Now I, Allan Quatermain, come to the story of what was, perhaps, one
of the strangest of all the adventures which have befallen me in the
course of a life that so far can scarcely be called tame or humdrum.
Amongst many other things it tells of the war against the Black Kendah
people and the dead of Jana, their elephant god. Often since then I
have wondered if this creature was or was not anything more than a
mere gigantic beast of the forest. It seems improbable, even
impossible, but the reader of future days may judge of this matter for
himself.
Also he can form his opinion as to the religion of the White Kendah
and their pretensions to a certain degree of magical skill. Of this
magic I will make only one remark: If it existed at all, it was by no
convinced by divination that I, and I only, could kill Jana, which was
why they invited me to Kendahland. Yet in the end it was Hans who
killed him. Jana nearly killed me!