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The next yama is asteya. The prefix "a" means "not," and steya means "stealing." This is a straightforward concept, similar to the commandment "you shall not steal." However, we are considering it not merely as a moral rule but as a yogic principle. From a yogic perspective, what is the problem with stealing? We take on karma. We harm someone, causing hiṁsā (violence). Therefore, asteya is a specific application of the principle of ahiṁsā (non-violence). As discussed previously, ahiṁsā and satya (truthfulness) provide the foundation for the other yamas, and here we see the connection. For example, if you enter a shop pretending to be a customer but intending to steal, you violate both principles. You harm the shopkeeper by causing a loss, and you are untruthful by pretending to have a different motivation. Considering the impact on our spiritual path: after stealing, you might escape, but the story is not finished. You have stolen from yourself, creating a feeling of guilt. Your conscience activates, questioning your action. Fear also arises—the fear of being caught, of the police. Even an ambulance siren might trigger anxiety. The mind becomes disturbed, producing troubling thoughts. This illustrates the immediate effect of karma. We often think of karma as a delayed cause and effect, perhaps manifesting in a future life or years later. However, karma has an instant effect. It operates within us as we act, shaping our inner attitude and programming our mind. Karma has a tendency to perpetuate itself. Suppose you steal for the first time. This act can open a door, making it seem easy to acquire things without work. You might repeat it, forming a habit that eventually becomes part of your personality. Consider a smoker: no one is born a smoker. There was a first cigarette, and through repetition, it becomes an addiction, a dependency that is hard to break. Similarly, through our karmas, we build our personality. Every negative karma is a danger, leading us in that direction and disturbing our inner peace. When you try to meditate, relax, feel your breath, or contemplate God, thoughts of the theft may intrude—inner debates about whether to continue, stop, or return the item. An underlying fear persists: the fear of being caught or of karmic retribution, even for the spiritually developed. Thus, following asteya is not only good for others, preventing their suffering, but it is also an act of enlightened self-interest. It protects you from creating unnecessary complications on your yoga path and from generating problematic karma. There are subtler forms of stealing beyond physically taking something. Thoughts can be stolen, akin to modern piracy. Consider authors: many books are written by drawing ideas from numerous sources and presenting them as one's own achievement. Today, with the internet, students might do homework by copying online content. This is a form of stealing when we present another's intellectual property as our own. Even desiring what others have, such as through jealousy, constitutes mental stealing. We must delve deeper into the concept of property from a yogic viewpoint. Legally, an item may belong to someone, but is that ultimately true? There is a text called Gītā Sāra, the essence of the Bhagavad Gītā, which states that nothing truly belongs to us. Possession is temporary. For instance, land exists eternally; many have claimed it over time, and others will claim it in the future. We control it only for a limited period. This perspective is still not deep enough. Who is the real owner? The earth belongs to Mother Earth. Everything we see and touch is made from her—from stones, plastic (derived from oil), or wood from trees. Directly or indirectly, everything belongs to Mother Earth. Consider our body. It is made from the five elements. As said at a graveside: "You come from the earth, and you go back to the earth." Our body is a temporary assemblage. When the soul departs, the elements separate—water returns to water, air to air—in a process of recycling. How identified are we with our body? This leads to a later point: aparigraha (non-possessiveness), which means not collecting unnecessary things. We will explore that later. For now, the principle is not to take from others. It is crucial to live with the awareness that everything is only borrowed, given to us for a purpose. What is the purpose of human life? As humans, we have the unique capacity to realize our true nature, understand the law of karma, and wisely apply it through practices like sevā (selfless service) and Karma Yoga. We will continue this discussion with aparigraha. The Outcome of Perfecting Asteya The second śloka describing the outcome states (Yoga Sūtra 2.37): When one becomes steadfast in asteya, all wealth comes to them. How do we understand this? If nothing belongs to anyone, it belongs to everyone—but this is not directly the point here. The sūtra says wealth comes to the person who does not steal. Consider the qualities of such a person. To be perfect in asteya means the very idea of stealing is unimaginable; the temptation does not arise. What is the underlying quality? It is being satisfied with what one has—santoṣa (contentment), which is a niyama discussed later. Thus, the principles are interconnected. Perfect asteya naturally cultivates santoṣa. When you are content, you have no desires; you feel you have everything you need. There is no sense of lack. When Patañjali says "all wealth comes," we must be careful in