BY Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal
History bears solemn testimony to the fact that for nearly a millennium, the rugged mountains of Afghanistan produced Sultans and Conquerors who altered the civilizational map of the Sub Continent. From the Eleventh century onward, wave after wave of Afghan and Turkic commanders descended upon the Hindu Kingdoms of India, shattering idols, restructuring power and reshaping the region’s religious demography. Among these towering figures, Mahmud of Ghazni, Muhammad Ghori and Zahiruddin Babur stand unmatched. They were not merely battle-hardened warriors; they were state-builders whose campaigns paved the way for the establishment of enduring Islamic polities across northern India. Their victories did not simply replace rulers; they transformed societies. With them came Sufis, Jurists, Theologians and Bearers of spiritual learning who settled in the plains of Hindustan, erecting Khanqahs, Madrasas and centres of scholarship. Through their guidance, the call of “Allahu Akbar” echoed across a land previously steeped in idolatry, and multitudes entered the fold of Islam not by sword, but by persuasion, example and the magnetism of spiritual truth.
For centuries thereafter, Afghanistan remained a crucible of Muslim authority, and its rulers—whether from Ghazni, Ghor, the Lodis or the Durranis—cherished the legacy of those early conquests. To follow in the footsteps of their ancestors was considered a badge of honour, a duty owed to their history. Yet time has a cruel way of unsettling the certainties of nations. Today, the heirs of these mighty conquerors, the very descendants of those who once smashed idols and subdued kingdoms, have sought friendship with those same idol-worshippers whom their forefathers defeated on the plains of Panipat, Kanwah and Tarain. What was once the battlefront of civilizations has slowly been replaced by a marketplace of interests, and in that marketplace the modern rulers of Kabul appear willing to barter away even the memory of their own past.
In this inversion of history, the task of carrying the banner once held aloft by Afghan sultans seems to have fallen upon Pakistan’s own military leadership. Field Marshal Syed Asim Munir, in defending the frontiers and strategic interests of Pakistan, has revived the spirit of those epic struggles—not in the sense of conquest, but in the resolve to safeguard the Muslim world’s geopolitical future, a resolve seemingly forgotten by those who claim direct descent from the conquerors of old.
Against this backdrop, the growing bonhomie between Afghanistan’s Taliban regime and India is a spectacle that history itself struggles to comprehend. As reported in media, Nooruddin Azizi, the Taliban’s Minister of Industry and Commerce, is set to visit New Delhi on 19 November 2025 for official talks aimed at expanding bilateral trade, easing import–export channels and securing new trade routes for Afghan commerce. This visit comes on the heels of an unprecedented eight-day trip by Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi to India in October—a journey made possible only after he received a temporary exemption from UN sanctions, despite India’s refusal to grant formal recognition to the Taliban government.
This overture marks a sharp departure from two decades of Taliban rhetoric. During the years of conflict, their propaganda tirelessly characterised India as a Hindu, “kafir” state conspiring against Islamic governance in Kabul. Yet today, the same Emirate that once condemned India as an enemy of Islam now seeks its markets, its dams, its investments and its diplomatic benevolence. It is an extraordinary reversal, one that would have been unthinkable in the era when the Taliban justified the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas as part of a righteous war against the remnants of Hindu-Buddhist civilization. The statues are gone, but ironically the heirs of the civilization they destroyed now offer the Taliban trade access, rebuilding funds and the promise of international visibility.
Even more striking is the shift from accusations of Indian espionage to dependence on Indian assistance. Not long ago, the Kabul republic was denounced by the Taliban as an “Indian puppet,” and Indian consulates were labelled hubs of RAW-backed subversion against both Afghanistan and Pakistan. Now the Emirate eagerly requests Indian wheat, port access, reconstruction aid and banking facilitation—requests that reveal a quiet desperation for economic lifelines regardless of ideological discomfort.
This new approach also exposes the gulf between Taliban rhetoric and Taliban policy. While they speak of Islamic brotherhood and centuries-old bonds with Pakistan, the moment relations grew tense over the TTP, border issues and refugees, they turned not to their Muslim neighbour for reconciliation, but to a Hindu-majority power for patronage. The same movement that condemned Western financial systems as tools of infidel domination now petitions one of the world’s largest partners of Western capital to help unlock investments, banking channels and global institutional access.
Similarly, the once-uncompromising champions of “pure Sharia”—who refuse girls’ education, women’s employment and media freedom at home—display remarkable flexibility abroad, swiftly normalising relations with any state that offers economic relief or political recognition, even if that state was once branded as hostile to Islam. Their narrative on Kashmir, too, has evaporated. Celebrations of “jihad in Kashmir” have fallen silent during their visits to Delhi, where concerns over the suffering of Indian Muslims give way to the priorities of trade and legitimacy. Their refusal to accept the internationally-recognized Durand Line sits awkwardly beside their quiet acceptance of Indian-drawn borders, as if principles may be bent depending on who sits across the negotiating table.
Despite frequent declarations that they “do not beg for recognition,” the repeated ministerial visits to a state that has not recognised them betray a different reality. These trips are unmistakably a search for de-facto recognition, diplomatic photographs and the illusion of legitimacy—achieved even at the cost of historical memory and ideological consistency.
The truth is simple; the Taliban employ the language of faith, sacrifice and resistance only when addressing Pakistan or the West. But when they approach India, they set aside jihadist rhetoric and behave like any fragile regime desperate for survival—willing to forget past idols, past enemies and past claims for the price of trade routes, wheat shipments and a seat at the diplomatic table.
