Pakistan’s military leadership may be preparing for future military contingencies, but it faces a far more intangible challenge from across the border — the cultural and psychological impact of cinema. While Pakistan’s army chief, Field Marshal Asim Munir, reportedly seeks advanced Chinese stealth fighter jets and Turkish missile systems to counter potential Indian strikes, he has no defence against a different kind of weapon: a Bollywood film. The recently released blockbuster Dhurandhar, directed by Aditya Dhar, has emerged as an unexpected force, directly challenging Pakistan’s long-standing narrative and targeting what analysts describe as the country’s third strategic vulnerability — public perception and civilian mind space.
Released barely seven months after Operation Sindoor, Dhurandhar tells a fictional but meticulously researched story of an Indian sleeper agent operating inside Pakistan. The film is set against the backdrop of the Pakistani deep state’s covert war against India and the criminal underworld of Karachi in the early 2000s. Drawing heavily from real events and figures, including infamous gangsters such as Rehman Dakait, Uzair Baloch and Arshad Pappu, the narrative closely mirrors the themes explored in Laurent Gayer’s book Karachi: Ordered Disorder and the Struggle for the City. The film blends the gritty realism of Satya and Company with the espionage intensity of Fauda and Homeland, placing Pakistan’s military-intelligence nexus at the centre of its story.
The movie has resonated strongly with Indian audiences, becoming the highest-grossing film of the year. For many viewers, it offered a cathartic experience, portraying a fictional but emotionally charged reckoning with Pakistan’s role in sponsoring terror. One viewer from South Delhi summed up the public mood by describing the satisfaction of watching a Pakistani antagonist defeated while the protagonist recalls the trauma of the 26/11 attacks. Such reactions underline the emotional impact the film has had on the Indian public.
Predictably, Dhurandhar has been banned in Pakistan. Yet the ban has done little to limit its reach. The film has been widely pirated and downloaded, making it one of the most viewed illegal releases in recent years. Its cultural influence has extended even further, with its music and dialogue entering popular discourse. A song from the film reportedly played at a public event attended by Pakistan Peoples Party leader Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, underscoring the extent to which the movie has penetrated public consciousness.
This is precisely what worries Pakistan’s military establishment. The film directly challenges the long-standing policy of state-sponsored militancy, portraying it not as strategic depth but as a self-destructive cycle. It echoes former US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton’s warning from 2011, when she said that a country cannot nurture extremist elements without eventually becoming their victim. Dhurandhar forces audiences to confront that idea, making it politically uncomfortable for Pakistan’s establishment.
The film is not without flaws. It does not depict the real Karachi coastline, having been shot in Amritsar and Bangkok, and it exaggerates certain elements, such as the scarcity of weapons in a city long known for its arms proliferation. Yet these artistic liberties do little to dilute its broader message. The movie’s sequel, scheduled for release next year, is expected to go further by revealing a senior Pakistani general as the mastermind behind the covert operations — a move that would push the narrative even closer to real-world parallels.
Director Aditya Dhar first explored modern Indian military operations in Uri: The Surgical Strike, which focused on India’s 2016 cross-border response to terrorism. With Dhurandhar, he shifts the lens squarely onto Pakistan’s military establishment and its long-running strategy of proxy warfare. This direction reflects a broader shift in Indian cinema, which is becoming increasingly willing to name and depict state-sponsored terrorism without ambiguity.
Pakistan’s leadership has long been sensitive to such portrayals. Former military ruler Pervez Musharraf once openly expressed discomfort over Indian films that depicted Pakistan negatively. Speaking at the India Today Conclave in 2004, he even urged Bollywood actors not to participate in “anti-Pakistan” films. His concern stemmed from an understanding that cinema shapes public perception in ways diplomacy cannot counter.
Musharraf’s own career exemplified the contradictions of Pakistan’s military strategy. Born in Delhi and trained as a commando, he played key roles in Pakistan’s covert operations against India, including the Kargil conflict and the sponsorship of militant groups that carried out attacks in Indian cities. Under his leadership, Pakistan intensified the use of jihadist proxies, including suicide attackers, as tools of state policy — a strategy that resulted in devastating attacks such as those on India’s Parliament and Mumbai.
The intellectual foundation of this strategy can be traced to the military theories of Carl von Clausewitz, who argued that victory in war requires attacking an enemy’s “centre of gravity” — the core source of its strength. Pakistan’s military leadership identified three such centres for India: its political leadership, its armed forces, and its civilian population. While nuclear deterrence was used to restrain Indian military retaliation, terrorism targeted civilians to create fear and fatigue.
Another subtle front was cultural and psychological influence. Initiatives like “Aman ki Asha,” presented as peace-building exercises, helped project the idea that terrorism was the work of non-state actors and that Pakistan itself was a victim. This narrative gained traction in sections of Indian media and cinema, where early films often portrayed militants with sympathy or avoided acknowledging state sponsorship altogether.
For years, access to Pakistan’s large film market discouraged Indian filmmakers from producing content critical of Islamabad. Movies like Roja and Mission Kashmir softened the portrayal of terrorism, omitting the scale of ethnic cleansing that forced tens of thousands of Kashmiri Pandits to flee their homes. Only a handful of films, such as December 16, directly addressed Pakistan’s covert war against India.
With Dhurandhar, that restraint appears to be ending. The film represents a turning point in Indian cinema, openly challenging Pakistan’s military narrative and exposing the ideology behind decades of proxy warfare. It signals a shift toward storytelling that confronts uncomfortable realities rather than avoiding them for commercial or political convenience.
As Pakistan navigates its current political and economic instability, the impact of such cultural narratives may prove as significant as any military development. Unlike missiles or jets, stories cannot be intercepted. And in this case, Dhurandhar has struck at a sensitive psychological fault line — one that no air defence system can neutralise.
