“Give Me Back My Brother!” — The Scream That Stunned a Jaipur School

The boy pointed toward the schoolyard and screamed, “Give me back my brother!”
When they dug where he showed, everyone was left speechless.

“Give him back to me!!!”
The piercing cry of a boy shattered the quiet at Saraswati Public Primary School, nestled on the outskirts of Jaipur, Rajasthan. It was the hour when afternoon classes ended, and the usual bustle of students and teachers was replaced by stunned silence.

He was about nine—thin, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He pointed, trembling, toward the ancient gulmohar tree (its red phoenix flowers blazing in the corner of the yard). At first, people thought he was misbehaving, perhaps being teased or frightened by something trivial. But the boy kept sobbing, shaking, his finger unwaveringly aimed at the ground beneath the tree:

“There… my brother is there… give him back to me…”

Suddenly, the atmosphere grew tense and strange. Parents collecting their children slowed down, sensing something was wrong. Headmistress Anjali rushed to embrace the boy, trying to comfort him, asking gentle questions, but the more she tried, the harder he wept. Principal Prakash appeared, attempting to calm him, but nothing worked.

Rumors spread quickly. Adults whispered, “He must have watched too many scary movies,” or “Maybe something happened at home that’s troubling him.” But the terror in the boy’s eyes was unmistakable—something was deeply wrong.

One parent, Rajiv Singh—a local police officer—narrowed his eyes, scanning the gulmohar tree. Quietly, he suggested:

“Let’s dig. If there’s nothing, the boy can rest easy.”

No one expected this suggestion to unearth a long-buried secret. Security guards arrived with shovels and began digging exactly where the boy pointed. Students watched with a mix of excitement and dread; adults, skeptical but tense.

After only a few strikes, a stale, indescribable odor rose from the damp earth. Then, a scrap of faded pink cloth appeared, freezing everyone in place. Officer Rajiv quickly ordered the crowd to step back and kept digging.

The cloth was an old baby’s dress. Beneath it… something that shocked everyone: a tiny skeleton, curled in the shape of a newborn.

The silence was suffocating. Some parents clutched their children and wept. The boy collapsed, wailing:

“There! That’s my child… I told you!”

Officer Rajiv clenched his jaw and immediately called the police. Principal Prakash’s face turned pale; teachers were shaken. The schoolyard, usually alive with after-school chatter, became a heavy, shadowed place.

The biggest question on everyone’s mind: How did the boy know a child was buried beneath the tree? And who was the “child” he cried for?

Police sealed off the area. The boy—Arav—was taken with his mother to headquarters for questioning. His mother, Meera, a gentle-faced woman of thirty, looked anxious and weary.

At first, everyone assumed Arav was imagining things, perhaps repeating something he’d overheard. But when he answered, his words sent chills through the room.

Arav explained that for months, he’d been dreaming of a little girl in a pink dress, sitting beneath the gulmohar tree, crying. She called him “bhaiya”—brother—and always reached out, pleading:

“Bhaiya, take me outside… it’s cold… it’s dark…”

At first, Arav dismissed it as just a dream. But it repeated so often, he grew frightened. That morning, as he entered school and saw the tree, he felt dizzy, the girl’s cries echoing in his mind. He ran outside, pointed, and broke down sobbing.

His testimony unsettled investigators, but it couldn’t be ignored. They began to search the land’s history and looked for families who’d lost children or noticed anything unusual nearby.

Meera’s face turned pale. She revealed a shocking story: Over a decade ago, as a young woman, she’d become pregnant by an irresponsible man. Fearing disgrace, her family forced her to leave home. In her seventh month, she gave birth prematurely to a baby girl who died within hours.

Desperate, a relative took her to the newly-built, still-unused school grounds, and—hoping to keep the matter secret—buried the baby quietly beneath the old gulmohar tree. Meera left Jaipur, only returning years later.

She’d never told anyone, not even her current husband. Arav—her son born years later—had no way of knowing.

The interrogation room fell silent. Investigators looked at each other, stunned. Everything seemed to fit together in a strange, uncanny way.

If true, the “sister” Arav cried for was the same girl who’d never truly been welcomed into this world.

News of the incident spread rapidly through Jaipur. People discussed it with a mix of fear and sympathy. The school was left in shock, coordinating with authorities to provide psychological support for students.

Arav became the center of attention. Some whispered that he had a spiritual connection or special senses. Psychologists concluded that perhaps Arav had subconsciously absorbed his mother’s trauma, or overheard fragments of the story from relatives and become obsessed.

No matter how it was explained, the fact remained: Arav had pointed out the exact burial spot, and no one could say how.

As for Meera, after confessing, she broke down in tears, kneeling before the home temple to ask forgiveness. The pain she’d buried for more than a decade was finally exposed. Her husband, initially shocked, gradually forgave her—he realized how much she had suffered.

According to Indian custom, a small funeral was held for the girl’s remains. The school and many parents came to say goodbye, lighting incense and lamps. The tiny coffin was draped in white flowers, and Arav sat quietly beside it, holding his mother’s hand.

In that moment, people didn’t speak of science or spirituality. They simply saw a family facing the truth with courage, and a boy reunited with his “sister” in the strangest way.

After the funeral, the schoolyard slowly returned to normal. The ancient gulmohar tree still stands, now as a symbol—a reminder that even the deepest secrets are eventually revealed by time.

And Arav, the boy who once cried in the schoolyard, is calm now. Sometimes, he still dreams of his sister, but now, she only smiles and turns away—no longer crying or begging.

It is believed the girl has finally “returned”—not just to Arav, but to the family that once buried its pain.