Chapter 19: Rahasya Ka Jawab (The Answer to the Mystery)

January. Day 180 of the anomaly. Six months. The six-months being: the duration that Sharma had predicted for mycorrhizal network collapse. The prediction arriving at its deadline — the deadline that was not arbitrary but biological: the network's degradation had reached the point where recovery required active intervention and the intervention required: understanding what was happening and the understanding required: the answer.

The answer came from an unexpected source. The unexpected being: not the ecologists, not the geophysicists, not the journalists. The answer came from a twelve-year-old girl in Mahabaleshwar who had been collecting rocks.

Priti Jadhav — Class 7, Mahabaleshwar Municipal School, the school that sat on the plateau that was the geographical centre of the anomaly. Priti had been collecting rocks for a school science project — the project being: "Geology of the Deccan Traps," the project that every Mahabaleshwar student did because the Traps were the local geology and the local-geology was the curriculum.

Priti's rocks glowed. Not visibly — not to the naked eye. The glowing being: when Priti brought her rocks into a dark room and photographed them with a long exposure on her father's old DSLR camera (the DSLR being the particular Indian middle-class camera that every family owned and that the owning was the photographic democracy), the rocks emitted a faint luminescence. Blue-green. The blue-green that was: bioluminescence's colour, the colour that fireflies produced and that the fireflies had stopped producing on July 14.

Priti's science teacher — Mrs. Deshpande, a woman whose particular quality was taking students seriously — sent the photographs to Savitribai Phule Pune University's geology department with a note: "Student has found luminescent rocks on Mahabaleshwar plateau. Is this normal for Deccan basalt?"

It was not normal. Deccan basalt did not luminesce. The not-luminescing being: the baseline, the baseline that 65 million years of geological observation had established. Deccan basalt was dark, dense, non-luminescent. The luminescence was: anomalous.

The university's geology department forwarded the photographs to Bhushan (because Bhushan was the anomaly-investigation's hub and the hub received everything). Bhushan forwarded to Pankaj at IIG. Pankaj forwarded to Dr. Kavita Nair at TIFR.

Kavita's response was: "I need those rocks. Immediately. Can the student bring them to TIFR?"

Priti Jadhav arrived at TIFR with her father and a box of seventeen rocks. The arriving being: the twelve-year-old's particular expression — wide-eyed, the wide-eyed being the experience of entering TIFR, the institution that was India's premier physics research centre, the centre where the rocks would be analysed by instruments that the school in Mahabaleshwar did not have.

Kavita's analysis took three days. The three-days being: spectroscopy, X-ray diffraction, electron microscopy, the instruments producing the data and the data producing: the answer.

The answer that Kavita delivered at an emergency meeting — the meeting attended by Bhushan, Sharma, Pankaj, Tarun, and (via video call from Sassoon Hospital, where she was in her third week of recovery) Mansi.

"The rocks contain a mineral that is not in any geological database. It's new. Unclassified. The mineral is generating the electromagnetic field."

New. Unclassified. The two words that made the room — the room being Kavita's laboratory at TIFR — silent.

"How?" Bhushan — the one-word question.

"The mineral appears to be forming through a process we haven't documented. At 50 kilometres depth — where the thermal anomaly is — conditions exist for mineral formation. Extreme pressure, extreme temperature. The mineral that's forming has piezoelectric properties — meaning it generates an electromagnetic field when under pressure. And at 50 kilometres depth, the pressure is: enormous. The mineral is generating EMF proportional to the pressure, and the pressure is: the weight of 50 kilometres of rock."

Piezoelectric. The property that certain crystals had — quartz, for example — where mechanical pressure produced electrical charge. The property that made quartz watches work, the working being: pressure on quartz crystal → electrical signal → timekeeping.

But this mineral — the new, unclassified mineral — had piezoelectric properties at a scale that quartz did not approach. The scale being: generating electromagnetic fields detectable at the surface from 50 kilometres beneath.

"Why is it forming now?" Sharma asked. The question that was the timeline-question: if this mineral existed at depth, why was it producing effects now and not before?

