From the belly of the dark pit came a spray of fresh water. It went up into the air with force and sprayed outwards at the top, creating a rainbow in its mist. The people of the village quickly gathered when they heard the noise: the loud but calming shoosh of its persistent flow. They gathered the water into pales, cups, or even shirts or scarves, to soak up the water to wring out later.
Children bathed in the cold chill of the water, while their parents rushed back and forth with buckets filled and frothing. A woman followed suit and stripped down, all the while keeping a bucket beside her to fill. No one watched the contours of her body glisten with new wet droplets as she washed her greasy hair in the spray, they were too busy running to and from the pit.
It was not until midday that the roaring of water calmed into a slow drizzle and the people of the village collected their pales and their clothing and their clean children, before they made their way back to their homes, sweaty, wet, chilled, and singing.