The Silent Cry Behind the Closed Door

Today, I want to share with you a true incident that took place in a small town in Punjab. It wasn't too long ago, perhaps around 2010 or 2012.

Rahma was a cheerful 7-year-old girl and a bright third-grade student at a nearby government school. Being her parents' only child, she was the apple of their eye, loved and cherished deeply.

It was the day before summer vacation. The last period of the day was in session, and there were just ten minutes left before the school day ended. The teacher stood authoritatively in front of the board, writing swiftly, while the students were busy copying down notes in silence. Rahma felt the urge to use the restroom, and when she could no longer hold it, she raised her little finger to get the teacher’s attention. The teacher allowed her to go, and Rahma quickly headed to the bathrooms behind the school building.

Only a few moments after she left, the school bell rang to signal the end of the day. After finishing, Rahma went to open the door, but to her surprise, it was locked from the outside. Someone had mischievously locked the door. Terrified, Rahma cried for help, but her voice was muffled by the closed door and drowned out by the excited shouts of children leaving for home.

When Rahma didn’t return home on time, her parents grew worried. They searched everywhere they could think of—at her friends’ houses, reported it to the police, and even reached out to her teachers. Alongside the police and the school principal, her parents insisted on opening the school to search for her. However, the principal was strongly opposed to it, insisting that Rahma might have gone to a friend’s or a relative’s house out of displeasure over something.

Eventually, under the supervision of the principal and the school guard, a search of the school was conducted. Her parents and others called out Rahma’s name and searched everywhere, but no one thought to check the bathrooms. The guard didn’t guide them in that direction either. Perhaps, by then, poor little Rahma had already collapsed from exhaustion, banging on the door. She wouldn’t have known that her parents were there searching for her.

That day passed, and the next day began the three-month summer vacation, during which the school remained closed. Despite all efforts, the police could not locate Rahma, and the case was eventually forgotten.

Three months later, on a bright morning, the children returned to school after their vacation, greeting each other with excitement. The teachers laughed and chatted, as if it were a festive day. Meanwhile, under the principal’s supervision, the school caretaker was unlocking rooms, the kitchen, and the bathrooms. When they reached the bathroom door, they paused for a moment, noticing a line of ants moving in and out from under the door. Disturbed by the sight, the principal stepped back. The caretaker opened the door, and the scene inside made her nauseous.

Inside lay the remains of a young girl, around 7 or 8 years old. Ants had eaten away most of her body, with only patches of flesh left, and the bones of her skeleton visible in many places. Her face had decomposed to the point where it was almost unrecognizable. The principal was immediately reminded of Rahma.

Rahma’s parents were called, and the police arrived as well. Her parents couldn’t believe it was her. But the school bag, clothes, and books with her name written on them confirmed that it was, indeed, their beloved Rahma.

On the bathroom wall, written in pencil, were a few heartbreaking lines. After straining to read, they made out the words:

“Mom, Dad, please open the door. I want to come to you.” “It’s very dark here; I’m really scared.” “I’m hungry, Mom; please bring me food.”

Upon reading these words, Rahma’s mother collapsed in grief, and her father stood helplessly looking up at the sky. At that moment, two tears rolled down the principal's cheeks. But what value did those tears hold now? She would have surely remembered the time when she outright refused to help Rahma’s parents and opposed searching the school.

During the police investigation, everyone— from the principal to the guard—blamed each other, with no one willing to take responsibility.

The principal was eventually transferred from the school after the FIR was filed, but there are still so many unanswered questions.

Will Rahma return just because the principal was transferred? What crime did Rahma commit? Was her mistake simply that she couldn’t control her urge to use the bathroom at the end of the day? Who will her parents hold responsible for the loss of their precious child?

Typically, it’s the duty of the guard or relevant staff to check the bathrooms, kitchens, and storage rooms before locking up the school. However, here, the guard blamed the principal, claiming she never instructed them to do so.

To any teachers reading this story, I respectfully urge you: after school, please make it a point to check closed doors with the caretaker by your side. Sometimes, children lock each other behind doors as a prank and forget. But if adults don’t take this matter seriously, then what difference remains between the innocence of children and the negligence of grown-ups?

If this story moved you, please share your thoughts in the comments below—let's honor Rahma's memory by spreading awareness.