Each yama in the Yoga Sutras carries a fruit, a sign by which its perfection is known, and the one attached to asteya at sutra 2.37 is the strangest in the list: for one established in non-stealing, all jewels present themselves. Commentators ancient and modern have circled the paradox. The plain reading is thaumaturgic, of a piece with the third book's catalogue of powers: the perfected yogin finds wealth arriving unsought, as if the world no longer bothered to guard its valuables against someone who has stopped reaching for them. The ethical reading, preferred by most later teachers, inverts the image.
Grasping is a kind of poverty: the acquisitive mind experiences the whole world as withheld from it, every unowned good a lack. The mind that has genuinely ceased to appropriate experiences the same world as abundant, every good simply present, enjoyable without being possessed. On this reading the jewels were always there; theft was the tax that hid them. A third reading is social. A person known never to take what is not given becomes the person to whom things are entrusted, the treasurer, the arbiter, the keeper of others' valuables, so that non-stealing ends, by reputation, with jewels literally in one's keeping. The sutra is short enough to sustain all three, and the tradition has never forced a choice.