|80000 B.C-The stone age
Prometheus stared at the endless vegetation that covered the foot of the gigantic mountain he was standing upon. The forest spread out over thousands of miles, with serpentine rivers and rivulets making their way through the plethora of flora and fauna- the blessings of the beloved gods his fellow men worshipped; blessings, that came with a price.
The clan, which Prometheus belonged to, worshipped the god of fire. And what a powerful god he was! Many a summer, from the caves in the mountains, the cavemen would see the huge forest set ablaze by His wrath. Nothing escaped the towering flames- from the meek deer to the mighty mammoths. Even from miles away they could feel the heat of the giant flames scorching their skin. After every fire, came a phase of famine. Without trees no animals would wander in the forests, and without animals there was no hunt.
To prevent the fire, the god had to be appeased. For that, Shamans, worshippers of the fire lord, chose the finest of women at the start of every summer, and sacrificed them to the Fire god.
Whenever Prometheus closed his eye, he could see the dark day, his sister being pulled away by a Shaman to the sacrificial alter, with four other girls, who were left in the sun without food or water till they died. Some years, it seemed to please their god. And some years nothing would quell His terrible rage.
But Prometheus was not reminiscing as he stared down the valley. A terrible revelation was eating up his soul. Everything he had believed in for so many years was just a big lie. He was on the verge of revealing the biggest discovery in the history of mankind. The only thing holding him back was fear-fear that he would be framed as a heretic, for denouncing the age-old beliefs of his ancestors. But for how long would he deter the truth?
He looked at a barren patch in the midst of the forest. That was where it had all began. He closed his eyes, drifting, shifting through time to the beginning.
It was a month after his sister's death. Warm, western winds were blowing, a premonition of the inferno that was about to take place. The fire lord was angry. The tributes had not pleased him.
As the shamans were chanting their incantations in the cave, no one noticed a teenage boy rushing through the shrubs towards the dry woodland, where the conflagration began. The boy was Prometheus. Clutching his wooden dagger in his hand, he was running as fast as he could, with deep resolve in his eyes. On this day, he would meet the fire lord, and end him. This day, he would get his sister back.
As he was running through the forest, he could picture the fire lord, a giant, bearded man wearing a sabretooth skin, wielding a flaming club in his hands, breathing fire through his nostrils, wreaking havoc and carnage around the forest.
But once he reached the forest, the fire lord was nowhere to be found. Instead, Prometheus found the true origin of the flame. The wind was causing the dry branches of the trees to hit one another, and sparks were issuing from the collisions, which broke into flames the moment they touched the dry leaves. Fueled by the undergrowth and the dense canopy, the flames spread throughout the forest within a matter of moments.
Having grasped his newfound knowledge, Prometheus ran in the opposite direction to the wind in order to survive. He escaped the flames, but lost his way back home. Looking for his way, he had to travel through the burnt forest for days. The only problem was food, as most of the predators had been wiped out by the fire. In order to survive, Prometheus had to devour burnt corpses of burnt animals. . The burnt flesh tasted different. It was softer, and felt more energizing. Prometheus felt enlightened. The grief at his sister's death was soon overcome by his satisfaction at this new discovery.
After he returned to the cave, he began experimenting secretly with fire. Within a matter of days he could create fire. He started burning his food before eating, and found that he could now spend less time chewing and more time hunting. His efficiency had increased tenfold.
And today was the day of revelation. It was time to overcome his fear. A bitter winter was nearing, and his fire would be a great boon to his tribesmen.
So, on this day, during the painting fest in the caves, when the Shamans were out in a meeting, and the cavemen were busy depicting the tales of their heroic deeds in hunting, Prometheus stood in the middle of the crowd, and declared his discovery. The fire lord was a myth; fire was just an element of nature, like the wind, earth or water. It could be created, controlled and destroyed by man. The power of fire no longer needed to be feared, but could be harnessed for the progress of mankind.
He went on. There would be no further need of sacrificing women. Prometheus demonstrated his findings by creating a fire in the middle of the cave, and roasted a wild deer.
The cavemen were apprehensive, seeing the power of their great god manipulated by a mere mortal. Yet, a handful of curious men went ahead and tasted the meat. It felt heavenly. They cheered and rejoiced for Prometheus.
But the glory of Prometheus was only transient. When the Shamans returned, they declared Prometheus a blasphemer for stealing their god's glory and defiling it by burning a cadaver. As a result Prometheus was tied to a rock on top of the mountain, where vultures feasted on the dying body of the harbinger of man's glory. The use of fire was banned forever.
The winter that followed was the coldest and the vilest of all. Even the coziest of caves where the Shamans lived turned cold as ice. On the second week of winter, the shamans declared that the procreation of fire was indeed a blessing from their lord, and in his favor they built a huge fire in the midst of the cave and praised their lord for bestowing his gift upon them. The tribesmen were much too relieved to recollect the great injustice that had been done to the true creator of fire.
When the great feast continued in the caves below, the skeleton of Prometheus was still being pecked on by some hungry vultures,. Fire worshipping continued.
2000 B.C.-Ancient Greece
The small child looked at the magnificent, monumental statue of Prometheus, their god - the titan that had stolen fire from the heavens and had thus enlightened mankind. There was skepticism in her eyes. `Father', she asked. 'I do not believe that someone would have to steal fire from heaven. Couldn't it be that Prometheus just had created it?'
‘Hush, child', her father replied. 'They will call you a heretic. Do you want us to be burnt at the stake?'