On March 15, 1983, thirty-two seventh-grade students boarded a Saraswati Vidya Mandir school bus for their traditional spring excursion to the hilly regions of Rajasthan. Among them was Mohit Verma, a 13-year-old boy known for his ever-present smile and his deep curiosity about nature.

The trip had been planned for months. The itinerary included exploring the caves of Kumbhalgarh Fort and trekking along the surrounding scenic mountain trails. For many of the children, it was their first time away from the city—and from their parents.

Mohit was thrilled. For weeks, he had been reading about the geography of the region and carefully packing his bag: a disposable camera, a drawing book, and enough snacks to share with half the group. His mother, Radha Verma, would later recall how he stayed awake past midnight the night before the trip, repeatedly checking his backpack.

The students were accompanied by three teachers—Mrs. Shukla, Professor Sharma, and Ms. Mehra—as well as a local guide, Ravi Patil, who knew the terrain well and had led many school trips before.

The journey began uneventfully. On the bus, the children sang songs, played games, and watched as the city slowly faded into rural landscapes and then rugged hills. Mohit sat by the window, alternating between taking photographs and jotting down notes.

Around noon, they arrived at the base camp near Kumbhalgarh Fort. The weather was perfect: clear skies, mild temperatures, and a light breeze that seemed to invite exploration. No one imagined that before sunset, one of the largest search operations in Rajasthan’s history would begin.

The afternoon passed normally—until 3:47 p.m., when Professor Sharma conducted a routine headcount.
Thirty-one students responded.
Mohit did not.

At first, the teachers assumed Mohit had wandered off briefly or returned to the bus. They initiated a quick search nearby. But after half an hour with no sign of him, mild concern escalated into an emergency.

Ravi Patil immediately organized a systematic search along the trails and radioed local authorities. Mrs. Shukla stayed with the remaining students, suppressing her growing fear as she tried to keep them calm.

Mohit was last seen by two classmates—Anna Roy and Rohit Singhal—who recalled spotting him near a rock formation around 3:15 p.m., taking photographs. According to them, Mohit had mentioned wanting a “better angle” for his picture, but no one saw him go far from the main trail.

By 4:30 p.m., the first rescue units from the nearest town arrived. By 6:00 p.m., police, volunteers, firefighters, and locals were combing the area. A command post was established. The search continued into the night with torches and tracking dogs.

Mohit’s parents, Radha and Sunil Verma, were notified and arrived close to midnight. A photograph of Radha crying while holding Mohit’s backpack—found near the trail—became an iconic image in local newspapers.

Over the next five days, the search expanded into the largest operation the region had ever seen. More than 200 people—volunteers, mountain rescue specialists, firefighters, police officers, and civilians—searched nearly 50 square kilometers. Air Force helicopters scanned for heat signatures. Specially trained dogs were brought in from Delhi and Jaipur, but their trails repeatedly vanished among the rocks.

The story gained national attention. Mohit’s school photo appeared on front pages. Television channels broadcast live from the search site, even as hope slowly faded. Speleologists inspected every cave—some untouched for decades. Divers searched nearby bodies of water. Climbers examined cliff edges nearly impossible for a child to reach.

On the fifth day, rescuers discovered Mohit’s disposable camera lodged in a crevice about 300 meters from where he was last seen. The camera was damaged, but the film could be developed. The final images showed rock formations that could not be conclusively matched to any previously searched area.

As days turned into weeks, the official search was gradually reduced and eventually suspended. Mohit’s parents refused to accept closure. They hired private investigators and organized additional volunteer searches for months. No new leads emerged.

The disappearance devastated the Verma family. Radha quit her nursing job and devoted herself entirely to searching for her son. Sunil, an auto mechanic, continued working but spent every spare moment studying maps and chasing rumors. Their home became an information center, with walls covered in maps, aerial photos, and police documents. Radha kept meticulous diaries of every lead, every call, every effort.

