In the heart of Manali, where whispers dwell,  
Hangs a sacred treasure, a temple bell.  
From the wooden roof, intricately carved,  
It sings ancient tales, timeless and starved.  

Each chime echoes through the mountain air,  
A call to the spirits, a silent prayer.  
In its bronze heart, stories softly resound,  
Of seekers and sages on holy ground.  

Beneath the carved beams, a history weaves,  
In every note, the past never leaves.  
In Vashishtha's embrace, it swings with grace,  
A resonant soul in a sacred place.