Beyond the rumours of annexation lies a larger question: can Pakistan turn geography into opportunity without turning a neighbour’s territory into a battlefield of competing ambitions?
Midnight had quietly settled over Islamabad.
As usual, I was in my small studio apartment “Eyrie” [ the Eagle’s nest] perched atop a commercial plaza in F-10.
Beside my writing desk, I held a familiar companion in my hands:
the same old mug of hot tea.
The same mug.
The same tea.
The same faithful ritual of keeping myself warm and my spirits awake while playing with pen and ink long after most sensible people had surrendered themselves to sleep.
Suddenly, I heard a faint chiming sound.
My eyes drifted towards the window. Moonlight was washing the Margalla Hills in silver. Then my nose raised the alarm. Alongside the fragrance of freshly brewed tea floated another familiar scent—the unmistakable scent of BāBāTāl [theBell-man].
He was there.
The Bell-Man stood smiling in his navy-blue robe, brass bell of different sizes attached . Beneath the robe appeared a white-striped shirt and a pair of blue jeans torn near the knees—jeans that looked as if they had been on his body since the birth of blue jeans themselves in San Francisco in 1873.
“Ji, BaBa?” I smiled.
“The tea is ready.”
A few moments later, we sat facing one another.
The tea steamed.
The bells whispered.
The night listened.
Without speaking, BāBāTāl picked up a sheet of paper from my desk. It contained the notes I had gathered throughout the day regarding the Wakhan Corridor. He studied them briefly, adjusted his robe, and looked at me over the rim of his mug.
“Bacha, tell me something. When a piece of land suddenly becomes the subject of so much excitement, what should a sensible man investigate first—the land, the excitement, or the people creating it?”
I smiled.
“Perhaps all three, BaBa.”
“Good. Then let us begin.”
He took a sip of tea.
“Wakhan.”
The word floated between us.
For most people, the Wakhan Corridor had long been little more than a forgotten strip on an atlas. Suddenly, it had become the subject of social-media debates, geopolitical speculation, YouTube analyses and patriotic excitement. Some claimed Pakistan had entered Wakhan. Others spoke of secret strategic plans. Still others predicted that a dramatic new geopolitical order was about to emerge among the mountains.
But what were the facts?
On 16 January 2025, Pakistan’s Foreign Office publicly rejected reports that the country intended to annex the Wakhan Corridor. Its spokesperson stated that Wakhan was Afghan territory and reaffirmed Pakistan’s recognition of Afghanistan’s sovereignty and territorial integrity.
That official position matters.
A responsible Pakistani argument must begin with the facts, not with rumours dressed up as national achievement.
Yet the dismissal of an annexation rumour does not make the underlying geographical question unimportant. Wakhan occupies an unusual position in the heart of Asia. This narrow, mountainous extension of northeastern Afghanistan reaches towards China’s Xinjiang region, while Tajikistan lies to its north and Pakistan’s Gilgit-Baltistan to its south.
There, in a landscape of formidable mountains and difficult passes, four countries approach one another.
Geography has placed them in each other’s neighbourhood. History has made that neighbourhood strategically sensitive. And the changing world economy has given it a significance that extends far beyond its sparse settlements and remote valleys.
So the question becomes more interesting, not less.
If Pakistan has publicly rejected territorial ambition in Wakhan, why has the corridor suddenly captured so much attention? What opportunities does its location offer? What risks might follow if regional powers treat it merely as another square on a strategic chessboard?
BaBa-Tal smiled.
“Mountains move slowly, Bacha. Rumours travel much faster.”
That single sentence unlocked the subject.
THE GREAT GAME NEVER REALLY ENDED
“Do you remember the Great Game?” he asked.
Of course I did. History has a habit of disguising itself as current affairs.
During the nineteenth century, two expanding empires watched Central Asia with growing suspicion. To the south stood the British Empire, ruling British India. To the north, Imperial Russia was extending its reach across Central Asia.
Each feared the other might advance closer. Each studied the passes, surveyed the frontiers and worried about the intentions of its rival. Diplomacy, exploration and cartography became instruments of imperial competition.
The rivalry became known as the Great Game.
It was a game for emperors, diplomats and military planners—but never a game for those who lived upon the board.
In 1873, Britain and Russia reached an understanding concerning their respective spheres of influence and Afghanistan’s northern frontier. The process of defining Afghanistan’s boundaries continued through later negotiations and boundary arrangements, including the Anglo-Russian delimitation of 1895 in the Pamir region.
