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Washington: Pakistan’s military has weathered scandal after scandal, but none cut as deep as this. Inside guarded army circles, a shocking “rate card” has surfaced. It allegedly puts a cash price on the life of a Pakistani soldier.
Circulating among officers and leaked to media networks, the off-the-record military and diplomatic briefings have become a symbol of national disgrace. It suggests a hierarchy of motivation inside the ranks: a soldier paid 8,000 Pakistani rupees skips duty, 80,000 buys his retreat from the battlefield and only a payment of around 28 lakh convinces him to risk his life.
Sources with direct knowledge of the planning say Army Chief Field Marshal Asim Munir proposed a large deployment of Pakistani troops to Gaza as part of a disarmament and stabilization mission. The proposal envisaged roughly 20,000 soldiers who were not meant to confront Israeli forces but to disarm Hamas fighters, seize weapons caches and assist in the demilitarisation process.
His goal, insiders say, was to restore Pakistan’s standing on the global stage and rebrand the country as a responsible military power.
But resistance came swiftly from within. Many soldiers reportedly refused to serve in Gaza, declaring that the conflict was not theirs to fight. The rebellion was also fuelled by moral outrage over the fact of being deployed to fight fellow Muslims, not Israelis.
Munir reportedly offered them $10,000 per soldier (roughly PKR 2.8 million) as a bargaining pitch intended to overcome low morale and reluctance among personnel.
Then came the diplomatic humiliation and a disgrace for the country’s military leadership. According to senior officials with knowledge of the talks, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu made it clear through intermediaries that no Pakistani soldier would be paid more than $100 (barely PKR 28,000).
It stunned Islamabad. The offer was lowest what Israel had extended to any other Muslim nation involved in the discussions. For the Pakistan Army, which is already bruised by allegations of inefficiency, corruption and desertion, the $100 cap became an insult.
Munir suddenly found himself trapped in a twofold dilemma. Accepting the Israeli terms would mean shelving the promises and facing political blowback at home. Rejecting the terms would mean walking away from the international spotlight he craved. His plan began to collapse.
For Israel, the logic was pragmatic. Why would it pay premium rates to an army that once surrendered 93,000 men to India (the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971)?
It is not only the 1971 surrender that haunts Pakistan’s military. The army continues to bleed at home, battling insurgents such as the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA).
Under Munir’s three-year command, more than 3,000 troops have been killed in domestic operations. The statistic highlights the army’s chronic internal weakness and lasting vulnerabilities.
Observers argue that Israel’s offer was never about money; it was a cold assessment of Pakistan’s military worth. The $100 figure, they say, did not reflect contempt but a calculated belief in how little the Pakistan Army could actually deliver.
What began as Munir’s grand plan for global legitimacy has descended into ridicule. The “Gaza mission” turned out to be a diplomatic catastrophe. The leaked “rate card” has become the ultimate metaphor for a military that has not only lost its honour, but its price tag.
Officials in Islamabad are tight lipped. The Pakistan Army is dodging by arguing that any operational decisions remain classified and that personnel welfare is a priority. Israeli officials did not confirm the payment cap when contacted. International mediators who tried to bridge positions describe a tense window of shuttle diplomacy in recent weeks.
Munir’s attempt to sell heroism abroad has instead exposed the cracks within his own barracks. And as the echoes of laughter grow louder across foreign capitals, one question remains: what is Pakistan’s military truly worth, in dollars or in dignity?
