Iconographic representation of Surya too reached pretty high standards. Three eyes, four hands holding water lilies, supposed to be the flower that longs for the dawn, are standard. The sun is supposed to rise from, indeed be born of, the Cosmic Waters, so the lilies are convenient symbolic shorthand. He is the only Indian god ever known to be always shown wearing knee length boots and in some cases distinct metal (copper) gloves. The boots are an invariable rule in his sculpture as is the atibhanga posture, the immobile erect stance of perfection, the god who is the Cosmic Pillar and support of the universe. It is therefore an appalling development that somewhere from the 14th century onwards a superstition developed, that to make Surya icons is to invite the curse of leprosy! In such ways do traditions turn upon themselves when they become decrepit. Surya was actually once the Lord of Healing, a function the Solar gods, the Ashwinis, took over from him, and he ended up feared as a bringer of disease. In any case that was the end of the Surya legacy in art. There are no more active temples of Surya left either, except as an adjunct to some more popular deity.

One of the widely diffused later myths, seemingly crafted to explain his decline while the other gods rose in favor, has Surya married to Sanjana, daughter of the Cosmic Craftsman, Vishvakarma. The marriage is very happy, but Sanjana cannot bear her husband when he shines in full glory. One day she makes the mistake of closing her eyes and averting her head from this intolerable illumination and the normally gentle Surya almost becomes a supernova. He curses his wife to bear the God of Death, Yama, for having averted her gaze from the Giver of Life and for being variable and inconstant in her opinions to bear a twin girl, Yamuna, a river that never maintains its limits, constantly shifting itself. Fortunately, they already have a brilliant son, Manu, who is to become the proto-Adam of the next Cycle of Creation and he helps them to reconcile later. Sanjana is too hurt by his behavior to easily reconcile, so she leaves her husband in possession of her Shadow, a simulacrum, called Chaaya, while she goes to the forest to perform penance and bring Surya's blaze down. She hides in the form of a solar mare, and when Surya finds out, he joins her as a stallion or Ashwa. The results of this equestrian wooing are supposed to be the Ashwini Kumara, from Ashwa or horse. (This is a later attempt to bring all the solar gods into one coherent narrative, but the Ashwinis were independent gods in the Vedas. See our article on them in the Gods section for details.)

Vishvakarma decides to help his daughter and puts Surya on his great lathe and cuts away an eighth of his effulgence. This fiery power was redistributed amongst the other gods, primarily as weapons. Vishnu got a discus, Shiva his trident, Skanda his spear and so on. The shifting power structures amongst the gods and their collectively assimilating the Surya cult are clearly visible here. Also notable is the remarkable symbolism of Death being the son of the Giver of Life. No sooner does life come into being than death has marked it down.

In later myths Surya sinks even further into insignificance. In the Ramayana he is the father of Sugriva, the Monkey prince and can do nothing to prevent his persecution at the hands of his brother. In the Mahabharatha, he is the father of the tragic figure Karna, and again can do nothing to ease the harsh destiny of his son. It's a long way down for the god described in the Vedas as the Great All- Knowing Lord.

The many names of Surya somehow still pulsate with power when the panegyrics to the other gods fade into staleness. He is Dinakara, Day-Maker; Vivasvat, the Radiant One; Karma-sakshi, Witness of the deeds of men; Mihira, He who waters the earth (by drawing up moisture so that clouds may form) Savitri, the Nourisher of gods and men and best of all Savitr, the Impeller towards the good light. One cannot help feeling that somehow India lost more than beautiful temples when his worship collapsed, there was an entire subculture of great vitality and creative energy which went with it. It was, by the evidence available till now, about the only faith in India that did not go emotionally overboard or assimilate so many bizarre aspects of behavior and belief that make modern sensibilities squeamish. The light was sufficient unto itself and there was no evil thereof. It is a belief that would be reiterated in another time and place by an artist from another culture. Many centuries later, as England's great painter, Turner, lay dying after a lifetime of painting the light, he stated his life's discovery and faith in four words.
"The sun is God."