"Because it's new. The mineral is forming now — in real time. Something at depth — a change in temperature, pressure, chemical composition — has initiated a crystallisation process. The crystals are growing. As they grow, the piezoelectric effect increases. That's why the EMF is progressively increasing — the mineral deposit is getting larger."

Growing. The mineral was growing. The growing being: the explanation for the anomaly's progression — why the effects were increasing over time, why each week was worse than the last, why the EMF readings kept climbing. The mineral was growing beneath the Deccan Plateau and the growing was: ongoing.

"Will it stop?" Bhushan asked. The question that was the human question — the question that the ecologist asked not as a scientist but as a father whose daughter's heart was affected by the EMF.

"Unknown. Mineral formation can be self-limiting — when conditions change, crystallisation stops. Or it can be progressive — continuing until the conditions that initiated it change. We don't know which this is."

"Kya hum rok sakte hain?" Pankaj asked. Can we stop it?

"At 50 kilometres depth? With current technology? No. We cannot reach it. We cannot alter it. We cannot stop it."

The answer that was: the answer and the non-answer. The answer being: we know what is happening (new mineral forming, generating EMF). The non-answer being: we cannot stop it.

Tarun wrote. The writing being: the story that the investigation had been pursuing for six months, the story that now had its answer — an answer that was: simultaneously satisfying (the mystery solved) and terrifying (the solution was: nothing, there was no solution).

He wrote the article that evening. The article that was: 4,000 words, the longest piece he had written, the longest because the answer required the length and the length was: the story's scale.

THE ANOMALY EXPLAINED: NEW MINERAL FORMING BENEATH DECCAN PLATEAU GENERATES ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELD DISRUPTING WESTERN GHATS ECOSYSTEM

The article that explained: the twelve-year-old's rocks, the TIFR analysis, the mineral's piezoelectric properties, the formation at depth, the progressive growth, and — the critical information — the current inability to stop it.

The article that quoted Bhushan: "We now understand what is causing the anomaly. We do not yet understand how to address it. Understanding the cause is the first step. The next step is: figuring out what, if anything, can be done."

The article that quoted Kavita: "The mineral is unprecedented. We are in uncharted territory. The formation may be self-limiting — it may stop on its own. We don't know yet."

The article that Tarun ended with: "Six months ago, a thousand fireflies went dark in a garden in Mulshi. Today, we know why. A new mineral, forming 50 kilometres beneath our feet, is generating an electromagnetic field that is disrupting the ecosystem that has sustained the Western Ghats for millions of years. The mineral has no name. The solution has no timeline. But the understanding — the understanding that we now have — is the beginning. The beginning of the next chapter of this story."

Mansi called from Sassoon. The calling being: the hospital-call that was now the daily routine — the routine of a woman recovering from an accident and a man sitting in a newsroom, the daily-call being the connection that the distance required.

"Padha. Article. Bahut achha hai, Tarun. Tu — tu sach mein achha likhta hai." I read the article. It's very good. You really write well.

"Thanks. Mansi — tu kaise hai?" How are you?

"Better. Hematoma resolve ho raha hai. Doctor bol rahe hain ek aur hafte mein discharge. Phir — recovery. Ghar pe." Better. Hematoma is resolving. Doctor says discharge in another week. Then recovery at home.

"Main aaunga. Discharge ke din." I'll come. On discharge day.

"Aana. Aur — Tarun? Article mein ek line thi — 'the beginning of the next chapter.' Woh line — mere baare mein bhi hai, na?" The question that was the personal reading of the professional text — the reading that found the personal in the public.

Come. And — that line — 'the beginning of the next chapter.' That line is about me too, right?

"Sab ke baare mein hai. Tere baare mein bhi." It's about everything. About you too.

"Achha. Toh next chapter mein main healthy hoon aur hum dinner pe jaate hain. Vaishali. Deal?" Good. Then in the next chapter I'm healthy and we go to dinner. Vaishali. Deal?

"Deal."

The deal being: the future. The future that the anomaly had made uncertain but that the uncertainty had not destroyed. The future that contained: Mansi's recovery, dinner at Vaishali, the investigation's next phase, the next chapter.

The next chapter that would determine: whether the mineral formation was self-limiting or progressive. Whether the ecosystem could recover. Whether the Western Ghats would be green again.

Whether the fireflies would come back.