HISTORY bears solemn testimony that for nearly a millennium, the mountains of Afghanistan produced Sultans and Conquerors who altered the civilizational map of the Sub-Continent. From the eleventh century onward, Afghan and Turkic commanders descended upon the Hindu Kingdoms of India, shattering idols, restructuring power and reshaping religious demography. Among these figures, Mahmud of Ghazni, Muhammad Ghori and Zahiruddin Babur stand unmatched. They were not merely warriors; they were state-builders whose campaigns paved the way for enduring Islamic polities across northern India. Their victories transformed societies. With them came Sufis, Jurists, Theologians and Bearers of spiritual learning who settled in Hindustan, erecting Khanqahs, Madaaris and centres of scholarship. Under their guidance, the call of “Allah Akbar” echoed across a land once steeped in idolatry and multitudes entered Islam not by the sword, but by persuasion, example and the magnetism of spiritual truth.
For centuries thereafter, Afghanistan remained a crucible of Muslim authority and its rulers—whether from Ghazni, Ghor, the Lodis or the Durranis—cherished the legacy of those early conquests. To follow in the footsteps of their ancestors was considered a badge of honour, a duty owed to their history. Yet time has a cruel way of unsettling the certainties of nations. Today, the heirs of these mighty conquerors, the very descendants of those who once smashed idols and subdued kingdoms, have sought friendship with those same idol-worshippers whom their forefathers defeated on the plains of Panipat, Kanwah and Tarain. What was once the battlefront of civilizations has slowly been replaced by a marketplace of interests and in that marketplace the modern rulers of Kabul appear willing to barter away even the memory of their own past.
In this inversion of history, the task of carrying the banner once held aloft by Afghan sultans seems to have fallen upon Pakistan’s own military leadership. Field Marshal Syed Asim Munir, in defending the frontiers and strategic interests of Pakistan, has revived the spirit of those epic struggles—not in the sense of conquest, but in the resolve to safeguard the Muslim world’s geopolitical future, a resolve seemingly forgotten by those who claim direct descent from the conquerors of old.
Against this backdrop, the growing bonhomie between Afghanistan’s Taliban regime and India is a spectacle that history itself struggles to comprehend. As reported in media, Nooruddin Azizi, the Taliban’s Minister of Industry and Commerce, visited New Delhi recently for official talks aimed at expanding bilateral trade, easing import–export channels and securing new trade routes for Afghan commerce. This visit comes on the heels of an unprecedented eight-day trip by Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi to India in October—a journey made possible only after he received a temporary exemption from UN sanctions, despite India’s refusal to grant formal recognition to the Taliban government.
This overture marks a sharp departure from two decades of Taliban rhetoric. Once condemning India as a Hindu, “kafir” enemy conspiring against Islamic governance and justifying the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas as a righteous war, the Emirate now seeks Indian markets, dams, investment and diplomatic support. The statues are gone, yet the heirs of that civilization offer trade access, rebuilding funds and international visibility. Even more striking is the shift from accusing India of espionage to requesting wheat, port access, reconstruction aid and banking facilitation, revealing a quiet desperation for economic lifelines despite past ideological hostility.
This approach exposes the gulf between Taliban rhetoric and policy. While they speak of Islamic brotherhood and centuries-old bonds with Pakistan, when relations grew tense over the TTP, border issues and refugees, they turned not to their Muslim neighbour, but to a Hindu-majority power for patronage. The same movement that condemned Western financial systems as tools of infidel domination now petitions one of the world’s largest partners of Western capital to unlock investment, banking channels and global institutional access.
Similarly, the once-uncompromising champions of “pure Shariah”—who refuse girls’ education, women’s employment and media freedom at home—display remarkable flexibility abroad, normalizing relations with any state that offers economic relief or political recognition, even if that state was once branded hostile to Islam. Their narrative on Kashmir has evaporated. Celebrations of “jihad in Kashmir” fall silent during visits to Delhi, where concerns over Indian Muslims give way to trade and legitimacy priorities. Their refusal to accept the internationally-recognized Durand Line sits awkwardly beside their quiet acceptance of Indian-drawn borders, as if principles bend depending on the negotiating partner.
Despite claims that they “do not beg for recognition,” the Taliban’s repeated ministerial visits to a state that has not recognized them reveal a different reality: a search for de-facto recognition, diplomatic visibility and the illusion of legitimacy—achieved at the cost of historical memory and ideological consistency. In truth, they employ the language of faith, sacrifice and resistance only when addressing Pakistan or the West; with India, they set aside jihadist rhetoric and act like any fragile regime desperate for survival, willing to forget past idols, enemies and claims for trade routes, wheat shipments and a seat at the diplomatic table.
—The writer is Director General Research, National Assembly Secretariat, Parliament House, Islamabad.
