The Mullah General and the Kashmir Gambit

Dipak Kurmi

(The writer can be reached at dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com.)

The idyllic Kashmir Valley was once again scorched by the embers of cross-border terrorism when 26 civilians were gunned down near Pahalgam on April 22. The massacre, stark in its brutality and symbolic in its timing, swiftly drew India’s gaze towards an all-too-familiar adversary: the Pakistan Army and its vast network of jihadist proxies. While such terror attacks have tragically become cyclical in Kashmir’s recent history, the latest incident reverberated with a chilling immediacy, especially in the wake of a speech delivered just a week earlier by Pakistan’s Chief of Army Staff, General Asim Munir — a man increasingly cast as both architect and apologist of Pakistan’s radical military establishment.

General Munir, 57, is no ordinary army chief. Dubbed Pakistan’s first “mullah general” by intelligence insiders like Ramanathan Kumar, former R&AW officer and head of its Pakistan desk (2015–2020), Munir is a religious ideologue wrapped in olive drab — a stark departure from the more Western-orientated generals that have traditionally helmed Pakistan’s military. His April 15 speech in Islamabad, invoking Quranic theology and militant pan-Islamism, was widely perceived in New Delhi as a coded green light to militant groups. Referring to Kashmir as Pakistan’s “jugular vein” — a phrase first used by Pakistan’s founder, Muhammad Ali Jinnah — Munir declared, “We will not leave our Kashmiri brothers,” before invoking divine support for the jihadist struggle. “Cutting the jugular vein off the body means the end of life,” he thundered, adding, “Allah’s fighters will always prevail based on faith, piety, and jihad in the way of Allah.”

This speech, laced with theological fervour and strategic messaging, was not an isolated or impulsive outburst. It echoed a deeper transformation within the Pakistan Army — one that dates back to the Islamisation campaign of General Zia ul-Haq during the 1980s. Stephen Cohen, in his seminal work The Idea of Pakistan, detailed how under Zia, overt religiosity permeated military culture: beard-wearing officers became common, Quranic signage adorned cantonments, and religious sincerity was even scored on officer evaluations. Munir is arguably Zia’s most devout institutional legacy, having memorised the Holy Quran while posted in Saudi Arabia as a young lieutenant colonel. This rare accomplishment earned him the honorific Hafiz-e-Koran and cemented his place among the army’s rising stars.

Unlike many in Pakistan’s senior brass, Munir’s background is devoid of military aristocracy. His father, a school principal and imam who migrated from Jalandhar to Rawalpindi during Partition, ensured his son’s early grounding in religious education. Munir studied at the Markazi Madrasah Dar-ul-Tajweed before attending the Officers Training School in Mangla — a path that circumvented the more elite Pakistan Military Academy in Abbottabad. His unorthodox rise is often attributed to both his battlefield tenacity and his ability to navigate Pakistan’s deeply factional military ecosystem.

In many ways, Munir is a soldier’s soldier — deeply conservative, driven, and unflinchingly loyal to the institution of the army. His first significant break came while serving as a brigadier in the Force Command Northern Areas, a frontline position near the Indian border, where he caught the eye of then X Corps Commander Lt General Qamar Javed Bajwa. This alliance proved pivotal, as Bajwa later played a key role in Munir’s ascent. By 2017, Munir had been appointed Director General of Military Intelligence (DGMI), and by 2018, he was heading the formidable Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI). Notably, he was at the helm of the ISI during the Pulwama terror attack of February 2019, which killed 40 Indian paramilitary personnel and almost plunged the subcontinent into war.

Yet Munir’s tenure at the ISI was strikingly brief — just eight months — as he was abruptly transferred in June 2019. Reports later emerged that his fall from grace was precipitated by a clash with then Prime Minister Imran Khan, particularly after Munir reportedly initiated a probe into corruption allegations involving Khan’s wife, Bushra Bibi. Relieved from his intelligence duties, Munir was posted to command XXX Corps in Gujranwala, a quiet exile of sorts, where he remained until 2021 before returning as Quartermaster General. He would eventually succeed Bajwa as Army Chief in November 2022, just three days before his scheduled retirement.

Today, Munir finds himself at the helm of a military in crisis. The general elections of February 2024 — widely condemned as rigged — saw Imran Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) disqualified from contesting as a party. The crackdown that followed, including the continued imprisonment of Khan and his supporters, has fractured the army’s once-firm grip over the public imagination. The military’s popularity is at its nadir, with even internal rifts emerging between pro- and anti-Imran factions.

Adding to Munir’s woes is the growing insurgency in Balochistan and the deteriorating security environment in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. On March 11, Baloch separatists hijacked the Jaffar Express, resulting in the deaths of 64 civilians — an incident emblematic of the Pakistani state’s increasing inability to maintain internal order. Ethnic and sectarian killings, targeting Punjabis, Shias, Sindhis, and Chinese nationals, have become alarmingly frequent. Meanwhile, the Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), emboldened by the Taliban regime in Kabul, continues to attack Pakistani security forces with impunity.

In this precarious climate, Munir’s invocation of jihad and Islamic exceptionalism serves dual purposes: to divert domestic attention from the army’s failures and to rally support among hardline elements within Pakistan and the wider Muslim world. “There have been only two states which have been built on the foundation of the Kalma,” Munir proclaimed on April 15. “The first was Riyasat-e-Medina… The second, which Allah built 1,300 years later, is your country (Pakistan).” In his rhetorical construction, Pakistan is not just a nation-state but a divine project — a claim that lends both legitimacy and urgency to his Kashmir crusade.

However, in India, such declarations are not taken lightly. Indian officials interpret Munir’s theological framing as dangerous incitement, especially in the context of Kashmir. “He speaks rarely, but when he does, he speaks from the heart,” one Indian official told The Indian Express. “There’s no doubt he believes every word.” This authenticity, paradoxically, is what makes Munir a uniquely potent adversary. He is not merely leveraging religion for political ends; he is a true believer.

The Pahalgam massacre, seen through this prism, may be more than just a terror strike — it could be part of a broader escalation strategy driven by Pakistan’s military establishment, aimed at reigniting the Kashmir issue amid growing international indifference. With Pakistan’s economy teetering on the brink, its political legitimacy in tatters, and its regional influence waning, rekindling the Kashmir fire may offer Munir a unifying cause.

Yet such a strategy is fraught with peril. India today is not the India of 1999. With advanced surveillance, offensive counter-terror capabilities, and growing global support — particularly from the United States and its Quad allies — New Delhi is better equipped than ever to respond militarily, diplomatically, and economically.

The deeper question, however, is not about India’s retaliation but about Pakistan’s trajectory under Munir. If he continues to conflate theology with statecraft and jihad with national strategy, Pakistan may find itself not just internationally isolated but internally consumed by the very fires it seeks to unleash abroad.

In the aftermath of Pahalgam, the silence from Rawalpindi is deafening. But silence, as always, is rarely empty. It is filled with the echoes of ideology, ambition, and desperation to stay relevant. For General Asim Munir — the mullah general — the road ahead may yet be paved with many more such gambits. Whether they succeed or backfire, only time will tell. But for now, India watches and remembers.