These developments helped shape the strategic geography of the Wakhan Corridor, which became an Afghan buffer between British India and Russian-controlled Central Asia.
The arrangement was not born out of affection between empires. It was born out of mutual suspicion.
A buffer could create distance. Distance could reduce friction. And reducing friction between rival powers could postpone a confrontation neither side wished to risk at that moment.
Afghanistan’s geography made it central to this calculation. Wakhan was not simply a mountain wilderness waiting to be discovered by modern strategists. It was part of a wider political landscape in which local communities, Afghan rulers and imperial powers all had their own interests, although they possessed vastly unequal influence over the decisions that shaped the map.
More than a century later, the empires have changed, the technologies have transformed and the language of power has evolved.
But the mountains remain.
And the question has changed.
In the nineteenth century, the great powers were preoccupied with who might advance into whose territory. In the twenty-first century, another question has become equally important:
Who can connect through which territory—and on what terms?
That is where the story of Wakhan becomes relevant to Pakistan.
FROM A BUFFER TO A POSSIBLE BRIDGE
The Wakhan Corridor can be understood in three ways.
It is a historical frontier, a potential route for connectivity, and a possible meeting point between economies that have not yet fully realised the opportunities offered by their geographical proximity.
These identities should not be confused.
A place can possess strategic importance without being commercially viable. A route can appear attractive on a map but prove prohibitively expensive to construct and maintain. And geographical proximity does not automatically produce political trust.
Nevertheless, in a world increasingly shaped by competing centres of economic and political power, the question of connectivity deserves serious attention.
China seeks security and stability along its western frontier. Afghanistan, landlocked and facing enormous economic challenges, has an understandable interest in expanding access to regional markets. Tajikistan occupies a significant position in Central Asia. Pakistan has a coastline on the Arabian Sea, established links with China and a geographical position that offers potential connections between South Asia, Central Asia and the wider world.
India, Russia and the United States also have broader strategic interests in regional stability, trade, security and the balance of power across Asia.
Their interests are not identical. Nor should we pretend that every country has the same intentions.
But the convergence of geography and economic necessity makes Wakhan worthy of attention.
For Pakistan, the question is not whether another country’s territory can be turned into an extension of our own strategic map.
The question is whether Pakistan can strengthen its position as a reliable regional partner—one capable of offering trade, transport, investment and diplomatic cooperation without demanding territorial concessions from its neighbours.
A mature foreign policy understands the difference between influence and possession.
A confident country does not have to own every road that might benefit it.
Sometimes, it is enough to ensure that the road remains open, secure and commercially useful.
FIVE FORCES THAT WILL SHAPE WAKHAN’S FUTURE
Five broad trends deserve particular attention.
FIRST: THE EMERGENCE OF A MULTIPOLAR WORLD
The international order is no longer adequately described as a contest between two superpowers. China, Russia, the United States, India, Pakistan and a range of Central Asian states operate within overlapping networks of competition and cooperation.
Economic corridors have become instruments of influence. Ports, railways, roads, energy links and border crossings can affect the choices available to states for decades.
In this environment, a remote mountain passage may acquire significance out of proportion to its population or present commercial activity.
But strategic attention should not be mistaken for proof of an imminent geopolitical transformation.
Wakhan’s future will depend on political decisions, infrastructure, security, financing and the willingness of neighbouring countries to cooperate. The corridor is not destined to become a global trade artery merely because its location looks attractive on a map.
For Pakistan, the lesson is clear: understand the changing regional landscape, prepare for realistic opportunities, and distinguish serious planning from sensational speculation.
SECOND: THE CONTEST FOR CONNECTIVITY
Afghanistan’s landlocked position makes access to dependable trade routes a major economic concern.
China’s proximity to Wakhan offers a potential geographical link between Afghanistan and Xinjiang. Yet the terrain is exceptionally difficult. High altitudes, severe weather, limited infrastructure and the cost of constructing and maintaining roads present formidable obstacles.
A line drawn across a map is not a road. A road is not automatically a trade route. And a trade route is not necessarily profitable.
These distinctions matter because the debate surrounding Wakhan sometimes moves too quickly from geographical possibility to strategic certainty.
Pakistan, meanwhile, has its own substantial interests in regional connectivity. Its ports, transport networks and commercial relationship with China provide a foundation upon which wider economic cooperation might be developed.
