Māna: Conceit
Conceit is the habit of measuring yourself against others. A commander arriving with horses, chariots and a fortune in silver expects the prophet to step out and meet him at the door, and the sting sits in one phrase, "come out to me." Rank traveled with him the whole way from Aram, and a servant sent to the doorway in the prophet's place wounds that rank long before anything touches his skin.
Papañca: Mental proliferation
Papañca is the mind spinning a simple thing into an elaborate story. Long before he reached the door the healing was already staged in full: the prophet steps out, stands, calls on the name of his God, and sweeps a hand across the sore place. Rehearsing a conversation in the car works the same way, every line written in advance, so the one that finally arrives can only feel wrong.
Sīlabbataparāmāsa: Clinging to rites and rituals
Here the ceremony itself is trusted to do the work. A hand waved over the place is the machinery he has come for, the visible flourish that proves something is happening, and a message about washing offers nothing to watch. The cure has to look like a cure, and power arriving without a gesture reads to him as no power at all.
Diṭṭhupādāna: Clinging to views
Clinging to views means gripping your own opinion as though it were solid ground. "Behold, I thought" carries the whole trouble in three words, a picture formed back in Aram and hauled the entire road like a heavy bag he will not put down. The word that could clear his skin is already in his hand, and the picture stands squarely in front of it.
Kodha: Anger
Anger is heat flaring the moment things fail to match. The picture cracks, and he is angry and goes away, turning his back on the door he traveled all that distance to reach. Storming out is the old way of keeping a picture whole: keep walking, and nothing has to be given up, though the skin stays sick.