When falsehoods are woven with such devilish art and patient cunning that truth herself seems but a pale shadow, faltering before bold countenance of deception.
Those lies which are not spun in the heat of passion but forged in quiet chambers of calculation—to wound an adversary, to dress aggression in the robes of righteous vengeance, or to cast an enemy into the abyss of disgrace—are known in the English tongue as false flag operations. In our own Urdu idiom, it is as though one were throwing dust into the eyes of the beholder, blinding reason whilst the hand of mischief works its will unseen.
A false flag, at its core, is a deliberate act of harm or theatrical spectacle, contrived so that the true author remains veiled in shadow and blame descends upon another—be it a rival state, a restless faction, or some band of supposed fanatics. The purpose is seldom simple malice; rather, it seeks to kindle the fire of public indignation, to draw forth waves of sympathy for the apparent victim, and thereby to fashion a convenient pretext for retaliation, for open war, for the tightening of domestic fetters, or for the seizure of some long-coveted political advantage.
In Sub Continent, the pattern repeats with painful familiarity, often deepening the mistrust between neighbours. The Samjhauta Express bombings of February 2007 saw suitcase bombs tear through the coaches of the symbolic Friendship Train linking Delhi and Lahore. Sixty-eight souls perished, the majority Pakistani citizens returning home, with scores more injured. Early suspicion turned toward Pakistan-based militants, but India’s National Investigation Agency later traced the outrage to Hindu right-wing extremists associated with Abhinav Bharat. Confessions spoke of a motive of revenge— “bomb for bomb”—and a desire to sabotage peace efforts. Though charges were laid, a special court in 2019 acquitted the principal accused, citing insufficient evidence. Pakistan has repeatedly called for justice for its slain citizens, while the case lingers as a symbol of how blame may shift and victims may find no final closure.
The dreadful Mumbai attacks of November 2008 according to the Indian media, when allegedly ten Lashkar-i-Taiba gunmen from Pakistani soil wrought havoc across India’s commercial capital for nearly three days, killing more than 160 and wounding hundreds, remain etched in collective memory. Pakistan officially condemned the act, yet some voices have persisted in labelling it a false flag.
Even earlier, the 1971 hijacking of Indian Airlines Flight Ganga to Lahore by Kashmiri separatists provided India with grounds to ban Pakistani overflights at a moment of grave internal crisis for Pakistan. Later inquiries in Pakistan reportedly suggested Indian intelligence hands behind the episode, though India has always maintained it was a genuine militant action. Such claims and counter-claims have become threads in the enduring tapestry of suspicion.
Among these many instances, the tragedy at Pahalgam in April 2025 struck a particularly resonant chord for Pakistan. On the twenty-second of that month, armed gunmen emerged from the pine forests surrounding the serene Baisaran meadow near Pahalgam in Indian-administered Kashmir. The meadow, accessible only by foot or pony and long cherished by visitors as a slice of paradise, became a scene of horror as the attackers, bearing modern weapons and clad partly in military style, opened fire upon tourists enjoying the gentle slopes. Twenty-six civilians fell—twenty-five tourists and one local Kashmiri Muslim pony operator who heroically resisted—while some twenty others bore wounds. The assault, lasting several terrible minutes, shattered the peace of families and sightseers alike.
India attributed the massacre to Pakistan-based Lashkar-i-Taiba operatives and moved with aggressive measures. Pakistan’s leadership denounced the episode as an Indian-orchestrated false flag, crafted to legitimise fresh crackdowns in Kashmir, to escalate disputes over water, or to rally domestic opinion against Pakistan. In firm reply, Pakistan made plain that it had been “smelling a snake” for the past year and declared the incident a decisive turning point—one that sharpened its vigilance and resolve. Whether the veil shall ever be wholly drawn from every such deception remains the verdict of time and honest inquiry. Some lies harden into the semblance of truth; others crumble when exposed to the light of evidence and conscience. Yet the ancient counsel of the elders holds firm; though falsehood may stride for a season upon borrowed legs, truth possesses a quiet, enduring strength. In the high affairs of nations no less than in the lives of ordinary men, wisdom demands that we pierce the dust cast before our eyes and resist the lure of letting passion sanctify deceit. Only thus may justice, however imperfectly, find its path through the shadows that so often cloud our troubled world.
—The writer is contributing columnist, based in Islamabad.
