Let the ceasefire bring lasting peace
The announcement of a ceasefire agreement between India and Pakistan marks more than a military truce; it signals a potential turning point in the history of one of the world’s most volatile bilateral relationships. For decades, the Line of Control (LoC) has been synonymous with gunfire and grief, especially for civilians caught in the crossfire. The silence of weapons along the LoC is not merely the absence of violence—it is the presence of possibility. This moment invites reflection, responsibility, and above all, a recommitment to peace as a sacred principle and practical necessity.
Peace is not merely the suspension of war; it is a positive force, deeply rooted in human wisdom, religious traditions, and philosophical thought. Across civilizations and centuries, peace has been hailed as the highest good. The Qur’an declares, “And if they incline to peace, then incline to it [also] and rely upon Allah” (Qur’an 8:61). This verse offers a divine endorsement of reconciliation, highlighting peace not as weakness, but as wisdom.
Similarly, the Bhagavad Gita emphasizes inner tranquility over external conquest: “He who is free from malice toward others, friendly and compassionate, free from possessiveness and ego, he is dear to Me” (Gita 12:13-14). Compassion and non-violence (ahimsa) are not marginal ideals in Indian philosophy—they are central teachings.
From the christian tradition, Jesus’s sermon on the mount proclaims: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God” (Matthew 5:9). Across the Abrahamic faiths, peace is a divine attribute and a moral imperative.
In Buddhist thought, peace begins within. The Dhammapada teaches: “Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace.” Peace is not only the end of conflict, but also the fruit of wisdom, mindfulness, and restraint.
The current ceasefire provides a crucial opening for the people of India and Pakistan—especially in Kashmir, which has borne the brunt of hostilities—to experience a moment of reprieve. It offers children a chance to attend school without the fear of cross-border shelling, farmers the confidence to work their lands, and families the dignity of mourning their losses without new ones looming.
But ceasefires are fragile. History warns us that without a deeper transformation in political will, societal attitudes, and strategic priorities, such truces may collapse under the weight of suspicion or provocation. Therefore, this moment must be seized not just by armies but by statesmen, scholars, religious leaders, civil society actors, and ordinary citizens committed to the ethics of peacebuilding.
The philosopher Baruch Spinoza once said, “Peace is not the absence of war; it is a virtue, a state of mind, a disposition for benevolence, confidence, justice.” That disposition must be cultivated intentionally. The citizens of both nations have more in common than their governments often admit—shared languages, cultural expressions, artistic legacies, and human aspirations.
Rabindranath Tagore, the great poet-philosopher of Bengal, once wrote: “Peace is always beautiful.” In his vision, peace was not only a political aim but an aesthetic and spiritual necessity. It beautifies life, restores dignity, and uplifts the human soul.
Similarly, Mahatma Gandhi believed that true peace must be founded on justice and mutual respect. “There is no way to peace. Peace is the way,” he insisted. His philosophy of nonviolence (Satyagraha) was not a tactic, but a profound way of life. For Gandhi, peace was not negotiated at gunpoint; it was cultivated through truth, courage, and empathy.
Let us not forget the words of Nelson Mandela, who endured 27 years of imprisonment and emerged with a message not of vengeance, but of reconciliation: “If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner.” This is the challenge and opportunity before both nations today.
The ceasefire could also reinvigorate the South Asian dream of regional cooperation. Organizations like SAARC have long remained dormant, overshadowed by bilateral mistrust. Yet regional peace would unlock enormous economic potential, environmental cooperation, and cultural exchange. As the Nobel Peace Laureate Malala Yousafzai has often emphasized, “With guns, you can kill terrorists. With education, you can kill terrorism.” Redirecting resources from arms to education, healthcare, and infrastructure would uplift millions across the subcontinent.
Peace is also an ecological imperative. As the Native American proverb goes, “We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.”
And what of the people in border villages who have endured decades of shelling, displacement, and trauma? Their stories deserve to be centered in this discourse. An elderly villager on boarder once said, “When there is peace, even the birds sing differently.” There is profound wisdom in such words. Peace is not abstract; it is as real as the school bell ringing again, the market reopening, or the first harvest after months of fear.
Writers and poets have long served as the conscience of divided lands. Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the iconic Pakistani poet, wrote in hope and anguish: “Let us raise a cry for peace, Let us silence the drums of war, Let us stitch the wounds of land, With threads of love once more.”
Such voices must be amplified, not censored. For every war drum, there must be a hundred songs of peace.
This ceasefire is not an end but a beginning. It is a sacred pause, a breath held between histories of hurt and futures yet to be written. The question now is whether we will exhale into dialogue, justice, and reconciliation—or fall back into the stifling rhythm of enmity.
Peace is a choice—a difficult one, yes—but always worth making. As Leo Tolstoy noted, “The more we live by our intellect, the less we understand the meaning of life. Peace comes when we live from the heart.” Let us, therefore, choose to live not just wisely, but humanely.
And as the Qur’an concludes in one of its most evocative verses: “O mankind! Indeed, We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes so that you may know one another.” (Qur’an 49:13) Not so that we may fight one another, but so that we may know—understand, respect, and care for one another.
In the end, peace is not made by diplomats alone. It is made in homes, in schools, in hearts. It is a flower that grows not in barracks but in gardens. And today, with weapons silenced along the Line of Control, we must water that flower with vigilance, hope, and human will.
Dr. Ashraf Zainabi, Teacher and Researcher
