From Aurangzeb to Allah: How Pakistan continues to turn religion into a war doctrine against India

Despite suffering a crushing defeat during Operation Sindoor earlier this year, Pakistan’s ruling elite continues to flaunt religiously infused threats against India. Defence Minister Khawaja Asif recently claimed that “India will be buried under the debris of its warplanes,” followed by assertions that “India was never one united nation except briefly under Aurangzeb” and that “Pakistan was created in the name of Allah.”

These remarks are not merely impulsive rhetoric. Rather they are a window into Pakistan’s enduring war doctrine, one that continues to dress aggression in the language of faith. Asif’s remarks come not in the spirit of diplomacy but as a reminder that Islamabad’s military and political establishments remain chained to the idea that religion, not reason, defines the nation’s strength. Behind his invocation of Allah lies the same poisonous logic that has kept Pakistan in a perpetual state of conflict with India since 1947.

A threat draped in faith

Asif’s statement that “the chances of war with India are real” was presented as almost inevitable, but it clearly carried a hostile tone. He spoke of unity only in the context of fighting India, suggesting that Pakistan’s divided politics could only come together in confrontation. What is most striking is his use of religion. By saying Pakistan was “created in the name of Allah,” Asif reinforced a key idea in Pakistan’s military mindset: wars with India are seen not as political or territorial conflicts, but as religious duties.

This message, repeated for decades, serves a purpose. It allows Pakistan’s leaders to avoid responsibility for the chaos they create. Every act of provocation can be justified as fulfilling a religious duty rather than being poor policy. Asif’s mention of Aurangzeb -- a ruler known for religious intolerance -- was also symbolic. It suggested that Muslim rule was the only path to India’s “unity,” ignoring centuries of shared culture, coexistence, and pluralism.

The ghost of the two-state theory

Behind Asif’s comments looms the figure of Pakistan’s Army Chief, Field Marshal Asim Munir, who has revived the two-state theory in its most literal form. Munir has repeatedly declared that Pakistan’s identity and purpose are rooted in the “protection of Islam” and that India, by contrast, is a “Hindu civilisation masquerading as a secular democracy.” In his public addresses, Munir has called Pakistan an “ideological fortress of Islam” and described India as a nation “lost in delusion.”

The two-state theory, once a political rationale for Partition, has now mutated under Munir into a war doctrine. His speeches have recast the divide not as historical happenstance but as divine design. The message is unmistakable: Pakistan exists because it must oppose India. This religious militarisation of policy keeps Pakistan’s armed forces at the centre of national life. By framing national survival as a holy mission, the army justifies its political dominance, its bloated budgets, and its endless interference in civilian affairs.

Religion as a weapon, not a belief

Khawaja Asif’s rhetoric is part of a continuum. From the early years of the republic, Pakistan’s leaders have leaned on religion to mask insecurity and failure. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto once declared that Pakistan would fight India for a thousand years. General Zia-ul-Haq, who Islamised the military and the state, transformed that rhetoric into doctrine. Under his rule, ‘jihad’ became state policy, exported through proxies across the border. Every subsequent military chief, from Pervez Musharraf to Qamar Javed Bajwa, has played variations of the same tune, invoking Islam as both shield and sword.

The pattern is unmistakable. When cornered domestically or internationally, Pakistan’s power centres rally the population with calls to faith and fear. Religious nationalism is the glue that holds together a fractured elite and a disillusioned public. Asif’s latest remarks follow that script exactly. His warning to India is less a statement of strength than a desperate invocation of divine unity in a country divided by politics, economy, and ideology.

The Asim Munir doctrine

General Asim Munir’s tenure has seen a renewed fusion of faith and force. His statements have repeatedly portrayed India not as a geopolitical rival but as a civilisational enemy. In his address to the National Defence University earlier this year, he described Pakistan as the “last bastion of Islam in South Asia” and warned that “those who question this truth are enemies within.” Such rhetoric is not accidental. It reinforces the army’s claim that it alone guards the nation’s faith, allowing it to delegitimise dissent and dominate civilian governance.

Under Munir, the religious narrative has deepened within the military ranks. Training programs, ceremonies, and even strategic communication increasingly revolve around Islamic symbolism. The two-state theory has been repackaged as an ongoing divine mandate, ensuring that the idea of peace with India remains taboo. The more Pakistan’s economy collapses, the louder its generals invoke Allah.

Historical continuity of hate

Pakistan’s reliance on religious ideology to justify hostility toward India has deep roots. From Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s “Islam in danger” slogan in the 1940s to Ayub Khan’s vision of Pakistan as a “spiritual democracy,” religion has always been wielded as an instrument of power. General Yahya Khan used the same religious fervour to justify the brutal crackdown in East Pakistan, insisting he was fighting to preserve Islamic unity. Zia’s regime institutionalised hatred through madrassas and state propaganda, turning jihad into a national export. Even civilian governments have been complicit, using the idea of an Islamic identity to deflect criticism and maintain political legitimacy.

Khawaja Asif’s statements belong squarely within this tradition. By questioning India’s unity, he repeats the falsehood that India is an artificial construct while Pakistan is divinely ordained. This inversion of reality has fuelled every conflict, from Kargil to Pulwama to Pahalgam. It sustains the delusion that Pakistan can survive indefinitely by defining itself against India.

Religion and the erosion of rational strategy

What makes this doctrine dangerous is not just its hostility but its blindness. In elevating faith above strategy, Pakistan’s leaders have turned national policy into theology. The result is a country that mistakes fanaticism for strength. Every attempt to modernise or normalise relations with India has been sabotaged by this mindset. From the 1999 Lahore Declaration to the brief thaw after the 2003 ceasefire, religious nationalism has always pulled Pakistan back into confrontation.

The army’s control over education and media ensures that generations are raised on myths of divine rivalry. Pakistani textbooks still describe Hindus as deceitful and India as inherently hostile, planting seeds of animosity in young minds. The recent statements by both Asif and Munir are the political expression of the same indoctrination. They reflect a state that cannot envision peace without fearing its own disintegration.

A doctrine that devours its own

Ironically, the doctrine that claims to unify Pakistan is the same one that keeps it broken. Religion may rally Pakistanis against an external enemy, but it cannot sustain national coherence. The invocation of Allah in every crisis is a symptom of political bankruptcy, not faith. Khawaja Asif’s boast that Pakistan would achieve a “better result than before” in a war with India is absurd bravado from a country that has lost every conflict it initiated. Yet, his words carry weight precisely because they echo the convictions of a military that has made faith its only strategy.

Bottom line

Khawaja Asif’s threat is not new; it is a recycled anthem from Pakistan’s long history of using religion as a weapon. His mention of Aurangzeb, his invocation of Allah, and his glorification of war are all chapters in a narrative that the Pakistani establishment has carefully preserved. General Asim Munir’s revival of the two-state theory ensures that this narrative remains official policy. Together, they represent a state trapped in its founding myth, forever seeking validation through confrontation.

For Pakistan, faith has never been just belief: it has been strategy, shield, and sword. And as long as its leaders continue to fight imaginary wars in the name of God, peace in South Asia will remain an illusion, and Pakistan will remain a prisoner of its own dogma.