Improving links between South and Central Asia could create opportunities for trade, logistics, investment and employment. But these benefits require more than geography. They demand predictable policies, functioning infrastructure, security, commercial confidence and sustained diplomatic engagement.
Pakistan should therefore pursue connectivity as a serious economic objective—not as a slogan, and certainly not as a justification for territorial ambition.
The prize is not the possession of a corridor.
The prize is the creation of routes through which legitimate commerce can flourish.
THIRD: SECURITY, ACCESS AND THE LIMITS OF MILITARY GEOGRAPHY
Strategists see terrain. Military planners examine access. Economists calculate costs. Local communities worry about livelihoods. Social media, meanwhile, can turn a possibility into an apparent certainty before the facts have even been established.
Wakhan brings all these perspectives into a single geographical space.
Its remoteness and difficult terrain create genuine security challenges. Any future development would need to consider border management, the protection of local communities, environmental vulnerability and the risks posed by instability in the wider region.
Pakistan has legitimate security concerns along its borders, including the threat of militancy and cross-border violence. Those concerns deserve serious attention and effective responses.
But legitimate security concerns must not be confused with territorial entitlement.
A neighbour’s land does not become available for acquisition merely because developments there affect one’s security.
Nor does every potential route have to become a military route.
A mountain pass can be treated as a strategic vulnerability or developed, where practical, as a channel for peaceful exchange. A border can become a source of constant suspicion or a framework within which neighbouring states manage their differences.
The distinction lies in policy, institutions and conduct.
For Pakistan, lasting security will depend not only on protecting its borders but also on building credible arrangements with neighbouring countries. Security and diplomacy are not enemies. Properly pursued, they reinforce one another.
FOURTH: PAKISTAN’S OPPORTUNITY—INFLUENCE WITHOUT ANNEXATION
Here, Bacha, is the heart of the matter.
Pakistan does not need to annex Wakhan to benefit from a more connected region.
It needs workable relationships, reliable transport links, secure trade arrangements and a foreign policy that other countries can trust.
Afghanistan’s sovereignty must be respected. Pakistan’s own security concerns must be addressed. China’s interests in regional stability must be understood. Tajikistan’s proximity and Central Asia’s economic priorities must also form part of the wider calculation.
These interests may overlap, but they do not automatically align. They require negotiation.
For Pakistan, a sensible approach would be to support practical regional cooperation where the relevant countries agree: improved trade facilitation, legitimate cross-border commerce, feasible transport projects, better communication and diplomatic engagement on security.
None of these objectives requires Pakistan to claim Afghan territory.
Indeed, a policy grounded in respect for sovereignty would strengthen Pakistan’s credibility when it asks others to respect its own legitimate interests.
This is not weakness.
It is strategic maturity.
A country that knows its interests does not need to confuse them with unlimited territorial ambition. A country that understands its geography does not have to turn every neighbouring mountain into a question of ownership.
Pakistan’s potential advantage lies in its ability to connect regions, markets and people. Whether that advantage is realised will depend on economic performance, institutional reliability, diplomatic skill and security—not on the number of square kilometres appearing beneath its flag.
FIFTH: THE DANGER OF RUMOURS, NATIONALISM AND STRATEGIC FANTASY
The digital age has given every rumour a passport.
A speculative post can travel across borders before a diplomatic statement has been issued. An unverified claim can acquire the appearance of fact through repetition. A complicated regional question can be reduced to a contest in which the loudest voice is mistaken for the most informed one.
The Wakhan debate illustrates the danger.
Some people may interpret any discussion of the corridor’s strategic importance as evidence of a secret territorial plan. Others may regard a hypothetical future road as proof that a new geopolitical order is already taking shape.
Neither conclusion follows automatically.
A responsible Pakistani patriot should be able to examine a strategic opportunity without pretending that every opportunity is already within reach. Equally, he should be able to reject an unfounded accusation without dismissing the legitimate economic and security questions that make the region important.
Patriotism is not a licence to abandon evidence.
It is a reason to demand better evidence.
Pakistan has nothing to gain from allowing unverified claims to define its intentions. Nor would it serve Pakistan’s interests to encourage expectations of territorial expansion that its declared policy does not support.
Our national interests deserve better than a diet of sensational headlines.
They deserve sober analysis, sound planning and a clear understanding of the difference between what is possible, what is desirable and what is actually happening.
THE MORAL GEOGRAPHY OF POWER
At this point, BaBa-Tal put down his mug.
