ASIA-PACIFIC ISSUE: ENCHANTMENTS OF THE FAR EAST : An Indian Hospital for Birds

When foreigners think of this country, they invariably picture a Third World nation beset with unsolvable problems: poverty, political and religious turbulence, a soaring population rate. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that India, through such nonviolent figures as Mahatma Gandhi and Mother Teresa, has also stood for passive resistance and charity.

We found one reminder of this gentler side of the Asian subcontient at an unusual hospital. To find it, we simply looked for the pigeons swooping in circles above a building across the street from Shah Jahan’s famous Red Fort in the old Delhi sector of this city.

This is no ordinary refuge for the ill and injured. It may seem unusual to Westerners, but the Charity Birds Hospital treats nothing but birds and other animals in need. The 75-year-old institution is run by the Jains, a 2,500-year-old religious sect in India that believes in the sanctity of all life, including the life of infinitely small organisms, many of them invisible to the naked eye, and all of them in possession of a soul.

An action that causes injury to the smallest of creatures rebounds to haunt the person who inflicted the pain. Conversely, an action that aids any creature, however minuscule, brings merit and reward to the helper and moves his human soul closer to liberation and salvation.

Because of their philosophy, devout Jains never farm--the act of tilling the soil kills insects. Strict vegetarians, they even shun food that grows underground, such as carrots and onions, and they avoid honey out of respect for the bees’ life work. Many devout Jains even tie a gauze mask across their mouths to keep from inhaling insects.

Although the hospital is not geared up for tourism, it welcomes visitors. When we dropped in last August, we entered through a courtyard that divides the red three-story building from a simple Jain temple next door. We climbed a flight of dark stairs and met the hospital’s supervisor, Govinda Sharma, who was happy to give us a tour. He told us that in keeping with the Jain religion, only vegetarian animals, such as rabbits and birds, are treated as in-patients and allowed inside.

“Non-vegetarian animals are treated as out-patients down there in the courtyard,” he said.

He walked us back down to a shaded area where we watched a young boy clean a bloody wound on a dog. Nearby, another boy attempted to soothe a frightened cat suffering from mange. A goat stood by a gate, near a falcon dragging an injured wing. A monkey with a bandaged tail scampered around on the pavement.

“We never turn away an animal,” Sharma said. We wondered about insects, but didn’t ask.

As we headed back inside the hospital, a volunteer appeared, carefully carrying an injured peacock wrapped in a large sheet of plastic. While climbing the stairs to the first in-patient ward, we noticed a sign that asks visitors to avoid stepping on insects: that answered our question.

On the first landing, painted in the traditional hospital green, an open balcony wraps around the building’s entire exterior. Hundreds of small, numbered stacked cages each holds a pair or more of birds. Larger cages contain rabbits, ducks, geese, peacocks. They all have fresh water and dishes full of vegetarian feed.

Govinda pointed to his “Intensive Care Unit,” an area where extremely ill birds receive emergency treatment. Then he led us to the most populated floor, the building’s flat roof, which provides asylum to some 5,000 birds, mostly pigeons and sparrows that have been cured but are still too frail to fly far or survive on their own.

“Here, we also have 2,000 permanent guests (under treatment). Every Saturday we release about 50 cured birds, but most of them come right back.”

We could see why. Just beyond the hospital in old Delhi, the lives of birds are constantly in danger. Buildings have huge open windows and exposed ceiling fans, a bird’s greatest threat. Young boys fly thousands of kites, and birds get caught in their nearly invisible strings. We also knew from our walks within the bazaar that merchants sell caged birds for food and sport, such as cockfights.

In contrast, this hospital is bird heaven on earth. On every floor are volunteer staffers, mostly young boys, who spend time combing the city for prospective patients. On the Monday we visited, they were busy bathing the residents with a weekly dousing of disinfectant. On Wednesdays, the volunteers add an antibiotic to their patients’ water; on Fridays, they mix a multivitamin into the feed. Apparently the treatment works: Sharma boasts that the hospital has an 80% recovery rate. When we returned to the office, Sharma asked us to sign the guest register. One of us wrote: “If I were a sick pigeon, I hope they’d bring me here.”

Above our signatures, a previous visitor had commented on how much work was performed on such a small budget. Sharma explained that the hospital covers its expenses with donations from Jains and from foreigners who either know about the hospital or stumble across it. Then he showed us his most recent annual report.

Salaries and wages were listed at 3,819 rupees. At 18 rupees per dollar, that’s $212 for the staff, which includes Sharma and a veterinarian. Vegetables and food for birds was 742 rupees annually, or $41. The entire year’s budget was 34,000 rupees, about $1,900.

Sharma said for that sum, the hospital is able to treat about 20,000 animals per year. We did some quick arithmetic. “You spend 10 cents per patient per year? How can that be?”

He smiled. “I guess we just prove the basic meaning of charity: mercy. That we have in abundance.”