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.