Mohit’s younger sister, Siya, was only nine when he disappeared. Watching her brother vanish—and her parents unravel—deeply affected her. She became withdrawn, her grades dropped, and she suffered from nightmares.

In 1985, Mohit’s parents briefly separated. Sunil blamed the school; Radha blamed herself for letting Mohit go. Arguments over whether to continue the search were constant.

Yet their shared love for their son—and their need for answers—brought them back together in 1987. They founded the Mohit Verma Foundation, a support organization for families of missing children and an advocate for safer school trips.

They never moved houses. Mohit’s room remained exactly as it had been in 1983. Radha said part of her still expected him to walk through the door.

Over the years, many theories emerged. The official view was that Mohit had wandered off alone, fallen into a crevice or hidden cave, or slipped somewhere unsafe. The terrain was dangerous, and Mohit’s curiosity supported this explanation.

Private investigators proposed other possibilities, including abduction—given that no body was found despite extensive searches. The 1980s saw several cases of children disappearing from hilly regions.

A darker theory suggested trafficking networks operating in rural areas, based on patterns seen in South America. Others speculated about paranormal or UFO-related explanations, though authorities never took these seriously.

Some wondered if Mohit had run away due to hidden distress, but this was rejected by everyone who knew him. Teachers, friends, and family described him as a happy child with no reason to disappear voluntarily.

The Silent Years

From 1985 to 2010, the case entered its “silent years.” Media attention faded, official efforts ended, and the file was marked as an unresolved disappearance.

But Radha never stopped searching. She and Sunil occasionally trekked alone, exploring new paths. They came to know the region so well that some guides lagged behind them—every rock, every cave, every bend.

They also monitored other missing children’s cases, hoping for any mention connected to Mohit. Nothing concrete ever surfaced, but the act of searching kept Radha going.

Siya grew up in the shadow of her brother’s disappearance. She learned to cope with the trauma, but the weight never fully lifted. She became a social worker, helping at-risk children—clearly shaped by her past.

In 2008, the state government began reviewing cold cases using new technology. No new physical evidence was found, but preserved hair samples from Mohit allowed authorities to create a DNA profile for future comparison.

Sunil developed his own theory: that after rainfall two days later, Mohit may have fallen into a crevice that was subsequently sealed by debris.

The Return of Hope

In 2015, thirty-two years later, a group of cave enthusiasts discovered a newly exposed cave system about five kilometers from the original search area. Heavy rains the previous year had revealed new entrances.

While documenting rock formations, a team led by geologist Dr. Farhan Modi made an unusual discovery: a mineralized fragment of synthetic fabric embedded in a cave wall.

Initially thought to be modern debris carried by water, the mineralization suggested it had been there for decades. Its color and weave matched children’s clothing from the early 1980s.

Aware of Mohit’s case, Dr. Modi contacted the police but insisted the family be informed. Former detective Rohit Mehra, involved in the original investigation and close to the family, delivered the news. When Radha answered the phone, she felt the familiar mix of hope and fear—but this time, Mehra’s voice was different.

A Renewed Investigation

The fabric sample was the first potential physical evidence linked to Mohit in over three decades. Authorities launched a new investigation using modern forensic tools.

Tests confirmed the fabric matched children’s clothing manufactured in India in the early 1980s. Mineralization indicated it had been in the cave for 30–35 years. Most importantly, DNA recovered from the fabric matched Mohit’s DNA profile created in 2008.

With this confirmation, a full exploration of the cave system began. A specialized team—cave-forensic experts, archaeologists, and disaster specialists—was assembled. The work would take weeks.

Radha and Sunil received updates at every stage and were allowed to be present for key moments. For 68-year-old Radha, it felt like the culmination of a lifetime of searching.

The cave system was far more complex than expected, with narrow passages, deep chambers, and centuries-old tribal markings.

In one of the most inaccessible chambers—reachable only with specialized equipment—the team finally found answers to decades of questions.

