History’s dirtiest truth is also its most reliable one: order is rarely restored by morality but by fear disciplined by strategy. Nations that survive turbulent neighbourhoods do not do so by being liked. They do so by being believed capable of crossing lines they would rather not cross. In 1971, Indira Gandhi and Sam Manekshaw gave Bengalis a nation for themselves—a democracy creating another democracy. Months ago, RAW was taken aback by the speed at which the US-funded Bangladesh student movement—if the leaked documents published by The Grayzone are to be believed—was supported by American agencies working to “destabilise Bangladesh’s politics,” a direct quote. The US will never learn; the CIA trained the mujahideen in the 1980s in Afghanistan which ultimately led to 9/11. Bangladesh, where the CIA had previously attempted—and failed—to engineer a regime change and install Khaleda Zia as PM, weaponised incendiary music to inflame youth through anti-government songs, exploiting ethnic and cultural schisms. The result: carnage of Hindus by armed Muslims that no amount of diplomatic euphemisms can sanitise. There are lynchings, targeted attacks, intimidation that empties Hindu neighbourhoods without ever announcing ethnic cleansing as policy. Hindus lock doors earlier, speak softer, leave quietly. The comic irony is that the documents, submitted to the State Department for clearance, show it cost only $1,35,000 to depose an elected government.
India today stands at a familiar moral crossroads. The Bhagavad Gita is not a pacifist tract; it is a meditation on responsibility in the face of cruelty. Krishna urges Arjuna to fight because not fighting when adharma has crossed a threshold destroys the moral order. “Better to perish in one’s own dharma,” Krishna tells him, “than to live by the dharma of another.” History bears this out relentlessly. In 1971, East Pakistan did not erupt overnight. It slid into barbarity. Students were brutalised, minorities terrorised, dissent criminalised, and finally mass violence became administratively convenient. Ten million refugees poured into India. RAW’s preparatory work, diplomatic isolation, and the unmistakable hardening of India’s posture did most of the work before the first tank moved. The war lasted 13 days because the fear of India’s resolve had already hollowed out Pakistan’s authority. Bangladesh today is not 1971. When such violence coincides with well-funded agitation, only willful innocence treats these as unrelated events. History, from Weimar Germany to pre-Partition Punjab, shows that when mobs test limits without consequence, they do not stop on their own.
India’s military power is fearsome not because it is constantly used, but because it is unquestionably usable. Mountain strike corps, rapid mobilisation, air dominance, naval reach, etc. are not instruments of conquest but of credibility. The Indian Army does not need to cross borders to be felt; it only needs to be believed. Sun Tzu captured this truth centuries before modern states: “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” The harsh truth is Bangladesh does not fear India and muscular Modi of Balakot and Sindoor. Pakistan lacks proximity, capacity, and credibility to intervene meaningfully in Bangladesh. China has no appetite for direct involvement in a volatile, religiously charged theatre that could entangle it in endless instability on India’s doorstep. No serious hawk argues for marching on Dhaka. History shows repeatedly that the possibility of force, made credible, disciplines behaviour far more effectively than force itself. Military readiness that is meant to be seen; remember Operation Brass Tacks which had Pakistan ruining its pants?
The escalation ladder, in this theatre, overwhelmingly favours India. Military exercises near borders. Sharp diplomatic messaging without apology. Intelligence postures that are felt but not announced. Fear of force, when credible, compels moderation faster than negotiations ever will. What destabilising actors in Bangladesh require is not confrontation but the sudden awareness that Delhi is no longer paralysed by optics. That history did not end in 1971 but just set a precedent. Indira Gandhi did not become Durga because she loved war but because she understood timing, psychology, and the civilisational cost of hesitation. Modi does not need to repeat 1971. He only needs to revive its logic, that India’s peace is preserved by making instability unaffordable for others. War may never come. But the fear of India’s resolve must return quietly, unmistakably, and soon. Military force need not be unleashed to be effective; it must only stand, unmistakable, in the background; visible, ready, and no longer doubted. If Bangladesh is made to understand quietly and decisively that India’s patience is a choice and not a condition, violence will recede. The Gita does not promise comfort. It promises responsibility. And responsibility, in moments like this, demands that fear return not to the innocent, but to those who believe savagery carries no cost.