In the heart of Odisha, surrounded by lush paddy fields and winding streams, lay the small village of Krishnapuri. Life there was simple. People woke with the crowing of roosters, worked till the sun dipped low, and gathered under the banyan tree in the evening to share stories. Among them was a boy named Shiva — just fifteen, but with a sharp mind that noticed what others missed.

Shiva lived with his mother, a schoolteacher, and his younger sister. His father had passed away years ago, leaving behind a small piece of land and a family full of dreams. Shiva loved reading detective novels that his mother borrowed from the district library. Little did anyone know, his love for mysteries would soon change the fate of Krishnapuri.

One humid night, while the village slept under a blanket of stars, something terrible happened. The temple, which stood for centuries at the center of the village, was robbed. The golden idol of Lord Jagannath was stolen, along with the temple’s donation chest. When the villagers woke the next morning, chaos broke out.

"Who could do such a thing?" cried the temple priest, tears streaming down his face.

The sarpanch, old and wise, called a village meeting. "We must find the thief!" he thundered. "No outsider could have done this without knowing the way. It must be someone among us!"

Fear and suspicion grew like weeds. Neighbors eyed each other warily. Brothers stopped trusting brothers. It pained Shiva to see his village break apart like this.

While others fought, Shiva thought.

He visited the temple, careful not to disturb the police who were clumsily searching for clues. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. The lock on the donation box was broken — but not with force. It looked as though someone had used the key.

"Someone who had access..." Shiva muttered to himself.

Next, he noticed footprints in the soft mud behind the temple. Two sets — one heavy and deep, the other lighter. Shiva followed them as far as he could before they disappeared near the riverbank.

That night, while everyone else slept, Shiva sat awake, thinking. He recalled that the temple priest, Pandit Mishra, always left after locking the temple. Only a few trusted villagers had spare keys: the priest, the temple cleaner Ramesh, and the sarpanch himself.

The next morning, Shiva quietly spoke to his best friend, Biju.

"Keep an eye on Ramesh," Shiva instructed. "See where he goes."

Meanwhile, Shiva himself watched the sarpanch and the priest. He noticed that Ramesh seemed unusually nervous, sweating even though the morning was cool. And then, just as the sun began to set, Shiva saw something odd — Ramesh sneaking toward the river with a heavy sack slung over his shoulder.

Shiva's heart pounded. He grabbed Biju, and the two boys followed at a distance.

Ramesh walked along the riverbank and stopped near a clump of wild bushes. Carefully, he dug into the soil and pulled out a small wooden box. Shiva and Biju gasped quietly — it was the temple's donation chest!

Before Ramesh could leave, Shiva stepped out, brandishing the village drumstick like a weapon.

"Stop right there, Ramesh!" Shiva shouted.

Startled, Ramesh dropped the chest. In the commotion, several villagers, hearing Shiva's cries, rushed to the scene.

Caught red-handed, Ramesh broke down and confessed. He had been tempted by the growing pile of donations during the festival season. He had planned the robbery with his cousin, who lived in the neighboring village. It was his cousin who had helped him carry the stolen idol and chest, planning to sell the idol in the city.

The villagers were furious. But they also looked at Shiva with awe.

"You saved us," the sarpanch said, placing a proud hand on Shiva’s shoulder. "You saw what none of us could see."

The golden idol was eventually found hidden near Ramesh’s cousin’s house after police arrested him. The village celebrated Shiva as a hero. They organized a special puja in the temple, this time with Shiva lighting the first lamp.

From that day on, people no longer just saw Shiva as a boy. They saw him as a protector, a thinker, someone with a mind sharper than any adult. Offers came from nearby towns asking him to come study at bigger schools, but Shiva stayed rooted to his village for a while longer. After all, Krishnapuri needed him.

And every evening, under the same old banyan tree, when the breeze carried the scent of mango blossoms and the sky turned purple with dusk, Shiva would sit and read his detective novels — waiting, perhaps, for the next mystery that needed solving.

***[Thank you for reading]***