BOB ABERNETHY, anchor: Now, a special report. In India, in the foothills of the Himalayas, in the city of Kalimpong, the poorest children have no place to go to school -- except the Gandhi Ashram, where a Canadian Jesuit priest seeks them out, feeds them, teaches them, and gives them confidence -- and violins. Fred de Sam Lazaro tells the story.

FRED DE SAM LAZARO: At Gandhi Ashram, it is the first day of a new school year. Father Thomas McGuire, a Jesuit, is choosing his newest kindergarten. Gathered around him are children who could never get into another school, whose parents never went to school. He's looking in particular for people called "Biswakarma," that is, those on the lowest rungs of India's rigid caste system.

Father THOMAS E. MCGUIRE, S.J.: We're trying to pick the poorest we can find. If someone comes and tells me, "My name is something Biswakarma," then they've met 80 percent of our entrance tests that we have here.

DE SAM LAZARO: Admission is, most immediately, a meal ticket. It means breakfast, lunch, and afternoon snacks.

Fr. MCGUIRE: Between the Nutella and the vegetables they get in the curry here, it's a rather well-balanced meal -- plain but very nutritious. You'll see after they've finished the meal around here how they'll start running around and sort of giving other witness to the presence of a nutritious meal under their belt.

DE SAM LAZARO: There's not much equipment or playground to run around on. But instead of cricket bats, every child here -- almost from day one -- is provided a violin. Most have never heard the instrument, certainly not playing western music. But listen to the next class. They are three to five years along -- and light years ahead.

(To Father McGuire): What made you think up this whole idea of teaching these kids violin and western music?

Fr. MCGUIRE: Well, I suppose, first of all, because I like it myself very much. I don't play.

DE SAM LAZARO: Father McGuire came here 50 years ago from Canada to teach in the prestigious Jesuit schools. But McGuire also worked the streets, trying to bring into schools the children of people he calls coolies or laborers. Because these children were more likely to be academically behind, McGuire began looking for activities at which they could excel. One day he asked a visiting violinist from the Calcutta symphony to play for the street kids.

Fr. MCGUIRE: I told him they might giggle or laugh or that sort of thing, and he said, "Fine, I'll be ready for that." He played for well over an hour, and it was just rapt attention. So then I thought maybe they might take an interest in this kind of music.

DE SAM LAZARO: In fact, they excelled at it. Ten years ago, when he started his own school, McGuire hired some of the coolie children he'd adopted years before to be teachers, including music director Rudramani Biswakarma.

Fr. MCGUIRE: Rudramani was a boy who had, as we proved later, extraordinary ability in music, native ability. Now, I first met Rudramani in the streets of Darjeeling when he was seven or eight years old, and he was just a coolie. He was earning his own livelihood.

DE SAM LAZARO: Under McGuire's tutelage, he went on to get a college degree and, remarkably, just in the past two years, hearing aids to correct a severe impairment he'd endured since childhood. Rudramani says few words. His passion and eloquence are more evident in music. He plays, teaches, and arranges everything from Mozart to movie scores to Nepali folk songs.