The inhabitants of that strange and so much out of place village didn't guard the source of the rainbow water, but someone was almost always close to it. Villagers used the water for what seemed to be their every domestic need. They drank it, cooked with it, washed their clothes in it, filled their lanterns with it, use it to clean their houses… In short, they treated it like almost any other water.
The only notable difference was that they said words of prayers and thanks every time they took water out of the stream. These prayers weren't to the bastards that called themselves gods: the villagers instead prayed to the mountain we were it.
Both had equally zero chances of responding to their daily prayers, but these people weren't stopped by it.
A small, incestous community.