it simplifies our problem.” That isn’t bravado; that’s the quiet confidence of competence, knowing your maritime air arm is “proper ready to generate a response at all times.” This steady, steely resolve is something that cannot be manufactured by rhetoric; it’s built on training, dedication, and, yes, courage.

But the true heart of Pakistan’s strength, the pulse that beat in unison with our armed forces, was, as the DG ISPR rightly highlighted, the Pakistani people. He thanked the youth – our “frontline soldiers as information and cyber warriors.” What a powerful acknowledgement of this new battlefield! In a world saturated with information, much of it deliberately misleading, our young people stepped up. Our media, often a boisterous and critical entity, stood as a “steel wall” against the onslaught of a typically jingoistic and, frankly, often unhinged Indian media narrative. The political unity, often a rare commodity, also received its due praise, as did the Prime Minister for “destiny-changing decisions.” When pushed, does this not show that the core of this nation is solid?.

And let me be absolutely clear, because this is crucial: this pride in our forces, this relief in our nation’s robust response, does not translate into a desire for war. No sane Pakistani wants war. We live in a tough neighbourhood, one shadowed by the spectre of nuclear weapons. DG ISPR’s words cut to the bone of this reality: “there was no space for a war between two nuclear-armed nations.” He warned that anyone trying to “carve out this space for war… is actually carving out the space for mutual annihilation.” This wasn’t a threat; it was a plea for sanity, a reminder of the catastrophic stakes. Pakistan, he noted, acted with maturity, using conventional forces to deliver a “two notch up response” while maintaining escalation control. Is this not the very definition of responsible deterrence? Is this not what a nation confident in its abilities, yet cognisant of its responsibilities, does?

So yes, as a Pakistani, my head is held a little higher today. Our armed forces have, once again, proven their mettle, their professionalism, their courage. They’ve shown the region, and indeed the world, that Pakistan’s desire for peace is underwritten by an unbreakable resolve to defend our sovereignty. We didn’t ask for this confrontation. We didn’t initiate the aggression. We certainly didn’t ask for a ceasefire, as the DG ISPR put “on record.” We simply responded as any self-respecting nation would, and did so with a capability that, perhaps, took our neighbour by surprise.

The lingering question, the one that echoes in the quiet aftermath, is whether this powerful lesson will be truly absorbed across the border. Will there be introspection in New Delhi? Will they understand that hegemony is a dangerous illusion and that this path of provocation only leads to instability and pain for all? Or will we continue this dangerous dance, always a miscalculation away from the unthinkable? The ball, as they say, is once again in their court. We’ve shown our hand: strength, resolve, but also a profound understanding of the price of war. What will India show next?