Pamāda: Heedlessness
Pamāda is the drowsy inattention that lets a life run on unexamined. In this oracle no one stops to ask what they have done; each turns to their own course, and a fig tree left untended that way still keeps its leaves for a season. The branches look fine long after the care has stopped, and only at picking time does the emptiness show.
Kamma: Deeds and their fruit
Kamma is action together with the fruit that follows it. Grapes and figs come at the close of a long season of what was done and left undone, so a bare branch in autumn is an honest report of every earlier month. The word arriving here lands the way harvest time lands, when whatever went into the ground becomes visible on the vine.
Anicca: Impermanence
Anicca is the passing nature of whatever arises. The fading leaf is the plainest case: green, then dry, then gone, on a schedule nobody set. Grapes and figs keep that same schedule, and the sting is in having counted on a branch to hold when no branch holds.
Anattā: Not self, not mine
Anattā is the absence of any owner standing behind what appears. "The things that I have given them" puts it simply: a harvest received as a gift was never property. A tenant can live thirty years in a house and still hand back the keys, and the vine, the figs, and the leaves were held on those terms the whole time.
Saṃvega: The shock that wakes you
Saṃvega is the jolt of urgency that comes from seeing how things stand. An empty vine in the season that should be heaviest with fruit is the kind of sight that stops a person mid-step. Jeremiah holds up that stripped branch to shake rather than to crush, and anyone still counting on a full basket can feel it do its work.