As dawn broke, they reached the high ground of the relief camp. Humble unloaded the families, who touched his feet in gratitude. He stood by his truck, exhausted but whole. The other five drivers leaned against their grills, sipping chai from a single flask.
As he climbed back into Sher-e-Punjab , the radio crackled one last time. "Bhaaji, chai at Goldy’s dhaba next week? On me."
A journalist ran up. "Sir, how did you cross the impossible route?"
Humble just pointed at the line of trucks. The engines idled in a low, synchronous hum—a heartbeat of loyalty.