The Country of Damoxitiedi達摩悉鐵帝國

The country of Damoxitiedi lies between two mountains, and it is the old land of the country of Duhuoluo. It is fifteen or sixteen hundred li from east to west. From north to south it is four or five li where it is broad, and where it is narrow it is not more than one li. It comes down to the Fuchu river, winding and turning back on itself, with hills high and low, and sand and stone strewn about, and a cold wind that is bleak and harsh. Only wheat and beans are planted, the woods are few, and flowers and fruit are wanting. Many good horses come from here. The horses are small in body, yet they bear running and fording well. In their customs there is no rite and no right, and the nature of the people is rough and violent. Their looks are low and coarse, and for clothing they wear felt and coarse cloth. Their eyes are mostly green, and in this they differ from the other countries. There are more than ten monasteries, and the monks are few.

The city of Hunduoduo is the capital of the country. Within it there is a monastery, raised by a former king of this country, who opened the cliff and leveled the valley and built the halls as the rule requires. In an earlier time this country had not received the teaching of the Buddha and served only false gods, and it was a few hundred years ago that the teaching of the Law was first spread here. In the beginning the beloved son of the king of this country fell ill. The arts of medicine were searched to no purpose, and the sickness only grew and did not mend. The king then went himself to the temple of the gods, asked with rites, and prayed for help. At that time the master of that shrine spoke for the god and said, "He will surely be well again. Truly there is nothing else to fear." The king heard this and was glad and comforted, and he turned his carriage and went back. On the road he met a shramana whose bearing was good to look upon. Startled by his form and his robe, the king asked where he had come from. This shramana had already won the holy fruit, and he had taken this form because he wished to spread the Law of the Buddha. He answered the king and said, "I am a disciple of the Tathagata, one of those who are called monks." The king's heart was already heavy, and so he asked first and said, "My son has fallen ill, and it is not yet settled whether he lives or dies." The shramana said, "The spirit of your forebears can be raised, but your beloved son is hard to save." The king said, "The god of heaven says he will not die, and the shramana says he must come to his end. How can one believe the words of a man who deceives the world?" He came late to the palace, and his beloved son was already dead. He hid it and did not announce the death, and he asked the master of the shrine again, and still the man said, "He has not died. The sickness will mend." The king then grew angry, and he bound the master of the shrine and rebuked him, saying, "You and your kind live in a crowd and foster evil, and you have used awe and blessing as you pleased. My son is already dead, and still you say he will mend. Who could bear such lying and beguiling? The master of the shrine should be cut down and the holy shrine wiped out." Thereupon he killed the master of the shrine and took away the image of the god and threw it into the Fuchu river. He turned his carriage and came back, and again he met the shramana. Seeing him he was reverent and glad, and he bowed his head to the ground and gave thanks, saying, "In days past I had no bright guide, and my feet stayed on a false road. Our customs have long been mean and worn, but here is where they may be mended and changed. I beg you to look upon me and come down to the house where I live." The shramana received his asking and went with him to the palace. When the son had been buried, the king said to the shramana, "The world of men is tangled and troubled, and life and death roll and flow on. When my son was ill I asked whether he would go or stay, and the god spoke idly and said he would surely be well. What you pointed out to me before had no empty word in it. This then is a Law worth honoring. Only have pity, and lead this company that has lost its way." So he asked the shramana to measure out a monastery, and he built it at once after that rule. From that time on the teaching of the Buddha flourished. Therefore the vihara within the monastery was raised for the arhat.

In the great vihara of the monastery there is an image of the Buddha in stone, and above the image hangs a round canopy of gilt bronze, adorned with many jewels. When men walk around it, the canopy turns with them, and when men stop, the canopy stops, and its holy power cannot be measured. The elders there say, "Some say it is upheld by the power of a saint's vow, and some say it is brought about by machines and secret arts. Look at the hall, and its stone walls are firm and steep. Though the many opinions are examined, no true record can be known."

Crossing the great mountain of this country to the north, one comes to the country of Shiqini.