Editorial

In the shadow of the Himalayas, where jagged peaks guard ancient secrets, the fragile thaw in India-China relations has cracked once more. Beijing’s vow to “reclaim” Arunachal Pradesh—its preferred nomenclature for the Indian state it dubs “Zangnan” or South Tibet—arrives like a thunderclap, just a day after New Delhi’s pointed critique of Pakistan’s Sindh province. This escalation, unfolding on November 27, 2025, is no isolated spasm but a symptom of deeper geopolitical rot: China’s unyielding territorial revisionism, intertwined with its all-weather alliance with Pakistan, threatens to drag South Asia back into the abyss of mistrust.

The immediate trigger is as personal as it is provocative. Pema Wang Thongdok, a UK-based Indian citizen from Arunachal Pradesh, endured an 18-hour ordeal at Shanghai’s Pudong International Airport on November 21. What began as a routine layover en route to Japan devolved into a harrowing standoff: Chinese immigration officials, fixated on her passport’s birthplace, declared it “invalid,” insisting the state belongs to China. Thongdok’s account—detailed in a viral X post—paints a picture of arbitrary detention, conflicting directives, and outright harassment, all while she was denied even basic amenities.

Beijing’s Foreign Ministry dismissed it as routine procedure, but in the same breath, spokesperson Mao Ning reiterated: “Zangnan is China’s territory. China never acknowledged the so-called Arunachal Pradesh illegally set up by India.” India’s Ministry of External Affairs fired back swiftly: Arunachal is an “integral and inalienable part of India,” and such “arbitrary actions” erode the trust painstakingly rebuilt since the 2020 Galwan clashes.

This incident is emblematic of China’s “salami-slicing” strategy along the 3,488-kilometer Line of Actual Control (LAC)—incremental encroachments masked as administrative tweaks. From renaming Arunachali locales (89 places in 2025 alone) to bolstering infrastructure like the Hotan-Shigatse railway paralleling Ladakh’s friction points, Beijing chips away at the status quo. The 1962 war, where China seized swathes of territory before unilateral withdrawal, lingers as India’s collective scar. Yet, Arunachal’s 90,000 square kilometers, home to 1.3 million Indians and rich in biodiversity and hydropower, is no mere bargaining chip. It embodies New Delhi’s red lines: sovereignty over its northeast, a region historically marginalized but now vital to India’s Act East policy.

Enter Pakistan, the eternal wedge in this Sino-Indian rift. On November 23, India’s Defence Minister Rajnath Singh stirred the pot during a Delhi event, invoking the national anthem’s lines—“Punjab, Sindhu, Gujarat, Maratha”—to assert Sindh’s civilizational tether to India. “Borders can change,” he mused. “Who knows, tomorrow Sindh may return to India.” Pakistan’s Foreign Office branded it “delusional” and “expansionist,” a Hindutva fever dream violating international law. But Singh’s words were no offhand reverie; they echo the May 2025 Operation Sindoor, India’s missile strikes on Pakistani terror camps in Punjab and Azad Kashmir following the Pahalgam attack. Sindh, cradle of the Indus Valley Civilization and site of simmering water disputes over canals favoring Punjab, represents Pakistan’s underbelly—economically vital yet rife with separatist undercurrents.

China’s riposte on Arunachal, timed a mere day later, reeks of orchestration. As Islamabad’s “iron brother,” Beijing has long used the Pakistan card to keep India off-balance: arming it with JF-17 jets, vetoing UN sanctions on Masood Azhar, and now, perhaps, amplifying border barbs in retaliation for India’s Sindh salvo. This proxy dynamic—China needling Arunachal while Pakistan proxies terror—forms a pincer on India’s flanks. Recall Doklam 2017 or the Yarlung Zangbo dam’s upstream threats; each episode underscores how Beijing leverages its junior partner to test Delhi’s resolve without direct confrontation.

The broader canvas is grim. Bilateral trade hit $135 billion in 2024, yet India’s border infrastructure lags—roads to Tawang take hours that Chinese highways traverse in minutes. Recent SCO and BRICS parleys, including Modi’s Tianjin visit, hinted at détente: resumed flights, Kailash Mansarovar pilgrimages, and 23 rounds of corps commander talks yielding partial disengagements at Galwan and Pangong Tso. Defence Minister Singh himself noted Beijing’s dialogue overtures post-SCO. But such “active communication” feels hollow when buffer zones disproportionately hobble Indian patrols.

What now? India must calibrate firmness with foresight. Bolster LAC defenses—drones, all-weather roads, QUAD synergies—while pressing for boundary demarcation, dormant since 1988. Shun escalation; a two-front war with China-Pakistan is unwinnable folly. Diplomatically, expose the axis: Rally ASEAN and the Global South against salami tactics, from South China Sea to Arunachal. For China, the onus is heavier—Xi’s “Global Security Initiative” rings tinny amid passport purges and renaming sprees. True multipolarity demands borders as bridges, not battlegrounds.

In Sindh’s ancient ghats or Arunachal’s misty vales, civilizations whisper of unity beyond maps. Yet, as Beijing vows reclamation, it risks igniting a fire that consumes all. The Himalayas, once a shared horizon, now loom as a fault line. India stands vigilant; the world watches, lest this friction fracture Asia’s peace.

Chief Justice B.R. Gavai’s farewell speech was more than a ceremonial goodbye — it was a rare moment of judicial candour that reminded the nation of the fragile state of its constitutional values. As India’s second Dalit Chief Justice, Gavai’s voice carries both symbolic and moral weight. His remarks on the growing “bulldozer culture” were a direct challenge to a disturbing trend: the normalization of punishment without trial.

In recent years, demolitions have become a theatre of power, often targeting marginalized communities or political dissenters. What concerns Gavai — and should concern every citizen — is not the machinery itself but what it represents: the executive bypassing due process, the Constitution being sidelined by spectacle, and the rule of law reduced to a slogan. His warning was clear: Justice delivered by bulldozers is not justice at all. It is the erosion of Article 21 — the right to life, dignity, and fair procedure.

Equally important was his appeal to defend constitutional morality over majoritarian impulses. In an environment increasingly marked by polarization, vilification, and divisive rhetoric, Gavai’s reminder of fraternity and dissent felt like a corrective moral compass. He stressed that disagreement with the government is not sedition; it is a democratic right. This simple truth has never been more relevant.

Gavai also emphasized the independence and inclusiveness of the judiciary. His own journey from a marginalized community to the nation’s highest judicial office is a testament to the transformative power of the Constitution. Yet he insisted that symbolic representation is not enough — the judiciary must remain fearless and socially reflective.

Ultimately, CJI Gavai’s farewell stands as a sober warning: democracies weaken not when institutions fail suddenly, but when citizens accept silence, spectacle, and shortcuts over law. His message urges India to return to its constitutional conscience — before the bulldozer becomes a metaphor for our collective decline.

• SAS Kirmani