Māna: Conceit
Conceit is the mind measuring itself against others and coming out taller. Grass in the open field is a flat answer to a man who was just looking down from his roof at a city he called his own. Driven out among the herd, he loses every yardstick he had been using, since oxen keep no rankings.
Kamma-vipāka: The ripening of a deed
A deed ripens on its own schedule, the way fruit does. Seven times passing over him is that ripening laid out at full length, nothing hurried and nothing skipped. The pride took shape on a rooftop, and the harvest comes up in a field.
Tiracchāna-yoni: Birth among the animals
Birth among animals is one of the low destinations, reached by minds run on appetite and dullness. Here a living king is set down in it without dying: grass for food, dew for a bath, the whole day shaped by hunger. The distance between a crown and a herd turns out to be thinner than he assumed.
Anicca: Impermanence
Everything put together comes apart, thrones included. Babylon still stands while he is out in the wet grass; the empire does not fall, only his grip on it. A kingdom given to whomever he will is a house with a long line of tenants, each one certain he owns the place.
Anattā: Nothing owned, nothing under command
Anattā names the absence of a self that owns and steers what it calls mine. Handing the kingdom to whomever he will puts the deciding somewhere outside the king entirely. Were the throne his in the way he believed, he could have said let it stay, and it would have stayed.
Saṃvega: The shock that wakes a person
Saṃvega is the jolt that comes from seeing your own condition plainly. Seven years of grass are aimed at one word, until you know, so the sentence carries its ending inside it. Knowledge is what the field is for, and a man who has eaten beside cattle is unlikely to forget what he learned there.