Chapter 7: Warso’s Secret Letter

In their hidden hideout behind the old durian grove, the members of Pengawal Duren sat in a circle. That morning felt calmer than usual. A gentle breeze carried the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves.

Rio arrived last, carrying a large thermos and five worn-out plastic cups. "I brought ginger tea." he said with a wide grin. "Perfect for a morning like this."

"Good." Lilis replied, taking a cup. "You're actually useful for once."

"Hey." Rio scoffed, sitting down on a large tree root. "Don't underestimate the power of logistics."

Boni chuckled softly, then opened a weathered folder containing documents from Mr. Mahmud, a former village official who had secretly joined their cause. The papers included old notes, maps of the area, and photocopied contracts.

"These documents are very detailed... but there's something strange here." Boni lifted a yellowed sheet of paper. Although time had faded the ink, the words were still readable.

"What is it?" Yuni asked, leaning in to get a better look.

"It's a letter! Written about five years ago… by the father of Village Chief Rasyid." Boni replied.

Silence fell over the group. Rio frowned. "Wait! Mr. Rasyid is the son of Mr. Warso? Wasn't Mr. Warso one of the most respected elders in the village?"

"Exactly." said Boni. "And this letter… it's a warning. He wrote that the palm oil project was a terrible mistake. In fact, he refused the first contract offered by the company."

Lilis narrowed her eyes, staring intently at the letter. "So Rasyid went ahead with something even his own father rejected?"

Boni nodded. "And it seems he hid this letter so the villagers would never know."

Yuni looked up at the wooden beam above their heads. "If we can prove that his own family opposed this project… it could destroy his reputation."

Lilis grinned. "And nothing hurts a tyrant more than disgrace."

Meanwhile, at the village hall… Chief Rasyid stood before a large map peppered with red pins. In his hand was a list of farmers who had recently hesitated to sell their land. His jaw tightened.

"Mr. Mahmud… that traitor." he muttered. "Now that letter is in their hands. I have to act before everything unravels."

Just then, a man in a safari shirt entered the room. "Sir! one of the village guards reported that four young people are often seen gathering near the old durian tree."

Rasyid turned sharply. "Send someone to watch them. Don't approach just watch. Make them feel watched… so they panic."

The man nodded and left. Rasyid stood, staring out the window.

"They think they're clever… but they're still just children."

That evening… The members of Pengawal Duren walked toward a simple wooden house at the edge of the village. It was the home of Mrs. Mirah, the widow of the late Mr. Warso, standing quietly beneath the shade of an old jackfruit tree. Its wooden boards were weathered and the roof sagged unevenly.

They knocked softly. A gentle voice came from inside, "The door's not locked, dear. Come in."

Mrs. Mirah sat in a rocking chair near the window. The evening light touched her wrinkled face.

"Excuse us, Ma'am." said Boni politely, holding out the old letter. "We wanted to ask you about this."

Mrs. Mirah took the paper with trembling hands. Her eyes widened. "Ah… my late husband's handwriting. I haven't seen this in so long."

"Is it true he opposed the palm oil project?" Yuni asked gently.

Mrs. Mirah looked at each of them. "Yes. He loved this land more than anything. He knew the damage palm oil plantations would bring to our forests. But after he died, my son Rasyid… everything changed."

Rio looked down. "We'll do everything we can to stop him, Ma'am."

Mrs. Mirah slowly stood and opened an old wooden cupboard. She pulled out a thick notebook. "This belonged to my husband. He wrote everything in here. His reasons, his warnings to Rasyid… it's all inside."

Boni took the notebook with both hands. "Thank you, Ma'am. This means a lot."

That night, back at the hideout… The glow of an oil lamp lit their faces as they opened Mr. Warso's notebook. Every page revealed the quiet struggle of an old man who deeply loved his village.

There were maps of underground water flow, diagrams of aquifers, and notes about the ecological damage palm oil would cause. Some pages even recorded conversations with local farmers who had voiced their concerns.

"This is more than just evidence." Yuni whispered. "It's a historical document."

"We have the truth." said Boni. "From someone everyone once respected."

"Now we just need to reveal it to the public," Lilis added.

Rio lifted his empty cup of ginger tea. "To the future of Duren Village."

"To Pengawal Duren." Yuni echoed.

Four cups clinked softly under the star-filled night sky.

Late at night, in Rasyid's office… In the darkness, only moonlight from the window illuminated Rasyid's face. He stared at an old photo on his desk of himself as a young man standing beside his father.

"Father… you were too idealistic. This village needs money. I won't back down."

A knock broke the silence. "Sir, we've lost track of them. They might've gone to Mrs. Mirah's house."

Rasyid's eyes narrowed. "So they have the notebook."

He stood. "Tomorrow… we increase the pressure."

The next morning… Boni stood outside the village market, watching the crowd. Tension was visible on the faces of the vendors. They knew they were being watched.

Yuni approached, carrying a rolled-up poster. "Lilis just finished printing it. A quote from Mr. Warso, with his signature and a sketch of the water flow."

"Should we announce it now?" Boni asked.

"We have to. Before Rasyid makes his move."

Boni nodded. "Let's make sure everyone knows who Mr. Warso really was."

That afternoon, Rio went to the old radio station. Lilis distributed posters to trusted vendors. Yuni gathered farmers by the riverbank.

And Boni returned to Mrs. Mirah's house. Not to ask questions, but to make a promise.

"We promise we won't let his legacy be buried, Mrs. Mirah."

Mrs. Mirah looked at him and smiled softly. "Then maybe… my husband can finally rest in peace."