This has been a week of two very different headlines, but one very same uniform. On one side of the country, the monsoon turned merciless. The President’s office confirmed this week that rain related deaths had risen to 43 in Punjab and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, with more flash floods, cloudbursts and river flooding feared. In Kasur, families waded through waist deep water carrying children and cattle onto boats, and in Lower Chitral, more than 200 travelers were stranded overnight by a flash flood in a remote valley. On the other side of the same week, in the northwest, a suicide bomber drove an explosive laden vehicle into the outer wall of a security checkpoint after failing to breach it. The military engaged the militants first. The blast killed 15 people, including 12 soldiers. Two incidents, two fronts, one army.
Let us talk about the first front, the water. While rescue authorities were still issuing alerts, the Pakistan Army was already in the mud. In Lahore Division alone, around 500 officers and soldiers set up 21 rescue and relief camps and shifted nearly 10,000 people from 72 villages along with their livestock. In Sahiwal district, 30 more camps were established for 49 flood hit villages, and rescue teams continued operations in Mian Channu, Abdul Hakeem and Tulamba. This week, Army Aviation helicopters flew where no road existed. The figures from ISPR read like a register of saved lives. 3 evacuated from Chakri Rajan, 27 from Chakwal and Khanpur, 10 from Chak Monjo, 31 from Dhok Bhadr, 38 from Darapur. These names will never make prime time news, but in each of those homes tonight, a family is alive because a soldier arrived on time. It is not just domestic. The same week, a C130 from Nur Khan Air Base carried 100 tons of tents, rescue boats, life jackets, medicines and food to flood hit Sri Lanka under NDMA and Army supervision. That is the humanitarian face of a force often seen only through the lens of the border. Then came the second front, the gunpowder. On the evening of 24th July 2026, militants attacked a checkpoint. When they could not break through, they rammed their explosives packed vehicle into its wall. Twelve soldiers embraced martyrdom on that wall. They had a choice. They knew what was coming. They could have fallen back. They did not. The checkpoint held because they held. That is the difference between a job and an oath. In the same week, security forces killed 8 terrorists in an intelligence based operation in Tank district who were reportedly planning attacks, and in Balochistan, after three major attacks near Quetta, Ziarat and Bela, 10 terrorists were killed and two female suicide bombers and their facilitator were apprehended. These operations have no live coverage, no hashtags. They end with a brief ISPR press release and a mother in Tank sleeping peacefully without knowing why. This week, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif, while paying tribute to Captain Karnal Sher Khan on his 27th martyrdom anniversary, reaffirmed the nation’s resolve to stand shoulder to shoulder with its armed forces. It is easy to read such statements as formalities. It is harder to understand what they mean at 2 a.m. at a flooded nullah or at a lonely checkpoint.
People debate the defence budget, Rs 3 trillion for 2026-27, an 18 percent increase. But this budget is not just about fighter jets and artillery. It is about the helicopter that lifts a pregnant woman from a marooned village in Bahawalnagar, and the concrete barrier that 12 young men turned into a shield with their own bodies. Supporting our defence forces does not require war mongering. It requires remembering. Remember who brings the first boat when water enters your home, and who becomes the last wall when explosives try to enter your bazaar. This week, Pakistan saw both, and the uniform was the same.
—The writer is contributing columnist, based .
