Parideva: Lamentation
Parideva is grief that has found a voice. Ramah was the staging ground where captives were held before the long road north, and once the column moved on, the crying was the only thing left in the emptied town. Grief pressed this hard comes out as sound, the way water finds the crack in a wall.
Piyehi vippayogo dukkha: Parting from the beloved
This names the ache of being separated from what one loves. Rachel died in childbirth on that same road centuries earlier, and the children she cries for are descendants she never held, which is how far a mother's reach goes. Children are where a life keeps its future, so when they are taken, the future goes out the door with them.
Sokasalla: The dart of sorrow
Sorrow can sit in a person like an arrow left in the wound. Her refusal of comfort is the body's own knowledge that a hand grabbing the shaft too early will drive it deeper, so she turns the comforters away at the threshold. The dart does come out in time, once the one carrying it can bear to have it touched.
Anicca: Impermanence
Anicca is the way everything assembled comes apart. "They are no more" puts the ordinary law in the harshest words a mother has, and no house along that road to Babylon was spared the same sentence. Kisāgotamī carried her dead son door to door looking for one home that had never buried anyone, and came back empty handed and quieter.
Karuṇā: Compassion
Karuṇā is the heart's trembling when it meets another's pain. The crying in Ramah reaches an ear and comes back quoted word for word, the weeping woman repeated rather than corrected or hushed. Compassion starts there, sitting down beside the sound and letting it be as loud as it is.