India–Pakistan War 2025: Technological Warfare vs Information Warfare

 We all know by now that the 2025 war between India and Pakistan was not merely a clash of two nations—it was, in truth, a battle between India and Chinese technology, backed by a well-oiled Chinese propaganda machine. While missiles were flying across borders, an even more dangerous war was unfolding silently: the war of misinformation.

War is never just about guns and soldiers. It demands three critical pillars: courage, technology, and, most importantly, the morale and motivation of the people. Even the strongest nation can falter if its people are not convinced of the cause and don’t believe victory is possible. And that’s exactly what this war targeted—India’s confidence from within.

From day one, this was a war of narratives, perceptions, and psychological manipulation.

Let’s rewind to one of the most chilling turning points—the Pahalgam Massacre of April 22, 2025.

It was a beautiful spring morning in Kashmir, often described as "heaven on Earth." Tourists were beginning to return to the valley, enjoying the peace and scenic landscapes. Among the local taxi drivers and guides, word had spread that Baisaran Valley, near Pahalgam—usually less crowded before the start of the Amarnath Yatra—was seeing an unexpected rise in footfall. This was not a usual tourist hotspot in April, but that day, many ventured out to explore the hidden meadows, reachable only by trekking or on horseback.

What seemed like an innocent shift in tourist interest was, in reality, the first phase of an information operation. A subtle buzz was created at the local level—spread through whispers among guides, drivers, and hospitality workers—leading to a sudden surge of tourists to this isolated, under-secured spot.

And that’s exactly what the terrorists were counting on.

They had chosen Baisaran strategically—not just for its remoteness but for its symbolism. They knew security presence would be minimal, and escape routes were many. What followed was one of the most barbaric acts in recent memory. Tourists were ambushed, shot, and slaughtered. But this wasn't just a random act of violence—it was meticulously calculated.

Victims were reportedly asked about their religion before being killed. In some cases, attackers even checked for physical markers to identify whether the person was Muslim or not. This was not just terrorism—it was narrative warfare. The intent was sinister: to ignite hatred, polarize communities, and spark internal communal unrest within India.

This was the second strike in the information war—not just to bleed India externally, but to fracture it internally.

By weaponizing identity and orchestrating a massacre designed to be communal in nature, the attackers aimed to divert India's national energy inward, toward communal conflict, instead of allowing the nation to respond unitedly against external enemies. This incident was not a failure of intelligence—it was a masterclass in information grafting. A local trend turned into national tragedy through the deliberate manipulation of perception.

Our Indian leadership handled the situation with remarkable wisdom and resilience. They quickly recognized and decoded the carefully planted narrative meant to divide the nation from within. Instead of falling into the trap, the government launched a strong and strategic counter-narrative, focusing on unity, truth, and national integrity.

Importantly, India’s Muslim leaders rose to the occasion with maturity and patriotism. Their firm support for the nation and their nationalist stance against terrorism and propaganda played a crucial role in keeping the country united. Their voices became powerful instruments in neutralizing the intended communal fallout.

Had this second layer of the information war succeeded—one aimed at triggering internal civil unrest—India’s ability to give a firm and decisive reply at the military front would have been severely compromised. Because no nation can fight an external war effectively while bleeding from internal divisions. The true strength of India in this war was not just its military might or technological edge, but the unified spirit of its people, regardless of religion or region. This unity broke the backbone of the psychological warfare waged against us.

Then came the day when India gave a befitting reply to the forces of terror. In a bold and well-coordinated operation, India destroyed nine key terror installations deep inside Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK). These included major training and operational centres of Lashkar-e-Taiba, Jaish-e-Mohammed, and Hizbul Mujahideen—groups long responsible for cross-border terrorism and domestic instability.

What stunned the world was the depth and precision of India’s strikes. For the first time, Indian missiles and drones penetrated hundreds of kilometres into Pakistan’s territory, hitting even Bahawalpur, the traditional stronghold of Jaish-e-Mohammed and a location the United States had never dared to target, even with drones. Targets in Pakistan’s Punjab province, a heavily militarized region, were also struck—marking a strategic and symbolic blow to Pakistan’s confidence.

