Dukkha: Suffering
Dukkha is the ache of things refusing to go as we need them to. Affliction is her own word for her life: the empty womb, the rival wife's needling at every meal, the walk home from Shiloh unchanged year after year. She carries that weight into the temple exactly as heavy as it feels, and the prayer starts there.
Taṇhā: Craving
Thirst, taṇhā, is the pull toward the one thing that would finally make us whole. Her thirst is for a boy, and in her world a son means standing, safety, someone to bury her. Saying the thirst out loud is what lets her do the odd thing next: she asks for the very thing she has already agreed to hand back.
Saddhā: Trust
Saddhā, confidence given before any proof arrives, is what "look at the affliction of your servant and remember me" is made of. She is talking into a quiet room with no answer coming, and old Eli, watching her lips move without sound, writes her off as drunk. She keeps talking anyway.
Adhiṭṭhāna: Resolve
"She vowed a vow" is adhiṭṭhāna, a determination set down and not shifted afterward. A woman with no child binds herself to a promise about a child who does not exist, and years later she keeps it, walking the weaned boy up to Shiloh and leaving him there. A vow does its work on the one who makes it, holding her steady long after the feeling that produced it has cooled.
Cāga: Relinquishment
Cāga is the open hand. She asks for a son and in the same breath gives him away for all the days of his life, so he is never hers to grip. Asking in order to keep is the ordinary way; she asks in order to let go, and the letting go is built into the request from the start.
Nekkhamma: Renunciation
No razor on his head sets the boy apart, and that is nekkhamma, a life lifted out of the ordinary household round. His uncut hair is a sign worn where everyone can see it, saying this one belongs elsewhere. A monk's shaved head means the same thing from the other direction: the body has been handed over, and anyone looking can tell.