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Then the devata inhabiting the forest thicket, feeling sympathy for the monk, desiring his benefit, desiring to bring him to his senses, approached him and addressed him with this verse:

"You sniff this water-born flower
that hasn't been given to you.
This, dear sir,    is a factor of stealing.
You             are a thief of a scent."

[The monk:]

"I don't take, don't damage.
I sniff at the lotus
    from far away.
So why do you call me
a thief of a scent?

One who
    digs up the stalks,
    damages flowers,
one of such ruthless behavior:
    why don't you say it of him?"

The devata:

"A person ruthless & grasping,
smeared like a nursing diaper:
to him
I have nothing to say.
                It's you
    to whom I should speak.

To a person unblemished,
constantly searching for purity,
a hair-tip's worth of evil
    seems as large
    as a cloud."

[The monk:]

"Yes, yakkha, you understand me
and show me sympathy.
Warn me again, yakkha,
whenever again
you see something like this."

[The devata:]

"I don't depend on you
for my living
nor am I
your hired hand.
            You, monk,
you yourself should know
how to go to the good destination."

The monk, chastened by the devata, came to his senses.