Where the Stars Live Underground

Continuing the journey in to the mysterious Earth

For children and curious minds of all ages

Yogendra Deva

 

Aaba had just settled into bed with a book when his mobile phone rang.

The screen flashed:

Mihir Calling...

Aaba smiled and answered immediately.

"Hello, young man! Enjoying your New Zealand holiday? We're trying to keep cool while the Indian summer does its best to roast us."

"Aaba, forget New Zealand!" Mihir cut Aaba short.

"Oh?"

"It isn't about New Zealand. It's about the one place you kept telling us not to miss when we were around Auckland."

Aaba laughed.

"Waitomo?"

"Exactly!"

"Aaba, it was unbelievable!

"The guide first took us through winding limestone passages. Every now and then he'd stop, shine his torch on the ceiling and say, 'Look up.' There were these amazing stone shapes hanging everywhere. Then he'd point to the floor where more of them were growing upward. They looked as though they were trying to shake hands."

"They've been trying that for thousands of years," Aaba smiled.

"I wondered how rocks could possibly grow."

"They do," said Aaba. "Very, very slowly." He continued, "They have rather difficult names."

"I knew they would!"

"The ones hanging from the ceiling are stalactites. The ones growing from the ground are stalagmites."

"I'll mix them up tomorrow."

"No, you won't."

Aaba laughed.

"Just remember two letters."

"C?"

"Exactly. C for Ceiling. A stalactite hangs from the ceiling."

"And the other?"

"G for Ground. A stalagmite grows from the ground."

Mihir grinned.

"I don't think I'll ever forget that."

“How did you find that gigantic chamber?" Aaba asked.

"The Cathedral? Yes, it was enormous. The roof was so high my torch couldn't reach it. Then the guide clapped his hands."

"And the echo?"

"It just went on... and on."

Aaba nodded.

"The Cathedral has wonderful natural acoustics. Musicians from around the world have performed there. Nature built the concert hall. They simply borrow it."

"Imagine giving a concert inside a mountain!"

" Wait, the grand finale of the trip completely amazed me!" Mihir continued, "the guide took us to an underground river. We climbed into a small boat. Then he asked everyone to switch off their torches and remain absolutely silent."

"Exactly how our guide did it."

"For a few seconds I couldn't see anything. Then he whispered, 'Look up.'"

"And?"

"The cave disappeared."

"What did you see?"

"The night sky."

Aaba closed his eyes.

Even after all those years, he could still remember that magical moment.

Thousands of tiny blue-green lights twinkling above the silent boat.

There was a short silence.

"Aaba..."

"Yes?"

"But one thing keeps bothering me."

"What is it?"

"Who built such a magnificent underground theatre?"

Aaba smiled.

"My dear fellow..."

"This time I've asked the right question."

"You certainly have."

He settled back against his pillow.

"The builders weren't engineers."

"They weren't architects."

"They weren't even people."

He paused.

"They were millions upon millions of tiny drops of rain."

Mihir was silent for a moment.

"Rain?"

"Yes."

Aaba smiled.

"Every cave begins with a raindrop."

He continued.

"Rainwater may look ordinary, but it quietly picks up a little carbon dioxide from the air and even more while passing through the soil. That turns it into a very weak natural acid. Nothing strong enough to harm us, but strong enough to begin a very patient conversation with limestone."

"Limestone is made mainly of calcium carbonate. Unlike hard rocks such as granite, it slowly dissolves in this weak acidic water."

"Not quickly."

"Not dramatically."

"Just one drop at a time."

"The water finds tiny cracks in the rock."

"Year after year, century after century, those cracks slowly become wider."

"Wider cracks become passages."

"Passages become tunnels."

"And tunnels eventually become magnificent caves like Waitomo."

Mihir remained quiet.

He was trying to imagine rain building a cave.

"It sounds impossible."

Aaba laughed.

"So does a tiny seed becoming a giant banyan tree."

"Nature never hurries."

"But she almost always finishes her work."

"Now comes the clever part."

"The water doesn't simply remove limestone."

"It also brings a tiny amount of dissolved calcium carbonate with it."

"When a drop hangs from the roof of the cave, a little of that dissolved material is left behind."

"One drop leaves almost nothing."

"But millions of drops..."

"...build a stalactite."

"And every drop falling to the floor leaves another tiny deposit."

"That slowly builds a stalagmite."

"Eventually," said Aaba, "after thousands of years..."

"...the handshake is completed."

"Aaba," Mihir said thoughtfully, "I thought Waitomo was something unique."

"It is unique."

"But not because it is the only cave."

"The Earth has built underground worlds in many different ways."

"There are more?"

"Oh yes."

Aaba settled back against his pillow.

"Limestone caves like Waitomo are only one chapter."

"Really?"

"There are caves inside glaciers where streams of meltwater carve beautiful blue tunnels through solid ice."

"Ice has caves?"

"It does."

"And there are lava caves."

"Lava?"

"When a river of molten lava flows downhill, the surface cools first while the hot lava beneath keeps flowing. When the eruption ends, it sometimes leaves behind long hollow tunnels."

Mihir whistled softly.

"So volcanoes build caves too!"

"They certainly do."

"And along many seashores, powerful waves spend thousands of years pounding against rocky cliffs. They slowly carve out sea caves that fill with the sound of crashing waves."

"The Earth seems to enjoy building caves."

Aaba smiled.

"The Earth enjoys building almost everything."

"And before you begin planning your next holiday to New Zealand," Aaba continued, "remember that India has some remarkable caves too."

"We do?"

"Of course."

"The Borra Caves in Andhra Pradesh have magnificent limestone formations."

"The Belum Caves take you through long underground passages."

"In Meghalaya, there are caves so extensive that explorers are still discovering new passages."

"So I don't have to fly halfway around the world?"

"Not at all."

"When you return, we'll plan a cave holiday of our own."

"You promise?"

"I do."

There was a comfortable silence.

"Aaba?"

"Yes?"

"I'm beginning to think holidays are much more interesting when you're around."

Aaba laughed.

"I wasn't around."

"You know what I mean."

"I do."

Another pause.

"I'm happy."

"What about?"

"You're not becoming a dumb holidaymaker."

Mihir burst into laughter.

"I'll remember that."

"I hope you remember something even more important."

"What?"

"The next time you visit a mountain, a cave, a waterfall or a lonely rock beside a road, don't just take a photograph."

"What should I do?"

"Ask a question."

"And if I don't know whom to ask?"

"The Earth."

Mihir chuckled.

"The Earth doesn't answer."

"Oh, it does."

"It has been answering for more than four and a half billion years."

"We simply have to learn how to listen."

There was silence once more.

This time it was Mihir who broke it.

"Aaba..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you for making us visit Waitomo."

"I only suggested it."

"It turned out to be the best part of our holiday."

Aaba smiled.

"I had a feeling it would."

"Good night, Aaba."

"Good night, young man."

After the call ended, Aaba switched off the bedside lamp.

Outside, the Indian summer was still refusing to cool down.

Half a world away, Mihir looked out of his hotel window into the New Zealand night.

He realised he had returned with far more than photographs.

He had returned with questions.

And somewhere beneath the green hills of Waitomo, thousands of tiny glowworms continued to shine silently in the darkness, waiting for the next curious traveller to look up.