“Bacha, you have discussed maps, roads, armies and markets. Tell me, where do human beings appear in all this?”
I looked at the paper.
He was right.
Geopolitical discussions often become so absorbed in states and strategies that the people living within the territory under discussion almost disappear.
Yet the people of Wakhan are not decorative details on a strategic map. They are human beings whose lives, livelihoods, traditions and future deserve consideration in any conversation about development.
A road that benefits distant capitals but disregards local communities cannot be called an unqualified success. Infrastructure that creates opportunities while damaging fragile environments requires careful scrutiny. Trade that enriches a few but excludes the people living along the route falls short of its promise.
Development must be measured not only by the distance a vehicle can travel, but also by the opportunities it creates for those who live beside the road.
The Qur’an invites humanity to travel through the earth and observe how creation began (29:20).
The invitation encourages reflection, observation and learning. Geography is not merely land beneath our feet; it is also a classroom in which human beings may learn humility.
Another verse reminds us:
“O mankind, indeed We created you from a male and a female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another” (Qur’an 49:13).
The principle is profound. Difference is not, in itself, a command to dominate. It can be an invitation to understanding.
What if we applied that principle to regional connectivity?
What if roads were planned not simply to extend influence, but to expand opportunity? What if borders were managed with security and dignity, and trade agreements were designed to create benefits beyond the immediate interests of political elites?
What if a corridor became a means of knowing one another rather than another excuse for suspicion?
The Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him) said:
“The merciful are shown mercy by the Most Merciful. Show mercy to those on earth, and the One above the heavens will show mercy to you.”
— Jami‘ al-Tirmidhi, 1924.
Mercy does not require a nation to abandon its security. Respect does not require it to surrender its legitimate interests. Rather, both call upon a nation to pursue its interests without denying the humanity or lawful rights of others.
A corridor cannot survive on concrete alone.
It needs trust. It needs security. It needs fair arrangements. It needs respect for sovereignty. And it needs people on every side who believe that crossing a border need not mean surrendering their dignity.
GEOGRAPHY MAY SHAPE POWER—BUT IT DOES NOT WRITE THE FUTURE
Sir Halford Mackinder’s geopolitical thought placed geography at the centre of the study of power. His work remains influential because location, terrain and access can shape the opportunities available to states.
But geography is not destiny.
Mountains can restrict movement, yet technology may make some routes more accessible. A coastline can offer commercial advantages, yet poor governance can squander them. A strategically located country may become an economic bridge—or remain trapped in political and institutional failures.
Human decisions determine much of what geography makes possible.
For Pakistan, this is a particularly important lesson.
Our location offers opportunities, but opportunity is not achievement. A port is not a thriving economy by itself. A road is not prosperity by itself. A border crossing does not guarantee regional friendship.
These assets become valuable when institutions function, investors have confidence, security is maintained, trade is competitive and diplomacy remains credible.
The Wakhan Corridor cannot solve Pakistan’s economic challenges. Nor should it be presented as a magical shortcut to strategic greatness.
What it can do is remind us that Pakistan’s future prosperity may depend, in part, on how intelligently it engages with the regions around it.
The country has every reason to pursue trade with Central Asia, deepen economic cooperation with China and encourage stability in Afghanistan. It also has every reason to insist that legitimate security concerns be addressed through effective arrangements.
But none of these objectives requires a fantasy of territorial acquisition.
A confident Pakistan should aspire to become indispensable through the value it creates—not through the land it claims.
A ROAD FOR PEOPLE, NOT JUST FOR POWER
BaBa-Tal had been unusually quiet.
He rose, adjusted his navy-blue robe and walked towards the open window. The bells around his neck chimed softly as he looked towards the Margalla Hills.
“Bacha,” he said, “there are two ways of looking at a road. One asks where the road can take an army. The other asks where it can take a family, a trader, a student or a farmer.”
He turned towards me.
“Both questions may matter to a state. But if the first question consumes the second, what exactly has the state achieved?”
I had no immediate answer.
He continued.
“Land can be measured in square kilometres. Influence can be measured in agreements. Trade can be measured in value. But trust? Trust is measured by what people are willing to do together without fear.”
Then he reached for the mug. The tea had begun to cool.
Unexpectedly, he recited my own couplet:
راستوں کو خون سے رنگنے کی ضد بھی کیا عجب
راستے تو اس لیے بنتے ہیں، ہاں تم مل سکو
[Strange is the insistence on staining roads with blood;
roads are built so that people may meet.]
