By Rao Farman Ali. As the sun sets over Pampore, casting long shadows across the patchy fields, Abdul Hamid Wani sits on his haunches, looking at the small, crimson pile in a wooden tray that represents a year of his life, his hope, and his struggle. It is a sight that brings to mind an old couplet, a nightingale's plea to a stone for a single blade of grass.