Despite the scale, India did not act in haste. The operation was carefully planned over 11 days. During this time, Pakistan had ample opportunity to prepare. Their military leadership, foreign ministry, and propaganda channels loudly declared that they were aware of India's plans and fully ready to retaliate. Their generals issued bold statements, claiming that any Indian aggression would be repelled and countered immediately.

Their confidence stemmed from their reliance on China’s HQ-9 air defense system—a highly-touted symbol of Chinese military technology. The HQ-9, modeled on the Russian S-300, was advertised as capable of neutralizing any aerial threat. But when India struck, the HQ-9 system completely failed. Not a single Indian missile or aircraft was intercepted. What was hailed as a technological game-changer turned into a strategic embarrassment for Pakistan and China.

In retaliation, Pakistan—allegedly with China's assistance—launched a counter-attack with a deadly combination of swarm drones and high-tech PL-15 missiles. They had analyzed the S-400 Triumf systems that India had purchased from Russia and identified their limitations. One known drawback is that S-400 launchers can engage only 36 targets simultaneously and must be reloaded after firing a full salvo—a process that takes about 30 minutes. Banking on this window, Pakistan launched over 300 drones in a coordinated swarm, many aimed at religious sites like the Golden Temple, key mosques, and temples, hoping to trigger communal unrest in India. Behind this drone swarm, they launched ten PL-15 missiles, targeting critical military installations.

But here came the biggest shock for both Pakistan and China—not a single drone or missile reached its target. India’s multi-layered air defense, Akash Trishul, combining Israeli, indigenous, and Russian technology, intercepted and neutralized all incoming threats. Religious sites and civilian centres remained untouched. India’s strategic command and control systems held firm, and the nation stood tall.

However, the propaganda war intensified almost immediately. Chinese disinformation units began circulating rumors that India’s national electricity grid had collapsed, that missile strikes had destroyed key northern command bases, and that major Indian cities were in complete chaos. Some media channels, caught off guard, fell for this misinformation, and panic began to spread. Families across India started making frantic calls to their loved ones, trying to confirm what was happening. Fear and uncertainty crept in—not because of actual destruction, but due to a carefully crafted psychological operation. Yet, within hours, the truth emerged: there was no damage anywhere in the country. Not a single installation was hit. No fires, no smoke, no devastation—only rumours.

There was one report of a fire in South East India, but it was later confirmed to be a minor LPG gas leak in a household, promptly handled by emergency services with zero casualties or damage. India had not only withstood a technological and psychological onslaught, but had also completely turned the tide.

Throughout the day, multiple swarms of drones continued to enter Indian airspace—possibly as part of an ongoing effort to test the resilience of India's defense systems. Among these were AN-KA 3 drones, a new generation of low-observable, jet-powered, stealth UCAVs developed by Turkish Aerospace Industries. The AN-KA 3, along with the Bayraktar Kızılelma, represents Turkey’s cutting-edge contribution to stealth drone warfare.

These drones, equipped with stealth features, were expected to bypass radar detection. But to their surprise, Indian-made indigenous sensors, advanced radar systems, and satellite-based surveillance spotted and neutralized these drones like toys. Not a single attack was successful. India’s airspace remained inviolable. Its systems stood tested and triumphed.

When the Defence Minister of Pakistan appeared on CNN, he was asked a question that had haunted global diplomacy for decades:
“Do terrorists live in Pakistan?”

The minister’s response shocked not just the journalist, but the world:

“We have been doing this dirty work for the West, including the USA and UK.”

Many dismissed this as a moment of weakness—a confused minister slipping under pressure, exposing a painful truth unintentionally. But those familiar with the deeper currents of global power understood that such statements are rarely unplanned. Especially when the stakes are this high.

This was not an emotional outburst. It was a strategically planted narrative, designed to embarrass the West and rupture the growing trust between India and the US-UK alliance. Behind this misdirection stood China, the silent orchestrator, using Pakistan as its loudspeaker. In one sentence, China managed to signal that Pakistan’s past cooperation with the West in the War on Terror had been transactional, dirty, and forced—and now, that relationship was fraying.

