The Second Show

I was in 8th standard then when I came to know from friends that anyone who saw the second show (cinema) alone was considered a ‘Hero’. The second show starts at 9.00 p.m. The screening would take three hours. Thus, by 12.00 p.m, the show would be over. I also felt strongly I should be a ‘Hero’.

Now the problems I had were many. Ours was a rural village, where the theatre (cinema hall) was almost three kilometres away from my home. There was no conveyance available then; one had to walk. Though bicycle was a mode of conveyance, only a few could afford it. Well, I did not have one.

Usually, our supper ended by 8.00 p.m. We all used to have it together. By 8.15 p.m, we all went to sleep. Our house had an open veranda (a long portico, opening to the front yard) where I slept. I had two brothers, who always went for fishing after supper, normally to return by midnight and sometimes by early morning if there was a good catch. That night, having thought of watching the second show, I had already managed just enough money from my father’s chest  without letting him know of it, and kept two pillows instead of routine one with a long cotton sheet, used as blanket. I took extreme care to keep the two pillows in a way that it appeared to everyone that I was sleeping, covered with the blanket. I made sure that my parents were asleep and by 8.40 p.m, I left my home, almost like a robber moves away after burglary, initially very slowly, later tco run in full thrust to reach the theatre well in time. I did reach the cinema hall by 9.00 p.m and within no time I was inside with others, mostly grown ups, to be named ‘Hero’ the next day. But things were destined to happen in a different way.

That night, electricity went off twice prior to the half interval, as in those days, there used to be four intervals. As per the rules of the theatre, it was the custom to provide passes to the spectators another chance to watch the movie another day, except Saturday and Sunday if the electricity went off thrice prior to the half interval and I  waited for the electricity to go the third time so as to be able to get the pass. Luck was not in my favour that night. And to top it all, they had no power back up in those days. And if the supply went off after the half interval, no pass would be issued, frustrating many viewers at once for no fault of theirs, a policy they introduced themselves and executed meticulously.

By the time supply resumed, already one hour had elapsed. Now it was time to show the film after the half interval, when we all prayed together in mind for uninterrupted power supply. Thus, the show was screened fully, no matter the clock showed its time as 1.10 a.m. Happy, nevertheless, as I was, I started my return journey, all by myself, again on foot. After covering two kilometres, I reached Pudukad, a place where one Kunjuvaried kept open a cart on four bicycle wheels, mostly punctured, selling tea and omelette. Upon reaching there, though I wanted to have a tea, but it was the first time I learnt a unique lesson – sacrifice is sweeter, as I was left with no money to pay for tea my desire to have tea ended up faster than it had emerged. It was there I was noticed by Shri Kunjipyloth, aged about 50 years, who worked in a textile mill in Alagappanagar, two kilometres off Pudukad. He was returning home after the second shift, which ended at 12.30 a.m.  He asked me where I was coming from and why got so late. Upon briefing him the truth, he asked specifically whether it was with the permission of my father I went for the second show and on being asked, my head hung down in negation.  I, however, said to him that it was all because of the urge to be named ‘Hero’ the next day, I dared watching the second show. He had my state of mind known that prompted him to ask whether he should accompany me to home, which I denied – denied primarily due to the reason that the fact would be revealed and I won’t be a real ‘Hero’ the next day and also due to the fact that if he accompanied me, my father would immediately come to know of my heroic act, the consequences of which any one of my age then can think of.  Even if he did not accompany me, I was sure that the fact would be known to my father that morning itself as they would meet while going to attend the first service in the church as early as 5.30 a.m.

Now that he reached the turning, where he would take turn to his home, I was left all alone – my fear growing like all the earth dumping upon me being caught in an earthquake. There lay ahead  an open place enroute where it was rumoured during night, witches, clad in long white cloak,  roamed freely, their legs off the soil, coming from a nearby pond, called ‘Chackochira’, and that they being blood thirsty would not spare any passerby, no matter how brave he was!  There stood afar a mango tree by the side of the road, with buds on shoots at its early stage of flowering. No sooner did I reach under the mango tree than the buds started falling down upon me, which I mistook as gravels being thrown at me by the white witches. And lo, there I am running on my feet as if to be the winner in Olympics heat event. And well, you must be laughing, believe me, I was running for my life, my heart beating as hard as it could, praying all prayers together, taking names of all known and unknown, and even those names who later could attain sainthood. Because, nobody knew for sure, from which corner help would come.

Somehow, I reached my home, and again it was time for me to be extra cautious, for if I were caught, I was sure to be dealt with – rest you can imagine. I wanted to cry to open the door so that I could be inside and save myself from the white witches, their teeth protruding to help them suck the blood of human beings, who were about to catch hold of me. I was caught between the deep sea and devil; on the one hand if I did not get in quickly, I would be caught by the witches who were just behind me and on the other hand if I cried for help, the fact would be known to my father, shattering my dream of being ‘Hero’ the next day. And I would rather like to be caught by the witches than being caught by my father! But, at that time the thought of my being ‘Hero’ next day did not allow me to do so. I approached the veranda as cautiously as a cat would prey upon a rat.

Within no time I reached the veranda, uncovering the blanket, I was inside, my legs rounded like an alert centipede, my eyes open, my heart beating as if a mighty expert beating tambour, my fear growing of being caught by the witches at any moment. I was not able to sleep – forget about sleeping, was not even able to close my eyelids for a second. I, however, also had the fear that the truth would be known next day morning as Shri Kunjipyloth would meet my father in the early morning service. What may come would be met with courage, I decided and was about to fall into sleep though, when I heard a voice asking “How was the second show?” Well, I knew I was caught and there came the reply abruptly in the form of  cry for help, like the one from the captain of a sinking ship. “Open the door father” – that was all that I could muster courage to speak then. He opened the door immediately and let me in, me holding him as tight as I could, pleading that I would never repeat such a thing in my life, tears flowing down, forming a canal, my feet trembling, my body shivering out of fear.

Unexpected to what could have happened and a mystery until this day, he embraced me, let me sleep with him, holding me tight, and me doing the same thing, but more tightly, apparently because of the white witches who followed. My fear was gone and that was also the end of my wish to be “Hero”. Today, my father is no more; but I feel him holding, embracing me tightly, saving me every night from the white witches followed. The real ‘Hero’ was not me, but my father – father with a difference!