The couplet hung in the room like a second moon.
Perhaps it captured the entire argument more effectively than pages of geopolitical analysis.
What should a corridor be? A route for conquest, or a route for connection? A line of confrontation, or a passage through which people, goods, ideas and hopes can move?
The answer will not be determined by geography alone. It will depend on the political choices of the countries involved and the willingness of their leaders to recognise that cooperation can produce gains that unilateral ambition cannot.
WHAT SHOULD PAKISTAN DO?
For Pakistan, the way forward is neither to dismiss Wakhan as irrelevant nor to inflate its importance beyond the evidence.
The sensible course is to watch developments carefully, separate verified facts from speculation, and pursue regional connectivity wherever practical agreements can be reached.
Pakistan should strengthen its commercial links with Central Asia, improve the competitiveness of its own transport and trade infrastructure, and engage Afghanistan on arrangements that serve legitimate interests on both sides.
It should cooperate with China and other regional partners where their objectives converge, while recognising that every country will assess the costs, benefits and risks of a proposed route for itself.
It should also support a regional approach in which local communities, environmental constraints and the realities of the mountain terrain are treated as essential considerations rather than afterthoughts.
Above all, Pakistan should remain clear about the distinction between strategic interest and territorial entitlement.
Our country has legitimate reasons to seek secure borders, economic growth and a more connected neighbourhood. It does not need to weaken the sovereignty of a neighbour to pursue those objectives.
Indeed, the most persuasive expression of Pakistani confidence would be a foreign policy that combines firmness on security with maturity in diplomacy, ambition in economic development with realism about costs, and patriotism with respect for international obligations.
That is how geography becomes an asset.
That is how influence becomes durable.
And that is how a country earns the confidence of those with whom it must share a region.
THE MOUNTAINS WILL OUTLIVE THE RUMOURS
BaBa-Tal put down his mug and walked towards the window.
Outside, the moon was descending towards the western horizon. Islamabad had grown quieter, but my desk was still crowded with papers.
“Bacha,” he said,
“people speak endlessly about who owns a corridor. The wiser question is what the corridor is for.”
He paused.
“If it becomes a road for trade, understanding and peaceful exchange, people may benefit on every side. If it becomes merely another excuse for rivalry, the people who pay the price may never have had a say in the argument.”
He smiled.
“And remember one more thing. A road can cross a mountain without conquering it. Perhaps nations should learn the same lesson.”
The bell around his neck chimed softly.
Then came the whisper I knew would remain with me long after he departed.
“Every empire thinks it is chasing a road. In the end, the road is chasing the empire.”
And then he was gone.
Outside, the moon continued its slow journey towards the western horizon. The tea had grown cold. The bells had fallen silent.
Yet the question remained awake.
Who really wants the Wakhan Corridor?
Perhaps the better question is: who understands what a corridor is truly worth?
Not merely the square kilometres. Not the mountains. Not the strategic arrows drawn across a military map.
Its real value lies in what a viable, peaceful and fairly governed route might make possible: commerce, knowledge, human contact, opportunity and, if wisdom prevails, peace.
Pakistan should neither be frightened by every rumour about Wakhan nor intoxicated by every claim of strategic opportunity. It should approach the issue with the confidence of a country that knows its interests, respects its neighbours’ sovereignty and understands the difference between geographical advantage and political achievement.
The Wakhan Corridor remains a remote mountain passage where the silence of the landscape is greater than the noise of political debate.
The mountains were there before the empires arrived. They will remain after today’s rumours have disappeared.
And somewhere among those heights, a shepherd may simply be guiding his flock home. He may care little about the arguments exchanged on television. He cares whether his family is safe, whether his animals find pasture, whether his children have a future and whether the paths connecting his community to the outside world remain open.
Perhaps he understands something that strategists sometimes forget.
Geography is lived by people. Maps are drawn by states. Borders are administered by governments. But the worth of a road is ultimately measured by what it makes possible for human beings.
For Pakistan, the challenge is not to turn every strategically placed mountain into a question of ownership. It is to turn geographical advantage into economic opportunity, security into stability, and regional proximity into practical cooperation.
That is a far more demanding ambition than capturing a piece of land.
It is also a far more worthwhile one
Mountains move slowly. Rumours move quickly. History walks at its own pace.
The question is whether we will have the patience, the wisdom and the confidence to walk with it.
■■■