You come back after twenty years to the place where you once lived, and for a moment it seems nothing has happened: the same faces at the gates, the same laughter in the yard. Then you look closer — these are their children and grandchildren. Śrī Prem Prayojan Prabhu saw it: returning, he found his old friends already grandfathers, and beside them their replicas. For twenty years everything had been growing old, dying and passing away — and everything had stayed the same. A tree grows old and falls, but from its seed rises a tree just like it. Only those who occupy the forms change; every generation is anitya, for a while. And he asks: if everything is flowing away, where does the form that holds come from?