India didn’t waste time on emotional reactions. It launched another wave of military precision strikes, this time targeting deeper, more sensitive Pakistani military assets. Names like Nur Khan, Sargodha, Skardu, Jacobabad, and Rafiqui appeared in India's press release—places not commonly known outside strategic circles, but vital to Pakistan’s air operations. The Indian government publicly released satellite images and GPS coordinates to establish the legitimacy and success of these strikes.

In any other era, such overwhelming evidence would dominate the world media. But not today. Not in the era of information warfare.

Just hours after India’s strike, a new story began trending:
Pakistan had allegedly shot down an Indian Rafale fighter jet.

Mainstream and social media were flooded with a video showing a jet being hit mid-air. For a few hours, it seemed like a game-changer. French-made Rafales were supposed to be India’s crown jewels. Had Pakistan really brought one down? But when experts examined the footage, the truth emerged—it was a clip from a video game, not real combat footage. No Indian fighter jets had even entered Pakistani airspace. India had relied on missiles and drones alone. No aircraft had been risked or lost. The claim was false.

But the damage was done.

While India's actual military strikes faded into the background, global media and think tanks began debating French fighter technology, speculating whether India had attempted to modify the Rafale software and whether that had created vulnerabilities. A manufactured distraction had succeeded in diverting attention from Chinese weapons’ failure and Pakistani terrorist complicity to a fake debate over French aircraft software.

This was not just propaganda. This was psychological warfare—a classic Chinese operation.

By the time the Rafale claim was debunked, the world had already moved on. The headlines had served their purpose: raising doubt, creating confusion, and undermining India’s strategic credibility.

Eventually, global pressure—mainly from Washington—led to a pause in hostilities. Pakistan called it a ceasefire. The U.S. repeated the term. But India did not. Prime Minister Narendra Modi publicly stated that it was a restrained pause, not a peace deal or ceasefire. It was a deliberate halt in firing, conditional upon future Pakistani behavior.

Yet within India, narratives started shifting. Social media—always quick to judge—began accusing the government of going soft. Hashtags started comparing Modi with Indira Gandhi, painting her as a stronger, more decisive leader who would have never paused a war mid-way.

It was ironic. In 1971, wars were fought with tanks and troops. In 2025, wars are fought with drones, satellites, and data leaks. What many failed to see was that India wasn’t stepping back—it was stepping into a new kind of battlefield, one where perception is as powerful as a missile.

India has shown the world that it can strike with precision, manage escalation, and reveal the truth—all while maintaining control. But this conflict also revealed a disturbing reality: military power alone is no longer enough. Narrative dominance, psychological clarity, and media control are now critical to winning wars—especially in a world where a video game can trend higher than a missile strike.

This war was never about occupying Pakistani territory. India did not want to redraw borders, raise flags on foreign soil, or claim victory with boots on the ground. This was a new kind of war—a demonstration of strategic doctrine, not conquest.

India’s true objective was far more profound:

To prove that a nuclear-armed state can—and will—respond with precision and strength against another nuclear state, without triggering global catastrophe.

For decades, Pakistan had hidden behind the shield of nuclear deterrence, using it as a diplomatic blackmail tool. It harbored and sponsored terror, knowing that India’s conventional responses would be limited by the fear of nuclear escalation. The mere possession of atomic weapons had allowed Pakistan to operate with impunity in the subcontinent.

But that chapter is now closed.

India’s carefully calibrated strikes—first on terror infrastructure, then on military targets—without crossing escalation thresholds, have rewritten the rules. The world witnessed that nuclear weapons are not a license for terrorism, nor a protective umbrella for rogue behavior.

New Delhi sent a clear message:

“We will not be blackmailed. We will respond. And we will control the consequences better than you can.”

By the end of this limited conflict, India had not only hit its military objectives, but had broken the psychological monopoly Pakistan held over the idea of a “nuclear flashpoint.” India proved that mature democracies with strategic restraint and credible power can call the bluff—and survive.

This was not a war of occupation.
This was a doctrinal war.
And India won it.

This is the new face of warfare. And India has just learned, and demonstrated, how to fight it. I present my gratitude towards our Honourable PM shri Narendra Modi and Indian Defence forces.