A handful of protesters wave placards at Jantar Mantar; a phone catches thirty seconds of it, and by evening a whole generation stands convicted. Lazy. Distracted. Addicted to their screens. Incapable of finishing a thought without checking a notification.

The clouds refused to come. Karnataka looked up at the sky. Then the government looked in two directions. One team turned to aircraft, weather data and atmospheric science. Another turned towards a temple, sacred fire and ancient mantras. And, believe it or not, both were official responses.

There are many benefits to travelling around the country. Narrow-mindedness and many misconceptions break down on the road. If you travel from north to south or east to west, many prejudices fall away by themselves.

The nation was locked indoors. Streets were deserted, markets silent, factories shut. Fear had entered almost every Indian home, and nobody knew how long the invisible enemy would stay. Then came a voice on television.

Imagine the final scene of Shyam Benegal's celebrated film Ankur. A little village boy silently watches everything around him: the landlord's authority, the poor's helplessness, and the daily drama of injustice. Then, suddenly, he picks up a stone.

The first light of morning falls on a moving sea of feet. Young men shoulder kanwars, barefoot pilgrims circle sacred hills, and groups of friends climb mountain trails, singing bhajans. Phones stay tucked away, cameras keep clicking, and the name of God rises with every step. This is today’s pilgrimage in India.