Then, in 2013, a film historian named K. P. Jayakumar found a rusted tin can in a godown in Alappuzha. Inside were 47 minutes of fragmented, decomposed nitrate film. He held it up to the light. There—blinking, smiling, walking across a broken bridge—was Rosamma. The first heroine. The lost child of Malayalam cinema.

Daniel held auditions in a rented godown. Men came in shadows, wearing masks of anonymity. But women? Not a single one.

But trouble was brewing. The local upper-caste elites caught wind of the film. A Dalit Christian woman acting? Kissing? (There was no kissing—but gossip needed no truth.) A Nair hero falling in love with her? They sent letters to Daniel. They threatened to burn his reels. They told his wife that he was running a brothel in disguise.