The Final Discovery

More than 40 meters deep, in a chamber connected by a maze of narrow tunnels, the team discovered the remains of a child and personal belongings later confirmed to be Mohit Verma’s.

In 1983, the area had been virtually inaccessible. Debris had blocked access; only recent water erosion had opened pathways that allowed modern teams to reach areas untouched during the original search.

Among the items found was Mohit’s drawing book—remarkably well preserved due to the cave’s dry conditions. The final pages contained sketches of the cave and a pencil-written message:

“Lost. Trying to find my way back.
Mom, I love you.”

His backpack, candy wrappers, and an old flashlight were also found. Evidence suggested Mohit survived for several days inside the cave but ultimately died from cold and dehydration.

Forensic reconstruction indicated that he had been near the main entrance when a minor tremor caused debris to fall, sealing the exit. Instead of waiting, he tried to navigate deeper inside.

Analysis confirmed his death was due to natural causes—exposure and lack of water. There were no signs of violence or involvement by others. It had been an accident, as originally suspected, but in a location unreachable during the initial search.

Answers After 35 Years

For the Verma family, the confirmation brought a mix of relief, grief, and guilt. Radha later admitted that part of her had not wanted to know he was gone.

In 2018, hundreds attended Mohit’s funeral—former classmates with their children, neighbors, and members of the 1983 rescue teams.

Forty-four-year-old Siya, now an established social worker, spoke about how her brother’s disappearance shaped her life—a long struggle through therapy, nightmares, and a search for meaning.

Seventy-one-year-old Sunil expressed what many felt:

“In the end, we know. Mohit is home.
But the 35 years we spent waiting…
they will never come back.”

Failures of the 1983 Search

The final investigation also revealed shortcomings in the original search. The cave where Mohit was found appeared on some geological maps but was dismissed as inaccessible for a child. Had modern technology existed, he might have been found decades earlier.

Radha established a scholarship in Mohit’s name for students studying geology and cave science, hoping such knowledge could prevent future tragedies.

Community Impact

Mohit’s case deeply affected those involved in the original search. Many elderly volunteers attended his funeral.

The 1983 guide, Anil Mehta, passed away in 2010, but his son Priyansh attended. He revealed his father never forgave himself and spent years returning to the hills searching for new clues.

Teachers were also present. Eighty-two-year-old retired teacher Sunita Gupta said the incident transformed her approach to student safety. She spent years advocating stricter school trip regulations.

St. Stephen School established a permanent memorial for Mohit near the seventh-grade lockers and strengthened safety protocols: GPS tracking, continuous communication, and clearly defined search boundaries.

Dr. Modi launched a comprehensive mapping project of all cave systems in the region to reduce future risks.

Lessons and Legacy

Mohit Verma’s case became a major study for rescuers, psychologists, and educators. Support services for families of missing children improved, and the case highlighted the importance of reexamining old files with new scientific tools. The 2008 DNA profile proved crucial.

The Mohit Verma Foundation expanded nationally, supporting families and advocating better search resources.

Radha, now in her seventies, became a leading voice for humane, modern protocols in missing-children cases. She testified in parliament, served on committees, and helped shape standards for search operations in difficult terrain.

Siya wrote a book—Living in the Shadows: A Sister’s Story—now used by professionals working with trauma-affected children.

The site where Mohit was found is now a small natural memorial with a simple plaque, preserved as a point of geological interest. Dr. Modi’s team continues mapping new caves in the area.

Mohit’s story is not only the tragedy of a lost child. It is a testament to a family’s enduring love, the power of hope—even when it defies reason—and the strength of science and perseverance to solve mysteries once thought impossible.

Seventy-six-year-old Sunil often visits his son’s memorial—not in anger, but in quiet reflection.

“Mohit is home,” he says. “It took us 35 years to find him, but in the end, we finally have the truth.”

Mohit’s life—and his family’s relentless search—continue to resonate across India and beyond. His legacy is not only one of loss, but of love, resilience, and the truth that, no matter how long it takes, always finds its way.