THE MYSTERY OF THE FOREST

#02

A long-haired man stopped his motorcycle and stopped at a small stall on the side of the road. He was seen observing the surrounding atmosphere that looked desolate.

Before getting off his bike, he first lowered the folds of both of his sleeves. He tried to cover up the tattoo on his left arm. After looking briefly at his quiet surroundings, he got off his bike and placed his backpack on the table in front of a small shop.

He was trying to find the owner. There's no one there. He tried to call. An old woman is seen walking towards him with a few dry wooden branches. Seeing the young man standing in front of the stall, he quickened his pace.

"Sorry son, I was looking for firewood. Want a coffee pot," said the old woman. The wooden branches he carried were removed by the side of the fireplace.

"May ma'am" said the man. He then sat down. A pack of cigarettes in the backpack he picked up. He grabbed one stick and then lit it.

A cup of hot coffee was in front of him. The old woman occasionally fell silent to the tattoo that occasionally popped out from behind the sleeve of the man's shirt. The man looks cold. Several times he was seen moving his body to dispel the cold. His gaze to and fro noticed the quiet atmosphere of the village. The cigarette in his hand he sucked deeply.

"It's been a lot of ya ma'am here" said the man without turning his body . He looks good directing his eyes to and fro. The old woman did not answer. He was busy moving the hot water he had cooked in a small pot into a worn flask. The man turned his head, thinking that the old woman had not heard him. He tried to rebuke the old woman.

"It's been ten years, son. But the only ones who want to move are ten people" replied the old woman. His hands were busy dispelling the smoke puff from the furnace in front of him.

"Where are you going, son," asked the old woman.

"I'm going to the shack next door. Know the same as the late Mr. Marwi Bu," said the man after a moment of silence. He looked at the face of the old woman who looked like she was about to talk long. "I am Farhan his son" continued the man who introduced himself to Farhan. He deliberately preceded to tell his identity to Sarmi, so that the old woman did not tell him anything about his father. Farhan looked closely at the old woman's face. It seems that the old woman was a little surprised when she introduced herself as the son of the deceased Mr. Marwi. Farhan slowly began to recognize the figure of the old woman.

"And Grandma is Grandma Sarmi isn't she? if not wrong, Grandma used to live near a forest post. I used to buy my dad cigarettes at Grandma's shop." Farhan saw a clear change in the face of Ms. Sarmi.

There was clearly a look of surprise on the old woman's face. His face immediately looked pale. Perhaps he thought that the son of Mr. Marwi had been burned to death in the incident twenty years ago.

"Who is Marwi? is not his son Mr. Marwi dead," asked Sarmi's mother astonished. He did not believe if the young man who claimed to be the son of Mr. Marwi, was really his son Mr. Marwi.

"I am indeed Marwi's son. I saved my uncle when it happened." Farhan. His nanic gaze hinted that his memories were flying far into the past.

"God willing, my grandmother thinks you are dead" Sarmi said in a hoarse voice as if harboring a regret. He rubbed Farhan's back. Farhan let the old hand of Sarmi ma'am wipe his back. Sometimes his old hands touched Farhan's face and hair. Even though he was getting fed up, he let the old hand hold his face. After all, what Sarmi's grandmother did twenty years ago to her father was very painful. But seeing him as helpless in his head, he tried to forgive him.

"After the incident, Ahmad's uncle took me to his house. He was afraid that the people at that time would vent their anger on me." Farhan tried to remain calm. He tried to keep his emotions under control. His sight was far-sighted through the thick of the forest.

"Grandmother doesn't know at all, son. At that time, my grandmother was in the field. Once home, grandma had news of your house burning," said Ms. Sarmi . He looked closely at the young man's face in front of him. Like trying to look for the childhood signs of the young man beside her. When Farhan occasionally glanced at him, Sarmi quickly turned his gaze away towards the grove of trees.

Farhan sighed and smiled half a sneer.

"Until now, I had no idea what exactly was the cause until my house was burned down and my father was hanged. I had never seen my father perform such strange rituals, as they alleged. Precisely what my father often did was dismantle the cheating elders who arbitrarily took people's land. That's what I heard a lot when I was a kid. Fathers often get complaints from land heirs when their father dies. Some village elders took their land on the grounds that their late father only planted. All of us here only have the right to work, but there's already a limit and a formal working letter from the government." Farhan shook his head. "What surprised me even more, was the basis that they accused my father of being a sorcerer. Even though my father was just a teacher njai," continued Farhan at length and sounded full of frustration. He seems to be deliberately insinuating Sarmi's mother. Farhan knew, Sarmi was also one of the village elders' wives who was keen to provoke her husband to expel his father.

Miss Sarmi just fell silent. He looked at Farhan.

