There's a very famous Hungarian story about a man who got married. He was quarrelsome by nature, as men often are. His parents, thinking that perhaps marriage would make him less angry, that he would become more loving, and that being involved in married life would keep him from causing so much trouble, arranged his marriage.
The marriage took place. And while men are quarrelsome, women are even more so. Quarrelsomeness is the very essence of a woman's being, the means by which she lives. The girl's parents also thought that marriage, setting up a household, having children, would make things easier. She would be preoccupied, and the quarreling would decrease.
But when two quarrelsome people meet, the quarreling doesn't decrease; it doesn't even double; it becomes infinitely greater. When two quarrelsome people meet, it's not simple addition; two plus two doesn't equal four, it becomes a multiplication.
On their very first night, their wedding night, they were both eager to open the gifts they had received. They picked up the first box; it was beautifully packaged. The husband said, "Wait, this ribbon won't open like that. I'll get a knife." The wife said, "Wait, we've received many gifts in my family too. We've also given many gifts. Do you think I come from some uncivilized, uncultured family? Such beautiful ribbons aren't cut with knives, they're cut with scissors."
A terrible argument ensued about whether the ribbon should be cut with a knife or scissors. It was a matter of honor for both of them. The argument escalated so much that the box couldn't be opened that night, and their wedding night was ruined by the quarrel. And the dispute, because it was a matter of prestige, with both families' reputations at stake—who was more cultured!
The matter became so ingrained that the quarrel continued for years. Eventually, it became so established that whenever a quarrel arose, all the husband had to say was, "Knife!" And the wife would immediately shout, "Scissors!" They had become symbols.
Years passed. Finally, the husband couldn't bear it anymore. And the box remained unopened. Because until it was decided whether it was scissors or a knife, how could it be opened? Who would dare to open it?
One day, the argument escalated, so the husband, after much persuasion, took his wife to the edge of the lake. He put her in a boat, rowed to where the water was deep, and there he said, "Now let's settle this. You see this oar? I'll hit you on the head with it and throw you into the water. You don't know how to swim, you'll die. Now what do you say? Knife or scissors?" The wife said, "Scissors."
Life may be lost, but honor cannot be abandoned! The tradition of the Raghu clan has always been that life may be lost, but a promise must not be broken.
The husband had also decided that day that he had to settle things. His life was ruined. And ruined over a knife and scissors!
But he only saw that his wife was ruining things. He didn't see that he too was stuck on the knife, just as she was stuck on the scissors. So they weren't very different. But one's own fault is not visible in the moment of war, in the moment of conflict, in the moment of anger. He struck the oar hard, and the wife fell into the water. He said, "Say it now!" Even then, she called out in a drowning voice, "Scissors." She went under once, water filled her mouth and nose. Then she came up again. Still, the husband said, "You're still alive. I can still save you? Speak!" She said, "Scissors." Now even the full sound didn't come out, because her mouth was full of water. She went under a third time, and came up. The husband said, "Say it now, because this is your last chance!" Now she couldn't even speak. She drowned. But one of her hands remained raised, and with two fingers she continued to make the gesture of scissors. With both fingers she kept indicating scissors—while drowning, in her last moments.
No Kurukshetra is needed for a Mahabharata; The Mahabharata is within your mind. You are fighting over trivialities. In the heat of the battle, you don't even realize what petty things you have become so insistent upon. And as long as your ignorance is profound, your darkness deep, and your ego dense, you will not be able to see that your entire life is a conflict. From birth to death, you don't live, you only fight. Sometimes you may appear not to be fighting, but those are merely moments of preparation for the next battle; moments when you are getting ready to fight again.
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