Date: April 1987
Location: Lawang, Agam Regency, West Sumatra
By age five, Rakha Yudhistira Halim had already read more books than most of the adults in Lawang.
His mother smuggled worn textbooks from Bukittinggi whenever she went to the market — old science guides, geography booklets, even an engineering manual salvaged from a broken school shelf. His father taught him how to sharpen parang blades and measure time by the length of a shadow on the rice field. The elders of the surau had quietly begun deferring to him during logic games and informal debates — though none would ever admit being outwitted by a boy whose voice still hadn't lost its childlike pitch.
But on this particular morning, Rakha wasn't reading.
He was crouched barefoot in the sun, his knees dusty, his hands smudged with ash and rust. Around him lay an array of discarded scraps: cut bamboo stalks, bottle caps, an old sardine can, copper wire stripped from a broken radio, and pieces of clear plastic from a rice packaging roll.
Chickens flapped and squawked nearby, disturbed by the clang of his improvised hammer.
Beside him stood a small wooden post, secured in the earth with rocks. At the top was his creation: a makeshift rain gauge — rough but clever. The transparent column could catch water, while the mounted flag would rise when the internal canister overflowed. It even had markings carved by hand with a nail.
It looked like a toy.
It wasn't.
Rakha chose to build a rain gauge for one reason: because no one else had.
In the past three months, two nearby rice fields had failed to yield. Not because of pests. Not because of poor soil. But because the villagers planted too soon — fooled by brief morning rains followed by weeks of harsh dry heat.
"We plant by feeling," his father had said one night, half-smiling. "The clouds tell us when."
"And what if the clouds lie?" Rakha had asked.
He stayed up that night under the oil lamp, flipping through diagrams of barometers and wind currents from an old geography textbook. Most of it was in broken Bahasa and Dutch. Still, he understood enough.
We can't change the sky, he thought. But we can learn to read it better.
So while the other boys carved slingshots and chased grasshoppers through the cane rows, Rakha began sketching blueprints on banana leaves. He collected materials from junk piles and asked the blacksmith for leftover wire.
Every step of the design was practical. Every part recycled.
"I don't need magic," he murmured to himself one afternoon, fitting the copper loop into place. "I need precision."
Now, under the heat of the late-morning sun, sweat streaking down his temple, Rakha hammered the last nail into place and stepped back.
The gauge stood a little crooked. But it stood.
A tool born not from a textbook — but from need.
He watched the clouds shift over the hills in the distance and whispered softly:
Come, rain. I'm ready for you now.
Two Weeks Earlier…
It hadn't rained in Lawang for nearly a month. The sugarcane fields were browning. The paddies cracked early. The village elders said it was just musim ganjil — a "weird season." But Rakha had been watching the skies, scribbling notes, and marking puddle dry-times.
And then one night, he whispered to the Garuda System:
"If I can't summon the rain, I'll measure it. Predict it. Learn its pattern."
[SYSTEM RESPONSE]
New Trait Unlocked: Practical Innovator
Village Impact Meter: +2%
New Quest Activated: Prototype for the People
Today…
Under the curious gaze of farmers, barefoot children, and half-skeptical uncles, Rakha Yudhistira Halim stood beside his invention in the village square — dusty feet planted firmly on the earth, hands behind his back like a young teacher.
The contraption at his side looked like a pile of scrap to some — bamboo slats, a cut bottle, copper wire, a sardine can, and a small piece of red cloth. But to others, it looked… interesting.
At the top of the post stood a cylindrical gauge, made from clear plastic. It had carefully inked markers for rainfall depth, a small tipping mechanism to prevent overflow, and a cloth flag that would pop up like a semaphore when water reached a certain level.
Ingenious. Simple. Affordable.
And most importantly — made by a five-year-old.
"What is this, Nak Rakha?" asked Pak Ahmad, the old cane farmer with tired knees and sharp eyes.
Rakha stepped forward, brushing sawdust off his palms. His voice was soft, but his words carried.
"This is a rain reader, Pak. A tool to track how much it rains."
He glanced around the gathered crowd.
"So we know when the soil is ready. So we don't plant during drought… or flood."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd.
"From trash?" asked a teenage boy, wrinkling his nose.
Rakha nodded once.
"Trash can serve too — if you arrange it right."
One of the older uncles leaned on his walking stick and poked the base of the device. It didn't wobble. It stood firm.
"But how do you know it works?" he grunted.
Rakha motioned to a wooden board nailed beside the post.
On it were twelve days of data — handwritten in neat, straight lines. Dates, rainfall measurements, humidity guesses, and barometer readings drawn from observation and instinct.
Beside each entry were cross-marks — showing whether the prediction matched what happened.
All twelve? Accurate.
The murmurs stopped. The silence deepened.
Someone whispered, "Ya Allah…"
Even the skeptical teenage boy looked again — this time, not with mockery, but something like… respect.
Then, Mak Uni, the herbalist widow with a sharp tongue and a sharper memory, chuckled.
"Do you know what we had when I was your age?" she said, arms crossed.
The crowd turned to her.
She raised a single eyebrow.
"A jar. And a guess."
Laughter broke out — first in pockets, then spreading like wildfire. Someone clapped. Then another. Then more.
Before long, the square echoed with cheers, backslaps, and praise. Not loud or forced — but honest. The sound of people realizing they had just witnessed something rare.
Not just a boy tinkering.
But a child of their village, building for them.
"This kid is… amazing," someone whispered.
"Right," another added. "He is send by Allah," said a third.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Public Innovation DeployedTrait Progress: Leadership through Usefulness +2
Village Reputation: (The Clever Little One)
Community Trust Increased: +6%
New Opportunity Unlocked: Community Project — Irrigation Mapping
That Night…
The clouds gathered.
By dusk, the first drops began to fall, soft and sparse at first — then thick and steady. A true West Sumatran rain. Cool, wild, and welcome.
The villagers celebrated the long-awaited hujan. But Siti Halimah watched her son from the doorway of their home.
Rakha didn't dance in the rain like the others.
He stood silently beside his invention, arms crossed, watching the gauge tick and flag, measuring every moment.
"This isn't magic," he whispered. "It's just data. Truth wrapped in water."
And deep in his mind, the Garuda System chimed softly.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
First Public Innovation Deployed
Local Reputation: "Young Inventor" gained
New Opportunity Unlocked: Village Project: Water Sharing Network
Path of Reform Progress: 6%