On 15 March 1983, thirty-two seventh-grade students of Saraswati Learning Center, a private school in Manila, boarded their school bus for their traditional spring excursion into the mountainous regions of the Sierra Madre in Luzon. Among them was Mohit Verma, a 13-year-old boy known for his ever-smiling face and his curiosity about nature.
The trip had been planned for months. The itinerary included trekking around the Tinipak Cave region near Mt. Daraitan and exploring the surrounding river valleys and limestone formations. For many children, it was their first time away from the dense city streets and from their parents.
Mohit—thrilled and restless—had spent weeks reading about the mountains. He packed carefully: a disposable camera, a drawing notebook, and enough snacks to share with half the class. His mother, Radha Verma, later recalled how he had stayed awake half the night checking his bag again and again.
Three teachers accompanied the group—Mrs. Shukla, Professor Sharma, and Ms. Mehra—along with a local Filipino mountain guide, Ravi Patil, who had led many school trips through the Sierra Madre trails.
The journey began normally. On the bus, the children sang OPM songs from the radio, played hand-clap games, and watched the busy streets fade into rural roads lined with coconut trees. Mohit took photos through the window and occasionally scribbled notes.
Around noon, they arrived at the base camp near the entrance to Tinipak Cave. The weather was perfect—clear blue skies and a mild breeze. No one imagined that before sunset, one of the largest search operations in Philippine history would begin.
By 3:47 p.m., during attendance, Mohit did not respond.
At first, the teachers assumed he had wandered back toward the river or the bus. A quick search began. After half an hour, concern turned into crisis.
Guide Ravi Patil organized a systematic search and radioed barangay authorities. Mrs. Shukla stayed with the remaining students, trying to calm them.
Two classmates, Ana Roy and Rohit Singhal, reported last seeing Mohit at around 3:15 p.m., taking photos of rock formations near the main trail, saying he wanted a “better angle.”
By 4:30 p.m., local rescue volunteers from Tanay and Daraitan arrived. By 6 p.m., police, barangay tanods, firefighters, and civilian volunteers were searching the area. A command post was set up at the riverbank.
Mohit’s parents were notified and reached the site near midnight. A photo of Radha crying while holding Mohit’s bag—found near the trail—appeared in several Manila newspapers.
For the next five days, more than 200 people searched roughly 50 square kilometers across the Sierra Madre foothills.
Philippine Air Force helicopters scanned for heat signatures. Tracking dogs from Manila were brought in. Speleologists inspected deep limestone caverns; divers searched pools connected to underground streams.
On the fifth day, Mohit’s damaged disposable camera was found lodged in a crevice. The last photos showed unfamiliar interior rock formations no one could match.
Weeks later, the official search was scaled down and eventually suspended.
Radha and Sunil refused to stop. They hired private investigators and coordinated volunteer searches for months. No new clues emerged.
The disappearance devastated the Verma family. Radha quit her nursing job; Sunil continued working as a mechanic in Manila but spent every free moment studying maps of the Sierra Madre. Their home in Quezon City became a command center plastered with maps, news clippings, and police files.
Mohit’s younger sister, Siya, only nine at the time, became withdrawn for years.
In 1985, the parents separated briefly, overwhelmed by grief and blame. They reunited in 1987 and founded the Mohit Verma Foundation, supporting families of missing children and advocating for safer school field trips across the Philippines.
The years passed without answers.
The Silent Years (1985–2010)
Media interest faded. The case joined the long list of unresolved disappearances in rural Luzon.
Radha, however, never stopped. She and Sunil continued to trek Sierra Madre trails themselves. They befriended local Dumagat guides and mapped areas too remote for the 1983 search teams.
Siya grew up, eventually becoming a social worker helping vulnerable children.
In 2008, the Philippine National Police reviewed old cases using updated forensic tools. Mohit’s preserved hair sample allowed a DNA profile to be created.
A Breakthrough in 2015
In 2015, a team of caving enthusiasts and geologists exploring a newly exposed cave system—revealed after heavy monsoon rains—made a discovery.
Lead geologist Farhan Modi found a mineralized piece of synthetic fabric embedded in a cave wall 5 km from the original search area.
It matched 1980s children’s clothing.
DNA tests confirmed it belonged to Mohit Verma.
A massive scientific exploration began. The cave system—deep, narrow, and previously sealed by debris—contained passages unreachable in the 1980s.
After weeks of work, a chamber more than 40 meters deep yielded the heartbreaking answer:
the remains of a child with Mohit’s belongings, including his drawing book.
Inside were sketches of the cave and a note:
“Lost. Trying to find my way back.
Mom, I love you.”
Forensic evidence showed Mohit survived for several days before succumbing to cold and dehydration. A small tremor likely sealed the cave entrance behind him, forcing him inward.
Closure After 35 Years
In 2018, hundreds attended Mohit’s final rites—former classmates, teachers, rescuers, and locals from Tanay and Daraitan.
Sunil said:
“At last we know. Mohit is home.
But the 35 years we waited… those will never return.”
Impact and Legacy
The renewed investigation exposed flaws in the 1983 search: some caves in the Sierra Madre were marked on old geological surveys but dismissed as inaccessible.
The Verma family established:
A scholarship for geology and cave science
Expanded the Mohit Verma Foundation nationally
Advocated for modern search protocols, GPS tracking on school trips, and standardized emergency procedures
Siya wrote a book:
Living in the Shadows: A Sister’s Story,
now widely used for training psychologists working with trauma-affected children.
A simple plaque now marks the cave site as a natural memorial and geological research point.
Sunil, now in his seventies, visits the site often.
“Mohit is home,” he says softly.
“It took us 35 years, but we found the truth.”
Mohit’s story in the Philippines became not only a tragedy but a symbol of resilience, parental love, scientific progress, and the belief that truth—however delayed—always returns.