"My food is now home to fulfill my late mother's message. I have to go back and replenish my land" Farhan said.

"But it looks like the land of your late father has been worked on by someone" said Sarmi. Farhan.

" Right Nek, but that person is my man, his name is Mr. Sumarep. The land letter is still complete and does not include forest land. So there's no limit to the right to work on it."

Farhan got up and took out a few pieces of banknotes from inside his levis pants pocket. He handed over one sheet of five thousand to Sarmi's mother.

"Take all of Nek, don't give her change" Farhan said. He lifted his backpack and placed it on his shoulder. Then he turned on his motorcycle.

Slowly Farhan directs his motorcycle to avoid the gravel scattered in the middle of the road. Behind him, Ms. Sarmi still followed him with a question mark.

Farhan stopped his motorcycle when he reached a small, half-uphill road on his right.

He felt that not much had changed from that place. The road to the fields and his house used to be like before. Only the entrance gate was made of wood and bamboo. The rest is as before.

Farhan turned his bike and started down the uphill road in front of him. About three hundred meters from where he turned, Farhan stopped his motorcycle when he got near a small building, made entirely of teak. Seeing the shape of the building, he could immediately recognize it. The shape of the building corresponds to the image he sent to his field keeper.

A thin-looking person with a hat made from pandan plants seemed to be approaching towards him. He smiles. That's Mr. Sumarep, the man he told to look after his farm. Mr. Sumarep was also one of the witnesses of the cruelty of the people during the burning and killing of his father. He also hid it when people were crowding his house before being taken by his uncle.

"Finally home too the handsome. I'm not comfortable here, there are no friends talking," said Mr. Sumarep. Farhan smiled. He kissed Mr. Sumarep's hand and then hugged him. Mr. Sumarep then took Farhan into the hut.

Farhan took off the backpack on his shoulder and placed it on his shoulder as a backrest.

He sighed and rose. He began to watch the atmosphere around him. The small lake at the end of his field looks already covered with some of the land. There used to be a large singon tree where his father was hanged. But he doesn't see her anymore. It may have collapsed or been cut down.

"Well, sir, I remember having a friend named Fadli. Is he alive now?" farhan asked as he approached back to where Mr. Sumarep was still sitting.

"Fadli? Fadli is what Nak Farhan means," said Mr. Sumarep while trying to remember.

"That's sir, whose son once fell in that lake. Which used to be often brought by the late father of food," replied Farhan while directing the view of Mr. Sumarep towards the lake.

Mr. Sumarep frowned.

"Oh that, Fadli, you forgot his name. I also rarely see him. If not wrong, now he lives in a new village. You must've been through there, which is a coffee shop on the side of the road." Mr. Sumarep lit a cigarette. He offered it to Farhan, but Farhan refused.

"Ow that, I had coffee there. I think the shop owner is Sarmi's grandmother,"

"Rubber, it was indeed Sarmi's grandmother. After her husband died, she lived. His children one by one left to migrate to Malaysia. He is now poor." Mr. Sumarep was silent for a moment. "If you remember the grandmother, you want her to hang her neck on the tree. He's the one who provoked the people to kill your father" Sumarep said. Cigarette twisting in his hands that had died ignited back and then sucked deeply. Farhan just looked down to hear the story of Mr. Sumarep.

"But Allah is Most Just, Allah has avenged her husband. He died buried by a singon tree in a field that he held. One of his advisers, Mr. Udin, also died horribly. His house was robbed and pieces of his head were found separated from his body." Mr. Sumarep let out a long sigh. His gaze still hinted at the bitter memories of the past.

"Now all that remains of the band of land robbers are Sukar sir, Haji Maemun, and Mistar sir," Sumarep continued. He really remembers what happened twenty years ago.

Farhan sighed and rubbed the hair dangling on his face backwards. He patted Mr. Sumarep's shoulder.

"Already sir, bringing up the past will only make us sad. I've been calm with my mother in nature there," said Farhan. Mr. Sumarep nodded.

"Oya Nak Farhan, soon our cabbage plants will be harvested soon. According to the merchant who will buy our cabbage, God willing three more days we can harvest it. Your sister Wati will also be here to help us" Sumarep said. He stood up and took Farhan around. Farhan began examining the cabbage plants that were thriving in the fields.

"Oya sir, what Wati said often here helps you," said Farhan when he remembered Wati, his son Mr. Sumarep who was also his playmate when he was a child.

"Every week he comes here if your uncle Rohimin goes fishing in the sea. He won't even go home when he's here. Father's plan, we will sell the land in the village and move here. The village children next door many who learn to read the Qur'an as the father. I brought your sister Wati here to let someone help you teach."

Farhan nodded. Because he felt tired and began to sleepy, he said goodbye to a short break in the hut.