interpreting "wealth." We might imagine material riches—a big house, cars, gold. But true wealth means having what you need and being happy with it. Then you are truly wealthy. Recall what Swāmījī often teaches about the grades of wealth. The greatest wealth is health—a healthy body, which cannot be bought with money. When we interpret "wealth" correctly, we understand the sūtra. If you have what you truly need and are happy, you are wealthy. Conversely, a king with power and riches who still desires more is limited and unhappy. A personal experience comes to mind. While traveling in India, in cities, beggars often approach foreigners for money, which can feel transactional. Once, on a bus tour, we stopped in a remote area. Village children approached. My initial thought was that they too would beg. But they didn't. They came close, looked at us, and radiated pure happiness. They had nothing, yet they were rich. I felt ashamed of my preconception. This illustrates what true wealth means: you can be materially poor yet immensely wealthy. Of course, the sūtra can also be understood as material possessions coming to you. Stories exist of this happening. We can comprehend them by recognizing that our inner attitude radiates like a magnet. When we are free from desires, we possess faith, which attracts what we truly need. This is the secret of the sannyāsī (renunciant) life. Mahatma Gandhi expressed it as "Renounce and enjoy." This is not self-explanatory. Renounce means to not possess things; enjoy means to find fulfillment without them. How is this possible? It signifies freedom, independence, and inner happiness. On a practical level, like needing food, it involves a subtle exchange. When you think of others' needs and what you can give, naturally, others will think of your needs. This is the principle of the traditional swāmī or sannyāsī's life. The sannyāsī dedicates life to God, serving God's creation. In return, those who receive understand the sannyāsī also has material needs. It is an unspoken contract: share what you can, receive what you need. "Renounce and enjoy" implies deep faith in this principle, or faith that God will provide through whomever He sends. Remember the story from Līlā Amṛt. Mahāprabhujī sent Holī Gurujī to a city to buy cloth and repair an umbrella. Before leaving, Mahāprabhujī asked if he needed money. Holī Gurujī replied, "No, give it to me when I need it." This is faith that God will provide. We can only understand this if we see the provider as an instrument of God, not merely as a person. Otherwise, doubts arise: "No one likes me," or "No one is around." When we see God as the giver, it becomes a joyful interaction. Recall a similar story from Paramahaṃsa Yogānanda's Autobiography of a Yogi, the chapter "Travel without a Rūpī." Yogānanda's skeptical brother challenged him to travel by train to Vṛndāvan without money, not to beg, to have meals as usual, and to return by midnight. Yogānanda accepted. His brother suffered anxiety, but upon arrival, they were invited to a feast and given everything needed, including return fare. There was no miracle, only the power of deep faith. "Renounce and enjoy" means surrendering our life to God's hands. This is an advanced state, but it helps interpret the Yoga Sūtra: when steadfast in asteya, all wealth—everything needed—comes naturally. The inner qualities developed create a vacuum that attracts what is necessary. Broken Promises and Karma Failing to keep a promise is also a form of stealing. If you borrow money and don't repay it, you have stolen. More broadly, breaking any promise is a kind of stealing, and the law of karma applies. A story from Sai Baba illustrates this. A boy, lazy in mathematics, prayed before an exam: "God, help me pass, and I will offer a large amount of beautiful halvā as prasād at the temple." The exam paper contained exactly what he had studied, making it easy. He finished early and, while waiting, remembered his promise. He calculated the ingredients and cost for the halvā. Finding it expensive, he repeatedly reduced the quantities—fewer nuts, raisins, substituting oil for ghee. When time was up, he absentmindedly handed the teacher his calculations instead of his exam paper. The next day, the teacher announced everyone passed except him, because he had submitted the wrong paper. This is a fine example of karma in action. No external punishment occurred; his inner self, aware of his cheating and broken promise, caused him to hand over the wrong paper. The karma was straightforward and immediate. Concluding Thoughts on Asteya Asteya is closely connected with other principles, particularly aparigraha (non-hoarding) and santoṣa (contentment). A question was raised: We have different properties, including our body, which is given for self-realization. If we misuse it for mere enjoyment instead, is that a form of stealing? I would say yes, it is a kind of misuse. Consider an analogy: You are employed by a company, given a tool for specific work. If you use it for personal purposes instead, that is stealing and grounds for dismissal. Similarly, God, the owner, gives us the tool of the human body for a purpose: to create karma, to practice, and to achieve self-realization. If we use it primarily for enjoyment, we are misusing it. From a high perspective, this is a form of stealing. Conversely, if we use the body correctly, the sūtra applies: all grace (kṛpā) comes to us. With the right inner attitude—sincere longing and effort—God grants mercy. This is the essence of Guru Kṛpā.